My Troublemaker Sugar Daddy

"Where's your phone? I can call someone to pick you up."

The man ignored me completely, sleeping soundly right there on the pavement.

Left with no choice, I rummaged through his pants pockets, discovering in the process that his legs were absurdly long and perfectly sculpted. He could have made a living as a model.

After finding his phone, I unlocked it with facial recognition and called the first contact on his messaging app.

I switched to video call and aimed the camera at his face so whoever answered could see clearly.

"Hey, the owner of this phone is passed out in the street! If you're his friend, you need to come get him."

Before I could send the location, I saw the person on the other end’s absolutely horrified expression.

"Get at least fifteen feet away from him right now!"

I assumed he was worried I might take advantage of the handsome stranger and scoffed.

"Relax! I'm not interested in drunks. I'll send you the location. Just get here soon."

However, his tone grew even more urgent. "Don't ignore what I'm telling you unless you have a death wish!"

What was wrong with this guy? I hung up the video call. Then, I sat down beside the man to wait with him.

He shifted to use my thigh as a pillow, sleeping peacefully under the moonlight.

Ten minutes later, the person from the call arrived. When he saw the scene, he looked like he had seen a ghost.

I insisted, "Look, I didn't lay a finger on your friend."

The moment I finished speaking, the man changed positions. Not only did he rest his head on my thigh, but he also wrapped both arms around my waist, using me like a body pillow.

I tried to pry him off but could not budge him.

I tugged his ear hard. "Hey, wake up! Your friend's here. Let go of me and go home with him."

The man remained completely oblivious, sleeping like the dead.

I could only turn to his friend for help. "Come help me. I can't get his arms off."

Still, the guy stood fifteen feet away and refused to come closer.

I was furious. "Why are you just standing there?"

He said, "I don't want to die."

I stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The guy explained he was not the drunk's friend but his bodyguard. His name was Derek Walsh.

Eventually, Derek pulled the car over and parked it 15 feet away. He called out to me, "You'll have to figure out how to get him into the car yourself."

"Are you serious? He's your boss, not mine. I was being nice by calling you, yet you're pushing your luck now?"

Derek absolutely refused to help, standing far away with his arms crossed.

I was livid. I dragged the man like a dead weight, taking out all my frustration on the drunk.

Derek must have worried I would injure his boss, because he finally seemed willing to help. However, the next second, the man who had been sleeping like the dead suddenly shot upright.

With lightning speed, he pulled a knife from his waist, shoved me behind him, and lunged at Derek with the blade.

The movement, the speed, the sheer ruthlessness of it all made me genuinely worried this would have turned into a crime scene if Derek had not dodged in time.

I stood there, stunned, my mind racing with questions.

Derek retreated back to his fifteen-foot perimeter and gave me an awkward smile.

"Now you understand why I wouldn't help. When he's drunk, no one can get near him. He becomes extremely aggressive."

Instinctively, I touched my own neck. I needed to run too. However, the drunk man calmly returned the knife to his waist, rested his head on my shoulder, and went right back to sleep.

I was speechless.

Derek looked just as baffled. "You're the only person I've ever seen who can get this close to him when he's drunk."