Met My Man When I Was Broke

CHAPTER 6

Estella POV

While the rest of the world was out drinking overpriced cocktails or whispering sweet nothings under dim restaurant lights, I was hunched over my dining table with three tabs open on my laptop, a spreadsheet halfway done, and two cups of cold coffee standing like defeated soldiers beside me.

“Stupid system,” I muttered, scrolling through the new interface again. My manager had told me to "apply my skills as a tax analyst into the updated automated platform." Whatever that meant.

I tapped the trackpad with mild aggression. Nothing made sense. My brain was fried, my patience thin, and I seriously questioned why anyone thought this upgrade was a good idea. Who even invented this? Satan?

I’m not exactly tech-savvy. I only knew Excel—and it took me almost a month to master that. Now this damn system was threatening to make my head burst into flames.

Why fix what’s not broken? Seriously.

I tried to upload a client’s financial data, but the system kept throwing errors. “File format not supported.” What does that even mean? It’s the same CSV file I always use!

I stared at the screen, frustration bubbling up. Maybe I missed a step? I clicked through the tutorial again, but it didn’t help. The system wanted me to map the columns manually — something I never had to do before.

I grumbled, “Oh no, how am I supposed to fix this?” My fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. This stupid automated system was supposed to make things easier, not give me a headache.

Frustrated, I slammed my laptop shut. Just when I thought the night couldn’t get worse, the doorbell rang.

“Hmm, who is that? What time is it?” I glanced at my phone — 12:00 a.m. Sunday already. Who on earth would be knocking at this hour?

Curiosity won. I stood up and walked to the door. Since my unit was equipped with a smart security system, I tapped the screen beside the door to see who was there.

The image flickered to life — and there he was. Damian.

My heart skipped a beat.

“What on earth is he doing here?” I muttered to myself as I unlocked the door.

When I opened it, the smell of alcohol hit me instantly. Damian swayed slightly, eyes glassy.

“For crying sake, Damian, it’s already midnight. What do you need?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He grinned sheepishly, his voice thick and tipsy.

“Hey, Estella... we were celebrating a while ago.”

“So what, this is not your home, Mr. Damian Lockster,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

He just laughed, a bit too loudly, swaying on his feet. “Yeah, yeah... but Rael’s bar is on the rooftop of this building, and I figured—why not drop by? You know, for company.”

He took a slow step forward, clearly off balance. “Mind if I crash here for a bit? Your bed looks way comfier than whatever’s waiting for me out there.”

I crossed my arms, trying not to smile. “Damian, you’re drunk. You can’t just barge into someone’s place and try to sleep in their bed.”

He gave me a crooked grin, eyes half-lidded. “Come on, Estella, don’t be like that. Just one night... I promise I won’t snore.”

I rolled my eyes but sighed, moving aside to let him in. What else could I do? Damian looked so out of it—helpless, almost adorable in a frustrating way.

This man was so annoying, yet somehow… undeniably hot.

“Alright, but just for a bit,” I warned, grabbing a blanket from the couch.

He plopped down like a kid who just got away with something, flashing me that lazy, tipsy grin. “You’re a lifesaver, Estella.”

As I watched him settle in, I couldn’t help but wonder how this chaotic guy was going to mess up my quiet Saturday night… or maybe make it interesting.

I grabbed a blanket and gently draped it over him, trying to look stern despite the amused smile tugging at my lips. Then, carefully, I bent down to slip off his shoes. The smell of alcohol hit me strong—stale and sharp.

“He’s definitely had a lot,” I muttered under my breath.

I stepped into the bathroom and grabbed a wet towel, wringing it out before heading back to him.

“Hold still,” I said softly, wiping his face and neck with the cool cloth. Damian flinched at first but relaxed, eyes half-lidded.

“You really know how to take care of someone,” he slurred, flashing that crooked grin again.

I rolled my eyes but felt my heart skip a beat anyway.

“Don’t get used to it,” I warned, but the warmth of the moment lingered longer than I expected.

I hesitated for a moment but the smell of alcohol was too strong—almost suffocating. Carefully, I helped him peel off his jacket and then his shirt, trying not to make it awkward.

“Sorry, this is a little overboard, but I can’t stand the smell,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes as I folded the clothes neatly.

He gave a lazy smile, eyes half-closed. “You’re too good to me, Estella.”

I shook my head, trying to keep my tone firm. “Don’t make me regret this.”

But inside, I was already wondering how a man like Damian could be so frustratingly… human.

Success. I carefully cleaned the damp spots on his shirt with the wet towel, then reached for some wipes I kept nearby. Gently, I dabbed the fabric to get rid of the stubborn smell.

Not quite satisfied, I grabbed a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and lightly wiped the collar and cuffs. The sharp scent cut through the lingering stench of booze.

“Better,” I muttered, trying to act casual even though I was well aware how absurd this whole situation was.

I didn’t bother with his bottom—too much work, and honestly, it felt a little too much for me. Instead, I tucked the blanket snugly around him again.

He sighed softly, his breathing evening out. Looks like he’s finally asleep.

I stayed still for a moment, watching him, wondering just how I got roped into babysitting Damian Lockster at midnight.

I went back to the laundry area and washed his shirt and jacket, knowing he’d need something clean to wear when he woke up.

Damn Damian, how am I supposed to have a peaceful weekend with you crashing like this?

I sighed and shook my head, half annoyed, half amused.