Page 41 of Obsessing Over His Favorite
His tone sharpened.
“You’re his girlfriend. You should be more obedient to him. This kind of behavior is unacceptable.”
The fork in Emily’s hand froze mid-air.
Then—bang!
Her hand slammed against the table, making the plates rattle. The fork flew from her grip, clattering to the ground with a sharp metallic clang.
Dillon blinked, visibly startled. His eyes shifted uneasily.
Emily stayed seated but turned in her seat, facing him directly. Her eyes locked on his with a fierce glare.
“You’re Lucas’s dog, aren’t you?” she asked, voice icy.
Dillon stiffened. His lips parted in disbelief, eyes darkening with offense.
“I’m Mr. Cantrell’s assistant—”
“Exactly. His dog.” Her voice was sharp, scathing. “You follow him around, do whatever he says, sniff out what he wants.”
She leaned forward, fury burning in her eyes. Her voice cracked like thunder. “Then act like one! Sit down. Shut up. And do your damn job. Are you his servant or his dad?”
“Ms. Crawford, you can’t talk to me like this,” Dillon said, stepping forward, shocked. “I’m not—”
Emily’s glare deepened. “Watch me.”
Dillon froze mid-step, his entire body tense. ‘What the hell happened to this woman today?’ he thought, stunned. ‘She never talked back like this before. Now she’s scolding me this harshly? What the hell’s gotten into her?’
“I can talk to you however I damn well please,” Emily spat. “And since you are a damn servant who no longer knows his place—you're now fired. Effective immediately.”
Dillon jerked, staring at her like she’d slapped him.
His hands fidgeted, his face paling slightly before a stubborn look hardened his features.
“Sorry, Ms. Crawford,” he said tightly. “You don’t have the authority to fire me. Mr. Cantrell is my employer. Only he can make that decision.”
She scoffed, giving him a slow once-over from head to toe, pure disdain in her gaze.
Standing up, she repeated coldly, “You’re a servant, Dillon. Know your place. Don’t cross your line.”
With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet house.
Behind her, Dillon stood frozen, rage swirling in his eyes, his fists clenched tight by his sides.
***
“Emily?”
The voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She paused mid-step, glancing around the hallway outside the office. A girl wearing oversized glasses, about her age, motioned her over with urgency.
Emily hesitated, puzzled, but walked toward her.
The girl quickly grabbed her arm and tugged her into a corner. Emily glanced at the ID card hanging from the girl’s neck—Niya.
She leaned in, her voice hushed and laced with urgency. “Do you know what happened today?”
