A Baby for the Big Boss. Love Is Not for Sale

“Ma-ma-a-a-a.”

I turn my head, searching for the source of the loud sound. Across from my car, in the snowdrift, a little girl sits there, plopping onto her knees—wearing a pink snowsuit and a hat with two pom-poms. Her mittens on a string drag through the snow as she tries to get up. I rush over and help her stand up purely on instinct. My heart squeezes like under a press, unable to bear it—then it bursts.

Even for me, an adult man.

Where’s her mom?

I grab the girl by the arm and pull her to myself.

“Ma-ma,” she says, now more weakly, not screaming—she must be exhausted. She looks at me in confusion, reaching for the air with her little palms.

“She… fell.”

“Gone?” I ask—more to myself than to her.

This is bad.

I lift my wrist, glance at my Rolex to check the time. I don’t have much— in fifteen minutes there’s an important meeting. And it wasn’t in my plans to save a little child and search for her irresponsible mother.

But I can’t just leave.

“And what am I supposed to do with you?”