Chapter 3 Taking The Drunk Boss Home (Part One)

Emma's POV:

"I thought I needed to go home. I definitely drank too much tonight." Brandon tried to laugh, but his words slurred together.

Dinner ended and we found ourselves wandering into a dim bar just a few doors down. Brandon ordered glass after glass of whiskey and beer. I stayed with water and a couple of fruity drinks that did not have any alcohol.

"You know what, you might actually be right." I laughed. "Come on. Let's get you home."

"Oh, this is going to be something to remember." He grinned, his eyes sparkling.

"That is not what I meant," I replied, laughing as I stood up.

Brandon rolled his eyes and tried to get to his feet, but he swayed and nearly lost his balance. I grabbed his arm before he could stumble and kept him upright. Walking him to the car took patience and a firm grip, but I managed it without either of us taking a fall. I helped him into the passenger seat and then climbed in behind the wheel.

"So, where do you live?" I asked, glancing over at him.

I had never been to his place, so I had no idea where to go. Brandon got quiet and tapped his chin with his finger.

I could not help but laugh as he struggled to remember his own address. There was something amusing about watching him try so hard. After a few minutes, he finally blurted it out. I knew he was going to regret tonight in the morning. I typed the address into my GPS and started driving, following the route. The ride felt twice as long as usual, made heavier by the silence between us. When we finally pulled up, I stared at the house, taken aback. The place looked incredible.

The house stretched out behind tall hedges and a wide driveway, much too big for just one person to live in, if anyone asked me. I pulled up to the garage and parked. Then I got out and circled the car to help him.

"Emma, what do you think you're doing?" He laughed, reaching out and tapping my nose with his finger.

"I'm making sure your drunk self actually makes it home," I muttered, laughing along with him.

"Oh. Alright then. You need to get my keys. They're right there." He pointed at his jeans pocket.

I paused, not thrilled about fishing around in his pocket, but there really was not another option. He was way too drunk to handle it on his own. I sighed and slipped my hand into his pocket, feeling around until I touched the cold metal of his keys.

I closed my fingers around the keys and felt the cool metal press into my palm.

"It's a little more to the left," he stammered, flashing a sly, mischievous grin that left no doubt about what he really meant.

I shot him a look, knowing exactly what he was up to, and pulled my hand out of his pocket as quickly as I could with the keys in tow. He turned to me and pouted like a sulking child.

"You're really no fun tonight," he responded, crossing his arms over his chest in mock annoyance.

"Brandon, get your drunk self inside," I blurted with a chuckle. "Stop acting like a total pervert."

"I'm your boss, you do remember that, don't you, Miss Emma?" He tried to sound stern, but that lopsided grin ruined any chance of him being taken seriously.

"Keep moving," I instructed, pointing at the front door and laughing under my breath.

Brandon stuck his tongue out and pushed off the car, wobbling like a kid trying out his legs for the first time, nearly tripping over his own shoes.

I never would have guessed he'd turn out to be this kind of drunk, but I had to admit, he was making the whole night more entertaining. I walked behind him, then darted ahead to open the door before he could try to handle it himself.

"Nice view," he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I pretended not to notice, chalking it up to the whiskey and beer. I swung the door open and helped him inside, feeling along the wall for a light switch. When I finally found it and the room filled with light, my eyes grew wide at what I saw.

"Wow..."

He really knew how to decorate. The place looked incredible, and I had only seen the hallway and part of the living room. I glanced around and noticed some framed photos on a nearby table. He still kept pictures of himself and Darcy, including a few from their wedding day. They both looked amazing in those photos. They looked happy, and for a second, my chest tightened for him.

He clearly was not ready to let go of that chapter, and honestly, I could not blame him. He probably thought she would be his forever, that he would spend the rest of his life with her.

"I need a drink," he said, pulling away from me and weaving down the hall. I stayed close, worried he might trip over his own feet.

He wandered into a room that had been converted into a home bar. He headed right for the shelves, but before he could grab anything, I caught his arm and held him back.

"What you really need is coffee and water. You still have work in the morning, remember?" I retorted.

He turned slowly, shooting me a look that made it clear he did not appreciate the advice.

"Yes, mom," he answered, full of sarcasm.

"Where's the kitchen?" I asked, determined to save him from himself.

"Over there," he replied, pointing vaguely toward the doorway we had come through just a few minutes earlier.

That did not help at all. I realized I would have to find it myself. I looped my arm through his and kept him close, steering him away from the bottles on the shelves. After about ten minutes of wandering around that enormous house, I finally stumbled into the kitchen.