You’re the Boss Read Online Emma Hart

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 105850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
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“You’re staring at that coffee machine like it’s a riddle you must crack.”

I jolted, twisting around to look at him. “Ah, I’m just wondering if there’s a manual in the drawers anywhere.”

“For the coffee machine?”

No.

For the oven.

Obviously, I wanted one for the coffee machine.

“You’re quite fussy with your morning coffee, sir,” I said, turning my attention back to the machine. “Rest assured that spending an hour figuring out how to use this machine today is for my benefit rather than yours.”

“You make it sound like I’m a demon without my morning caffeine.”

“It would never suggest such a thing, sir.”

He leant back against the kitchen counters with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Must you call me that when we aren’t working? It’s so… impersonal.”

I poked through the drawers in search of the manual and found the quick start guide. “Ah-ha! This should help.”

“Chloe, are you listening to me at all?”

“Not particularly,” I replied, flipping open the little booklet. “As you said, we aren’t working, so I didn’t think I had to.”

“Ha. I think I’m beginning to see why you said living with you is a nightmare.”

“Just you wait, sir.” I hit the power button on the coffee machine, then looked at him over my shoulder. “This time next week, you’ll be wishing you accepted my resignation the first time I offered it to you.”

CHAPTER TEN – CHLOE

Teach You The Basics

“This is an iron.” I plugged it in at the wall and checked to make sure the little light was on. “I doubt you’ve seen one of these before, sir.”

“It’s an iron, not a unicorn,” Theodore replied, sipping his tea. “I know what it is.”

“Have you ever used one?”

“That’s entirely unrelated to whether or not I’ve seen it before.”

I sighed and picked up one of his shirts. “Pay attention. I’m not ironing all your shirts, so you should watch closely.”

“Why can’t we just wait for Auntie Pat to come on Tuesday? She’ll do them for me.”

“Because you’re a grown-ass man who isn’t working this weekend,” I swiftly retorted. “If you’d packed them properly in the first place, this never would have happened. Sir.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

He glared at me over his cup. “Adding ‘sir’ to the end of a sentence to make it sound as though you aren’t getting a dig in.”

I smoothed his shirt out across the ironing board. “As I said before, I have no idea what you mean, sir.”

“I’ve told you not to call me sir when we aren’t working. It’s weird considering our living arrangements.”

The iron was at temperature, so I picked it up and started on his shirt. “Make sure to follow the seams or you’ll just end up adding strange creases,” I explained. “Take extra care at the top of the shirt where the sleeves are especially.”

“Chloe—”

“It’s quite fidgety around the shoulder area, so put the iron down on the holder if you need extra time to adjust the fabric. If you leave it on the shirt, you’ll burn it,” I continued, happily ignoring him. “We both know I’m going to end up redoing whatever you do, but I’d like you to at least pretend to try, sir.”

“Chloe!” He put his mug down and sighed, running his hand through his hair. It was un-styled and unusually fluffy, and when he peered over at me with the barest hit of desperation in his usually icy eyes, he almost looked gentle.

So gentle that something fluttered in my stomach.

Oh, dear.

That wasn’t good.

I cleared my throat and put the iron down so I could move the shirt on the board again. “I’m only here, sir. There’s no need to shout.”

“There is when you aren’t listening to me.”

“You’re mistaken, sir. I am listening to you. I’m simply choosing not to respond to you.”

He groaned, once again sliding his fingers into his hair. “How on Earth have we worked together for the last ten months without exploding?”

“You’ve started to pay attention when I choose not to respond to your silly comments,” I said brightly, my gaze fully focused on the shirt. “It never bothered you when you didn’t.”

“I don’t think asking you to call me something other than ‘sir’ when we’re not working is unreasonable. Do you not feel uncomfortable?”

“I think I’d feel far more uncomfortable calling you by your name.”

“Why? We’ve known each other for years.”

“And in all those years you’ve never been anything other than Mr Black or sir to me,” I reminded him, putting the iron down and finally meeting his eyes. “I’ll never say never, but for now, please drop it.”

He sighed, lowering his chin to his chest. “All right, fine. As you wish.”

Damn it.

Was he sulking?

“Let’s compromise.” I swept his shirt off the ironing board and held it up. “After you pass me that hanger.”

He picked it up from the counter and held it out for me to hang the shirt on. “What compromise?”


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