I was halfway through shaking hands with the orphanage director when I felt a tug on my pant leg.

I looked down. And there she was.

Tiny. Pink. Fluffy-eared. Waddling in her oversized bunny onesie with a cookie in one hand and a sparkle in her eyes that hit me harder than any hostile boardroom takeover ever had.

“Dada?”

My breath caught.

She blinked up at me, tilted her head—and smiled. Big. Toothless. Victorious.

I froze.

“Dadaaa~!”

The director laughed nervously. “Ah, that’s one of the toddlers. She’s just learning words. ‘Dada’ and ‘nummies’ are the only ones she knows.”

Only two words in her world. And she gave one of them to me.

Next thing I know, she’s got her arms raised like I’m supposed to pick her up, so of course I do. And she immediately nuzzles her cheek against my chest like I’ve held her a hundred times before.

“Bunny... cuddles,” she mumbled, nose smushed against my tie.

And now I’m walking through the orphanage with a pink bunny clinging to me like a second heartbeat. My assistant tried to whisper something about a stockholder call. I held up one hand.

“Reschedule everything. I’m busy.”

“Sir, what should I say you’re—”

“Tell them... I’m with my daughter.”