Page 43 of Owning Emma

“Emma, what the hell did I tell you? Go relax or something, there is nothing to be done here anymore.” I liked having her around, but in this moment, she was annoying the fuck out of me with the fidgeting.

“I need things to be perfect. You said Royal is like family, I don’t want to embarrass you.” She tilted her head as if she thought of something, then wrote a few words on the list in front of her.

“First of all, you could come out wearing a paperback with hair that hasn’t been brushed in a month and you still wouldn’t embarrass me. Secondly, I can’t concentrate with all your movements. It’s distracting.” As if I wasn’t even talking, she disappeared into the pantry where we stored the extra kitchen supplies, searching for something.

When she came out a few minutes later she asked, “Do you think he likes cinnamon rolls?”

“I know he likes cinnamon rolls, who doesn’t?”

“Some people don’t. It’s true, you know.” She sat out cinnamon and flour, then went back to the pantry for powdered sugar and yeast.

“What are you doing? It’s ten o’clock at night.” I scrubbed my eyes a few times, both from the stress she was causing and from the bone-aching exhaustion I suddenly felt.

“I’m making cinnamon rolls.”

Was she kidding me? “You’re not fucking making cinnamon rolls.”

“But, you said he likes cinnamon rolls.” Her wide eyes looked at me confused.

“He does. But it’s late. Go upstairs and get some sleep. That’s an order.” I pointed toward the kitchen exit.

She snorted. “You’re not even my boss.”

I stared, blinking a few times. “So, it’s come to this now?”

I slowly stood and she took a step back. “Come to what?”

“I’m sorry, Emma. You forced my hand,” I said as I rolled back my sleeves.

“What are you doing? What are you even talking about?” She looked a bit panicked, and I enjoyed that look on her face, knowing she was contemplating all the things I could do to her. I took a step closer, and she took a step back, her hands in front of her. She didn’t look scared, and I knew she didn’t fear me, but the unknown of what I was about to do caused her to be antsy as she sifted from foot to foot. “I’ll scream.”

“And what?” I taunted.

She looked serious as she thought about it, her hands still in front of her, her palms facing me, “I don’t know. Do you think anyone would come to my rescue?”

“Let’s test it.” Before she realized what I meant, I bent over and slung her body over my shoulders. A long high-pitched scream filled the air, followed by Roman’s loud steps as he rushed from his office. I stood, waiting for him to enter the kitchen.

Upon seeing us, he growled, “What the fuck.”

I turned so he could see Emma’s face. “Well, you see . . . I was doing my work and Emma here decided to make cinnamon rolls.”

“It is ten o’clock at fucking night,” he exclaimed.

“That was my point, too.” I patted Emma on the ass. “But, Cardigan seems to be a little worried about meeting our friend tomorrow. I think she was just trying to keep busy.”

He walked closer and put his face in front of Emma’s where she hung over my shoulder. “You are not making cinnamon rolls, go to bed.”

I sighed dramatically. “See, I told her that and what did you tell me Emma? I can’t seem to remember.” She grumbled. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

“I said, you’re not my boss.” She sighed. Then propped her arm up on my shoulder and used it to prop her head up.

Roman faked shock. “Even I know that Shaw is the true boss around here, Emma.”

I could picture her rolling her eyes at him. “Can you put me down?”

“Nope,” Roman and I said in unison.

“Why not?”

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