A Double Dose of Billionaire - Part 4

I braced myself as I walked up to my employee, certain he’d messed something up. As I retied my hair—it had gotten messy over the day—I paced toward John’s counter. He was working on decorations, using marshmallow fondant. I saw miniature soccer balls on his counter. I remembered that order. The customer wanted something to commemorate her son’s eighteenth birthday, so it was a relatively complicated order. It seemed like a feat for John to handle.

I examined his handiwork. It was shoddy, but acceptable.

Pointing to the fondant he was rolling, I said, “You need more water, your fondant is cracking.”

I didn’t realize I had been stealthy until John whipped his head around, looking as if he just saw a ghost. “Oh, Scarlet, ma’am. Um, hi. I’ll get right on it.”

The boy reached for the jug of water, but his clumsy hands slipped and it tipped over, splashing over the tabletop and all over the fondant.

He looked at his work in horror. “Oh, my God. I’ll get this cleaned up immediately. The batch is ruined, ma’am. Oh shit.” He turned away and wiped his hands. “What do I do?”

I sighed, knowing something like this was bound to happen. I hadn’t fired him yet because he showed potential. Some of the desserts he created actually tasted pretty good. His family was also struggling and they needed the cash. John just needed to get over his clumsiness. Then, he’d be on the road to becoming a great pastry chef. “Calm down. We’ll just make another batch. This isn’t a rush order. It’s not due till tomorrow.”

He took a big gulp. “Yes, ma’am.”

“C’mon, move over. I might be able to salvage this. It’s a waste to throw failed batches away. We might be able to fix this.”

I scooted next to his side and reached for some icing. Narrowing my eyes, I as**sessed the damage. It wasn’t too bad, I had to cut out some parts of it, and it was a little sticky, but nothing disastrous.

In the midst of working with the fondant, Agatha, my nanny, came out of the nursing room, gasping for air. “Mrs. Crawford. Good lord, the twins. They won’t stop fighting. Nathan made Ethan cry and now he won’t stop. And Nathan is messing up the toys and playroom, laughing at his brother. It’s a war zone in there.” I flinched when she called me by that name. It reminded me of the Ryan’s and Riley’s mother. I asked her so many times to call me Scarlet, or ma’am, but she never listened.

Tired, I swiped a hand across my forehead, no doubt leaving a trail of ingredients over it. “I’m coming over shortly. Wendy, are you almost done with your batter? Can you take over with the cake decorations?”

“Give me a minute,” she called back.

I wiped my hands with a rag and threw it back onto the counter. Agatha took care of my children when I was busy working. Ryan and Riley hired her so I could be more focused when running my business. The interior of the bakery had an extra room for their nursery, but it made the rest of the rooms smaller.

My kids weren’t as sweet and tame as I hoped they’d be. Seemingly, they’d gotten the playful gene from their fathers. I still loved them just as much. Some naughtiness in children is good. It makes parenthood livelier, albeit more frustrating.

Bracing myself for what was to come, I entered the nursery. Always imagine the chaos to be worse than it is. That way, I would stay more level-headed when handling the situation and not freak out. I envisioned baby food on the walls, and some furniture getting torn. Luckily, my toddlers hadn’t trashed the room to that extent yet.

Nathan had a building block in his mouth, laughing, while Ethan cried as if doomsday was arriving. Their toys were a mess and thrown all across the floor.

Not as bad as I thought.

“Boys,” I said sternly.

Their heads whipped up and they stared at me with their adorable doe eyes. Initially, they looked surprised to see their mother walking in on their mischief, then Nathan sprang into action.

He stood up, waddled to me, and pointed to his brother. He usually had a lot to say, half of which I couldn’t understand. What I got from his muttering and exaggerated hand gestures, however, was a ‘he started it’.

I raised a finger. “Tell me what exactly happened. And don’t lie about it, Nathan. Lying is bad.”

He nodded his head vigorously. “Ethan take my car. I asked him put it down, but he no listen and then he threw it and I tried to stop him, but the car went there. He threw it all the way to there.”

Hearing what his brother accused, Ethan whipped his head back and sobbed harder. I used to have a short temper, but having these twins required me to have the patience of a saint. I’d been trained to master zen patience by these two.