He didn’t know my name or my net worth or my reputation for focus.

He knew a warm finger and a voice, and he had decided, with that ferocious little grip, to hold on.

Nobody had ever needed me like that — not for what I could produce, not for what I could sign, just for being the large warm thing that had shown up and put a hand in.

I would have signed away the whole company right there through the incubator portal if it had bought him one easier breath.

Chapter 8 — Room 412