8. ARE U MARRIED?

Emma hurried to the office, stopping in her tracks before the door. She waited a moment, glancing down at the cup of coffee, which she had to admit was already cold. She looked back at the door, waiting for the man inside to grant her entry.

"Come in."

Emma heard Jerry’s lazy voice. She took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door, closing it carefully behind her. She approached her boss’s chair, where he sat with his head rested against the back, his eyes closed.

"Reporting for—um, oh, I’m sorry," Emma muttered, biting her lip. He had warned her to stop the saluting, but she was so used to it, and honestly, she found it funny.

"What kept you?" Jerry finally said, his voice deep and husky.

"Oh, yeah, nothing much. It was a long line at the..." Emma trailed off, pointing vaguely toward the door to indicate the company cafe, desperately trying to invent a lie.

The truth was, there hadn’t been a single line. The cafe was always swamped, but if there *was* a line, all she had to do was call out the boss's name, and they would attend to her immediately—which was exactly what she had done today. She didn't want to tell him the truth because she’d finally remembered that the office rulebook explicitly forbade "office friends," and she didn't want her pay docked after she’d already admitted she’d actually read the manual. Secondly, how was she supposed to tell him she’d spent the walk back imagining him as a ball and kicking him clear off the Earth?

"You’re stuttering, and my coffee is cold," Jerry said, taking the cup from her hand. He gave her a small smile, though he noticed she was acting anxious. *She’s hiding something,* Jerry thought, frowning as he stared at her.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again. *Here he goes again with that suspicious look. I thought I was hired to be a manager, not a practice suspect.*

"You’re lying again. Either way..." Jerry stood up, walked to the trash can, and dumped the liquid inside before tossing the cup away. "I don’t need it. Pack your stuff; we’re leaving."

He glanced at Emma, who was glaring at him. *Finally,* he thought, rolling his eyes.

"Sir, are you done with work?"

"No, and that’s why we’re taking it home. Apparently, since you can’t do anything right, it’s best I take my work home so I can get a better cup of coffee. I’m pretty sure if I waited for you, I’d grow old and die before you returned."

Emma tried to hide her laughter with a cough, clearing her throat. If it were possible, she’d happily go get him another coffee.

"Stop laughing, it’s not funny. Never delay when you run an errand for me again. You are testing my patience, Miss Jones, and things don’t end well for people who go through those lines. I’m not a generous man. Pick up your things; let’s go." Jerry walked casually out of the office as if nothing had happened.

Emma gulped, staring at the door. She’d really done it this time, hadn’t she?

"I’ve finally gotten myself into a tight pinch, haven't I?" she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose before scurrying out to grab her backpack.

***

Emma stared out the car window, watching the scenery pass by. She wasn't truly focused on the view; her mind was occupied by the fact that her so-called boss kept driving without a destination. Not that she minded—she wouldn't care if he drove to the end of the world—but she *did* mind that he’d dragged her along.

She sighed for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out how to ask him where they were going. He was still clearly angry; the massive crease on his forehead made him look both old and weird.

"If you’re done sighing, you might as well talk and stop disrupting the silence."

Emma frowned. So, sighing was a problem, too? She realized then that her boss was a dedicated loner, and the worst part was that he was proud of it. He loved being alone—no disturbances, just utmost quiet.

*I’m pretty sure his idea of a good time is watching documentaries and working, working, working until he goes grey,* Emma thought, nodding to herself.

She cleared her throat, returning to reality. "So, I’m allowed to talk?"

"Sure. I just stated that," Jerry answered nonchalantly, rolling his eyes. Emma watched the wrinkle on his forehead deepen from two lines to three.

"I know you said that, but can I voice my opinions without restraint?"

"Restraint, huh? And who the hell was restraining you?" Jerry asked with a small smile tugging at his lips.

Emma gritted her teeth. She wanted to say *you*, but decided to let the sleeping dog lie.

"I don’t restrain my workers outside of work. You can talk as you please, just don’t misuse the privilege."

"Okay... firstly, sir, I just want to point out that frowning more won't make you look more handsome. It’ll just make you age quicker than usual," Emma blurted out.

Jerry raised an eyebrow, and the frown vanished. "Really? And who taught you that, Miss Jones?"

"Just facts," Emma commented, returning his gaze before he turned his attention back to the road.

"You don't seem as dumb as I first thought. Keep redeeming yourself, and in no time, you might actually seem human to me," Jerry said with a smirk.

Emma’s mouth fell open. She clenched her fists on the car seat and glared at the back of his head. *He just called me dumb,* she thought.

"I'm afraid your head needs a checkup," she muttered through gritted teeth.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," she whispered.

*If only I had a laser,* Emma thought, huffing, *I’d burn right through his head just to see whose brain is smaller.* She turned back to the window, an idea forming. She smiled wickedly and turned back to face him.

"Sir, aren't you already married?"

Jerry choked on his own spit. What kind of question was that? Did she think he was ancient?

"Why do you ask?" he threw back at her.

"Um, sir, you didn't answer my first question," Emma pouted, placing an index finger on her lips thoughtfully.

"And who is the boss? Me. Don't make me repeat myself."

Emma tilted her head, hiding a grin. "That isn't fair. You just said we could converse like... friends." She squeezed her face as if she’d tasted something sour. *Even the word 'friend' sounds disgusting when I’m talking about him,* she thought, blinking to clear the image.

Jerry sighed, using one hand to rub the crease in his forehead. "No, I am not married"

He paused . " I have a fiancee "

Emma whistled. "The lady has guts—ten guts—for choosing someone like you." She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing she’d gone too far. She hadn't meant to say that part; she wanted to get under his skin, but not enough to end up in jail.

Jerry slammed on the brakes, stopping the car so abruptly that Emma, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt, nearly flew into the back of his seat. Her hair fell over her face, and her eyes went wide. She pressed a hand to her chest, using the other to push her hair back.

"Get out," Jerry whispered through gritted teeth.

Emma glared at him. She was the one who should be fuming, so why was he radiating an aura that clearly signaled he’d kill her if she didn't step out of his fancy "trash"? Hissing loudly, Emma opened the door and banged it shut behind her. She stood outside, tapping her foot impatiently.

Jerry gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He took two deep breaths before stepping out, watching the girl glare at him. She hissed at him again.

*Speaking of guts, I bet she has plenty to be giving me that look,* Jerry thought with a scoff, before walking abruptly into the store.