Chapter 3 03

"Emmy, you should really chill out," Taylor said, walking towards me with a frown on her face. She placed a hand on her hip and shot me a look when she reached me. "You're stressing out, and you know what happens when you stress out."

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "I know, I know. I break out." Pimples were probably the thing I hated most, but I wouldn't have been surprised if I woke up with a monster zit one of these days. "I mean, how am I supposed to keep everything perfect when everything feels like it's falling apart?"

"Exactly. So just chill out. It'll all be fine!"

"Right. Except I'm the one who has to make sure it turns out fine." I waved my hands in the air, trying to demonstrate the sheer volume of things that were currently on my shoulders.

"And it will," she went on, sounding annoyingly calm. I half-expected her to hit me with a "serenity now" mantra. "Seriously, I'm super excited! This is going to be the best birthday party of all time, and even I'm not freaking out over this, and it's my party, so what does that tell you?"

"That you have an unusual disinterest in parties and party planning?" I raised an eyebrow.

She laughed and shook her head. "No, it tells you that you need to calm down."

I sighed again, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. "You're right." No, she wasn't. "I'll try to calm down, I guess." Except that was a lie. There was no way I was going to calm down. Calmness wasn't in my genes. Obsessive tracking and planning was in my genes. No, really. My mother had literally given birth to me while preparing for an event, and I'd inherited her intensity. The idea of letting things unfold without obsessive oversight made my skin crawl.

Taylor beamed at me, completely unaware of my real take on this matter. I didn't want to be the kind of person who snapped at her for trying to be supportive.

I actually did attempt to calm down a bit, and it worked pretty well at first. For a few minutes, I walked around the ballroom breezily, my heels clicking against the marble floor with a confidence I didn't entirely feel. I silently surveyed the work that was being done-extra chairs being set up around the dance floor, floral arrangements being carefully placed on the tables, a string quartet tuning their instruments in the corner-and nodded politely when I got a phone call. Well, as politely as I could handle. My manners weren't the best, despite my upbringing. I blamed the rebellious teenager in me for it, the one who had ignored every single rule in the book during high school just because she could.

But then... it all started to fall apart.

It wasn't the floral arrangements or the string quartet. It wasn't even the too-early wine tasting, where half the staff had probably already sneaked a glass or two and were now whispering about what would be served during dinner. No, it was something else entirely.

The calmness and politeness I had been managing to exude evaporated the second I spotted him. Jack. My bodyguard.

Now, Jack was, for the most part, an alright guy. He was always there when I needed him, always a step behind, making sure I didn't get into trouble. But right now, he was... well, doing something that was, quite frankly, unforgivable.

There he was, over by the dessert table, sneaking dessert samples into his jacket. His face was so guilty it could've been its own crime scene. He glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching him-except, you know, he did a terrible job of it. If I, someone who had been distracted by a stray napkin, could catch him, what did that say about his "elite" surveillance skills? What kind of a bodyguard was he? He was supposed to be an expert at surveillance!

I froze, my heart racing with disbelief and frustration. Was he serious right now?

"Jack, you thieving fatso!" I shouted, narrowing my eyes at him. The whole ballroom seemed to stop for a moment, eyes turning to me as my voice rang out through the air. "Put that down right now!"

Jack froze, his eyes widening in alarm as he turned slowly toward me, looking like a guilty child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His face turned crimson, and he sheepishly shuffled his feet. "Sorry, Em."

I shook my head in disbelief, stalking over to where he was standing, each step filled with a growing sense of exasperation. The last thing I needed right now was this. I snatched the half-eaten dessert samples out of his hand, glaring at him with the kind of look that would probably burn a hole in the floor if I stared long enough.

"What if you took a sample that was absolutely amazing?" I snapped, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "What if you destroyed our chance at having the most scrumptious dessert on the face of this planet at Taylor's party? Do you realize the gravity of this situation?"

Jack's eyes darted to the desserts, and I saw a flash of regret cross his face. He was probably realizing the importance of his crime a little too late.

"I'm sorry, I just... I thought it would be fine," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. "I thought I'd try a few, you know, for-uh-quality control."

I couldn't help it. I snorted. "Quality control?" I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is that what we're calling it now? You're a bodyguard, not a chef."

He shrugged, looking mildly defeated. "Well, you know, it's all about keeping an eye on the little things, Em."

I glanced at the samples I was holding, now looking at them with renewed concern. They were clearly not the kind of desserts you could just experiment with. I turned them over in my hands, mentally calculating how much damage Jack had done. If he'd eaten too many of the best ones, we were in big trouble. I didn't know how Taylor would handle a party without the perfect desserts.

"I swear, Jack, if I find out that you've taken the last piece of chocolate mousse, I will personally make sure you never work in this city again," I said, my voice low and intense.

Jack's face went pale. "I swear, Em, I didn't-"

"Just don't. Don't even try to explain." I cut him off, knowing exactly how to get him to shut up. "Get back to work. And stop eating all the desserts. Or else."

He nodded quickly, backing away slowly as if he were trying to get as far away from me as possible without drawing more attention.

I let out a long breath and glanced at Taylor, who was now standing across the room with a bemused look on her face. Apparently, she had watched the entire scene unfold.

She was shaking her head, trying not to laugh. "Wow, Emmy, I don't think anyone's ever called their bodyguard a 'thieving fatso' before."

"Yeah, well," I said with a sigh, "it's not a title I bestow lightly. He's really testing me today."

Taylor snickered but didn't press the issue. I could tell she was trying not to get drawn into my stress, but it was clear I wasn't going to be able to handle this party with my usual brand of calm.

"Well, whatever," I muttered, tossing the half-eaten samples back onto the dessert table with a dramatic flair. "Back to work, I guess. We've got a party to plan, and I'm sure Jack's little 'quality control' experiment didn't ruin everything."

Taylor just smiled. "That's the spirit," she said, not at all convinced by my attempts at composure. She could see through my facade, but maybe, just maybe, this party might turn out okay after all.

And then the door to the ballroom swung open with a dramatic flourish. Another crisis. Of course.