Ivy felt like a rag doll, her legs weak and her body slumped. Seeing her in such a state, Balfour effortlessly scooped her up in his arms.
Under normal circumstances, her pride would have been bruised being carried like this in front of colleagues. But now, limp as an overcooked noodle, she was powerless to resist. The embarrassment of her outburst left her wishing she could just bury her face in Balfour's chest.
From the back, no one could tell that Balfour was carrying Ivy as his steps were steady and solid, as if he feared even the slightest jostle might disturb her.
Balfour's embrace was warm.
Comforted by his presence, Ivy drifted off to sleep. When she awoke, they were already sitting in his car. She mumbled his name groggily, and he promptly turned on the light and asked, "Thirsty? Need some water?"
At her nod, he brought a bottle to her lips.
"Where are we? Wasn't I at the wrap party just before?"
Ivy's eyes darted about, and Balfour could tell she was trying to sidestep the awkwardness of the evening. He played along, "We're still in the parking lot. You fell asleep, so I didn't drive off. Figured you'd wake up soon enough, and sure enough, here you are.
Now that you're up, we could actually head back to the party if you want. They're probably still there. Weren't you the one who wanted to drink them all under the table?"
But Ivy shook her head vigorously, "No way! I don't want to drink anymore. I was wrong, Balfour, I shouldn't have gone past two drinks. But who'd have thought I'd get this smashed? Don't you remember the last time we shared that bottle of imported wine? I had three glasses and was fine. It's only because you weren't there that I lost it."
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