Chapter 7

I'm sitting across from Jake in Eleven Madison Park, a bustling popular restaurant, his current favorite place to eat and watching him mess with his cell while we wait on our food. "Jake?" I interrupt gently. "Emma?" He responds without looking up. He's deliberately being evasive. "The Hunter merger?" My curiosity has been niggling all the way here and I have been extremely patient. He sighs and looks down at his cell, puts it inside his jacket, bringing his steady green gaze back to me. His face unreadable. "My father and Hunter are not what you would call the best of friends anymore," he mumbles quietly. Sighing that he can't avoid this any longer. "Anymore?" I repeat flatly. "Yes, Emma, anymore. They used to be as close as Daniel and I." He leans back, sliding down into his chair a little and slides his feet to cage mine under the table on either side. Our upper ankles connecting slightly. Jake is a toucher; he always has to have some sort of contact it seems. It no longer bothers me given it was such a slow thing that I just got used to. "What happened?" I watch his face carefully, he's good at giving nothing away, amazing poker face. "My father had an affair with Elsa Hunter." Daniel's mother, and Hunter's wife. Crap. I wasn't expecting that. Is that the basis of his bond with Daniel, shared anger at their parents? "It's not exactly common knowledge." He sighs and moves his water glass; he needs a point of focus. I can tell this is something he hates talking about. Jake only fidgets when he's very uncomfortable and it's his biggest tell, watching items he moves around, as though for distraction. "When?" I know I shouldn't pry, but Jake rarely denies me knowledge, on any subject. Weirdly. "When I was in my early twenties … My mother forgave him, but I didn't, not for a long time … I'm not sure I've forgiven him, even now. He broke her heart." Jake's relationship with his mother is unparalleled. I can see why he harbors so much anger toward his father and I also see why Jake's a little apprehensive when it comes to real relationships. "Is that why you pushed for this? … To get at him?" I nudge his ankle gently with mine, so he'll look at me. "Yes … No … We stand to do well with this, but I guess it's always been a factor." He shrugs and avoids my gaze, signaling that the money hasn't been the main reason. Jake's also a "shrugger"; it has to be his most common mannerism, annoyingly so. It does, however, emphasize his shoulders and the sheer solid mass of them. "How did you find out?" I try tearing my gaze from his upper body. Still appreciative that he looks good in everything he wears. "Carl Hunter caught them in bed together, in his own house." He's still focusing on his glass and turning it absent-mindedly. Clearly not happy. "So, that's why there's a weird atmosphere when he's around?" I watch his every movement, a little empathetic to how young he looks when he does this. Makes so much more sense now. "I don't think I can ever forgive him for hurting my mom like that. She deserves better than him." I know Jake's close to his mother, he visits her often and he has me send her flowers every month. A dozen colorful Gerberas … her favorites. A thoughtful son. "She stayed with him though? She could have left him if she wanted too." I point out, a little enamored with how deeply he feels for his mother's heart ache. Sensitive and loyal. Who would have guessed it? "You try leaving a publicly famous billionaire when he's been caught with his finger in someone else's pie, Bambino … She knew he would have caused chaos for her if she tried. It's one of the reasons I feel like I do about him. He's a fucking control freak and all about his reputation." The flash of anger surprises me. Jake isn't one to lose his cool so easily, or publicly. He shifts in his chair, taking a deep breath and quells his outburst a little; his eyes are still stormy, but his awareness of the surroundings causes it to burn out quickly. "He forced her to stay?" I understand why he feels that way. "In a way, I feel he did." He gazes across the restaurant as though trying to find his inner calm in the sea of strange faces around us. "And now?" I urge. Coaxing him with no real input to give back. "She's in her fifties, she's resigned herself to the fact she won't ever be able to find someone else and I guess she still has feelings for him. She's trapped in a loveless marriage." He looks back at me, a small sardonic smile brewing. The hurt evident on his face and it makes me want to reach out and take his hand, but I hold back. "A loveless marriage?" The thought is so sad, especially for someone as lovely as Sylvana Carrero. "It's been loveless on his part for a long time, Emma. I think even before the affair there were cracks in the facade. My father married her after a one-month romance." He finally stops looking around evasively, his eyes coming to rest on my face. "Do you think Elsa was the only affair?" I ask, wondering why he's telling me this now. "Probably not, but it's the only one I found out about." "It explains why you're always so off with him. Your parents seem fine when I've met them at events." That is true; a beautiful woman and her adoring husband is what they excel at portraying in person. How odd that the truth is so very different. I know all about hiding true appearances. I am a master of deceit in my own right. "A carefully played ruse, Emma. My father is all about appearances, my mother knows her place and how to play her part." Jake looks angry again, but his demeanor is still cool and controlled, he moves his glass for the tenth time in a show of discomfort. "Your behavior in your younger years? … Rebelling was payback?" This has interested me for a while, his teen wild days and then reform always seems at odds with how he is now. He shrugs and drinks his wine thoughtfully. "Some … I had other reasons too." He looks anywhere but me, and I can tell he's hiding something. Being evasive again. "Such as?" I nudge again with a soft smile, not easily swayed. "Italian blood." He smiles cheekily, trying to pass off my question and I see it doesn't reach his eyes. It's the first time I've ever seen him truly avoidant when it comes to our personal chats; normally he's so open with me about everything. I push down the tremor of doubt, my gut telling me that maybe I'm over thinking it. Our steaks arrive, and we sit silently while the waitress lays them out on our table. He gives her one of his seductive smiles and I watch her literally slump with desire. Jesus, you're being so obvious, it's actually pathetic woman! I frown across at him, a visual telling off. He likes to invoke the reaction for his own amusement, the eternal playboy with the childish temperament. He likes the effect he has on women of all ages. "She may have trouble finishing her shift now," I scold after she wanders away. "Jealous?" He winks at me, but I just glare at him coldly. No. Maybe? "Your un-flailing libido never fails to impress me," I retort sarcastically. Ignoring how often it does annoy me. "Least I have a sex life." He takes a mouthful of food, giving me that teasing eyebrow lift of his. "Meaning?" I pick up my fork and clean it on my napkin before I start with the salad, still watching him with a very serious expression. "Meaning, I've spent many intimate hours with you and am yet to see any form of date or fuck buddy keeping you cheerful." He raises his eyebrows then digs into his food again. No shame in what he just said, and I swallow hard. "I've more important things to do and no desire to date or find a "fuck buddy"." I grimace at his term, throwing him a furrowed brow, completely unamused. "Might put a smile on your face." He's grinning. I lift my chin towards him and throw on a mock smile, as widely as I can muster. Forced of course. "There. See. No man needed," I point out as he laughs and shakes his head at me in amusement. "How come you never seem to date anyone? I mean you're not exactly unattractive, you could easily pull … I've seen the way men check you out. Are you holding out for me to hang up my playboy hat and settle down?" He chuckles. The thought makes me feel odd inside, but I remain impassive. "I've more than enough testosterone to deal with, having you glued to my hip on a daily basis, Carrero. And no. I don't ever see you taking that hat off and being happy with only one woman to keep your interest." I'm trying to keep my focus on my food as my cheeks warm up, I'm not comfortable with this ever-probing fascination with my lack of boyfriend. It makes me squirm in my seat. "Emma?" he looks at me pointedly, that hint of serious coming through the boyish charm. "Even women have needs." Do they? I think sourly. I'm pretty sure I've never needed to go there. I tried it when I was young; non-serious boyfriends and the pressure of other kids doing it. I didn't like it much and it only left a nasty taste in my mouth. "You would know, of course, being one hundred percent hot-blooded male." I laugh at him, raising a brow at the man who is as far from feminine as any guy can get. "I go to bed with enough women to know it's not only men who crave sex. There's no way you can tell me you don't get the raging horn, at all?" He's a little too focused on me now and looking all too invested in this. "Jake, can we talk about something else? I don't think I want to talk about sex with my boss over lunch." An anxious knot has moved up into my stomach at the topic of conversation making me uncomfortable, like I always am when any conversation is turned on me and my life. Something he often does. He has no sense of boundaries. "Do you need me to set you up? Are you secretly man shy? Or maybe I should show you what a real man feels like." He winks at me and I just roll my eyes, suppressing a smile at his humor. "Like I would ever trust your choice of men … Or you! … The Daniel Hunters of this world don't do a thing for me." I smile sweetly. That's an understatement. "So, what is your type of man?" he asks curiously, focusing on me instead of his food now. I throw him a dark look, indicating that I really mean we are done with this topic. My type? Far, far, away from me. "Okay, okay … Are you going home to visit your mom anytime soon?" he pushes in a new direction instead, but I just drop my fork, mood dying, and temper punching me in the stomach. For god's sake. "This again?" I snap and shake my head at him, irritated, being too sharp with him in reaction. "Don't roll your eyes and wave your hands at me!" He shoves my foot with his under the table, and I kick him back, a light satisfied smirk crossing my mouth as he grimaces with a glare. Relieving me of my temper a little. "Why do you always bring her up?" I accuse. Pissed that he does this – a lot. "Because I find it weird that you never go home to see her, Emma … She's your mother, and Chicago is two hours on a plane. It's hardly on the other side of the world. You know you can use the jet whenever you need it." He's frowning at me, all green eyes and stiff, squared jaw, looking wounded at my anger over this. Reverting to child. "I don't need to run home and see 'Mommy', Jake. I'm a big girl with my own life." I scold. I hate that he always presses me about this at every opportunity. "I go see my 'Mommy' every couple of weeks … She gave birth to me and raised me. I can't imagine going five years without one trip home … it's odd." He narrows his brows at me, and that green gaze just penetrates mine. "It's not like she hasn't come here to New York. I don't need to go home." My food isn't satisfying me like it normally does, and I realize the conversation is souring the taste. I put down my napkin too now I've lost my appetite. "You grew up there … Don't you miss it?" he's still eating and trying to come across as non-intrusive, but I'm not fooled. Jake is one of the most intrusive people I've ever known; he has a severe craving to pry into my life every day and he is as subtle as a bull. "No," I snap. Finally letting the irritation rule and losing my cool with him properly. "Did you leave for a reason, and that's why you get so pissed about this?" My eyes flash up as though he's struck me, but I quickly look back down. I won't have this conversation; he needs to leave it alone and know when he's crossing the line—again. I'm tired of this. "Drop it," I say quietly, the rush of emotion running through me, dampening all of the happy I had on arriving here. It's not a good feeling. "You never talk about you, Emma … You know everything about me," he almost pleads but it falls on deaf ears. "I never knew your father had an affair before now!" I snap, a little more harshly this time, looking at him accusingly and hoping to push this away. "But you do know now." He sulks a little, his green eyes narrowing under furrowed brows. Little boy scolded comes to mind and equally as stubborn as me. Sometimes we bicker, it usually goes a lot like this and usually for similar topics. I sigh heavily, annoyed, at well, everything. Guilty at making him like this and regretting my harsh tone immensely. Jake makes me feel bad so easily. "I'm sure there are things you haven't told me, Jake … Everyone is entitled to privacy." I remember the fleeting look earlier in our conversation and see it reflected in his eyes once more. Something is there after all. It seems to cause him to back off, thankfully. Realizing he has secrets too. "Fine … But it's just weird." He dips his eyes down at his plate, definite sulk face on. I cannot help the tug of affection that softens my whole attitude. Man-child returns. "You are the king of weird, you attract massive amounts of weird, so you have a cheek." I try a friendlier tone, efforts to bring humor back into the conversation. I hate when we bicker and argue over pointless things and as his frown smooths out to be replaced with a growing warmth, he knows what I'm hinting at. "You're talking about that freaky Lisa?" he smiles slightly, mood dispersing too. Such is our way. Yes, he got my hint. There hasn't been weirder than that. "You didn't say no to her weird fetishes … You asked your PA to research them." I narrow my eyes accusingly but can't help the giggle that springs from my throat. Mood lifted, and irritation gone, just like that, like always. We recover quickly, effortlessly. He laughs too. "I didn't actually partake, Emma, I just didn't think she was being serious … I thought I was missing some joke." He smiles, his natural cute Jake smile, and it makes me smile too. Glad that he is once again his normal, infuriatingly smug, and cheeky self once more. Bickering over. "You called me at four in the morning to ask me if diapers would turn me on." I reminisce while chuckling, remembering the shock that had run over me when I had been rudely awakened with that drunken question. "I needed another female perspective. A normal female perspective. She scared the shit out of me." He flinches at the memory which only makes me grin all the more. "How do you think I felt … I got a wakeup call from my drunk boss asking me about weird crap to do with adult babying fetishes, and diapers." I remind him. Raising my brow and fixing him with an accusatory look. "You were very cool on the cell … Efficient as ever … Serious about the whole thing. I think it was the first time I figured you and I were going to be best friends." He's laughing at the memory as my heart ups it's beat on the best friend comment and warms slightly. He has said something similar several times before. I guess the feeling's mutual. I never really thought about Jake and I being real friends before this promotion progressed, but I guess we are. I remember that night well, I had tried to gauge his seriousness and even attempted a rational factual conversation while skimming Google for answers. Cringing the whole time and wondering what the hell he was on. I shake my head, grinning too. "Only you could pull the freaky one in a nightclub full of normal women, Jake." I point out, relaxing once more. "She ended up going home with Daniel and he still doesn't mention it." I burst out laughing, unguarded and heartfelt, and that does make me feel better. Daniel still gives me the creeps and the thought of him tied up in a baby's crib with some strange diaper wearing crazy makes me laugh. Jake is chuckling too. He leans over, topping up my now empty wine glass; we're only halfway through our food and I haven't noticed how much I've drunk already. His bad influence on me has turned me into a wine with food type of person. He always orders by the bottle wherever we go to eat. I never drunk much before Jake. I pick up my fork, starting to eat again now that my temper has improved along with my appetite. Feeling light and merry now, and ravenous once more. "I like you when you're like this." He nods over at me, a happy expression on his face, eyes almost twinkling. "Like what?" I look up innocently, the steak is so tender that I'm now savoring every mouthful. Appetite fully restored. "More relaxed. PA mode on hiatus. When you forget to play cool." It sobers me slightly, he has a way of making me forget myself when we are kicking back and much like now, it startles me. I don't like letting that mask drop, I don't like people seeing too deeply. Especially not him. "It's hard to focus when you ply me with alcohol," I return a little too quickly, trying to reel in my controlled facade once again, pushing the glass away from my plate. That's enough wine. "Maybe that's why I do it." He smiles softly, but it makes me suddenly uncomfortable. I ram food into my mouth and stare across the restaurant, looking for a diverting topic. I gesture toward the far window with my fork, and he turns to look at what I'm pointing at spotting the movie star too, he looks back at me shrugging. "He's an asshole … I've met him. He's a bit of a diva, and I mean look at him; he's wearing a god-damn flower brooch … If that doesn't scream closet gay, then I don't know what does." He shrugs nonchalantly, but for some reason this makes me laugh unexpectedly and causes me to choke on my half-chewed steak. I erupt into a coughing fit which has me grabbing for my wine, in an effort to dislodge the lump in my throat before I die. "Jesus, Emma, don't have a coronary over seeing some asshole Hollywood big shot." He's laughing at me now and I throw him a pained look. I gasp for air, thumping my chest to push my steak down and inhaling heavily. "Fuck you." I manage weakly, with a smile. "Swearing at your boss is good grounds for dismissal … gross misconduct." He jokes and tops up my glass again with a wink, highlighting the fact I just drank it all without meaning to. "So, fire me." I throw back, slugging down my red wine and finally clearing the food that is still caught in my throat and intent on half killing me. Not caring about intake while choking. "Can't fire my future wife!" he acts shocked and grasps his chest in a mock horror response before he chucks his fork down on his plate, also finished with his food. I ignore the wife comment, another frequent joke he makes. "Dessert?" He gestures at me with a questioning brow. I shake my head; I've drunk too much wine, feeling a little tipsy now and I need to get out of here. I need coffee. "Back to the grind, Bella." He offers me his hand as I get up, chucking my napkin on the empty plate. I take it without hesitation and let him pull me with him, then immediately wonder when this stopped being weird. When we started holding hands casually. How many times have I let Jake touch me without repulsion coursing through me? Or questioning it? I walk behind him contemplating this fact, staring at our loosely held fingers. It's become something as familiar as being around him now. Maybe it is just the nature of our relationship … Platonic and safe. We are real friends. The jokes about sex, the best friend comments, and wife vibes are frequent, but I know it is all play. Jake is never anything but a complete gentleman, well, minus the man handling, but even that is not so bad. I've never had a platonic relationship with men of any age, and it makes me feel slightly strange now that I'm examining it. * * * The afternoon is chaotic. For the first time, I'm glad of my assistant, Rosalie's, lingering presence; it feels like I don't get a second to think. Jake's in his office with just as much going on as me; I've walked in there a dozen times with files and notes and each time he seems to be shedding clothes. He's now sitting with his shirt pulled out, unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves rolled up. His normally styled hair is ruffled, messy, and his tie and jacket are strewn across his couch. His shoes are lying in the middle of the floor, a sure sign he's stressed. I pick up his tie and jacket and hang them neatly on the hooks behind his door, shuffling his shoes to under the edge of his desk with the toes of my stilettos. I move all the papers from the left side he's been through and pile them neatly into an open box file, before laying out some stapled contracts he needs to sign to send down to legal. He smiles up at me briefly, leaning back so I can move the papers in front of him, before setting to sign them while propping his cell to his ear. I move around in companionable silence, straightening and removing things from his workspace so he can take the new ones. Noting he's done with the Hunter briefs; I scoop them up to take them. We have gelled this way for a while now, anticipating each other's movements silently, and wordlessly working around one another. It's something that just happened organically over the weeks. "Emma?" he pauses on the cell, throwing me a soft look. "Yes?" "Organize a flight to Seattle for tomorrow, early as you can. We'll need hotel rooms for the next five days and a car." He moves his cell into his neck some more and keeps signing papers. "Yes, Mr. Carrero." I always use his title when we're in front of company, or he's on the phone. Another trip! I sigh. We haven't been back from London that long, and Jake was right; hotels no longer did it for me, even five-star suites. It's just another few days getting tired from jet-lag and a week of grueling work with men in suits who look at me like I am worthless. We have taken so many trips already that it feels like second nature to me now. The novelty has well and truly worn off. Margo was right. * * * It's been two hours watching him through the glass panels in the boardroom as I sit in a temporary office. So far, I've been in there several times with files, coffee, and whatever else he asks of me. I'm not needed right now, so I'm sitting in the next room waiting for the next command via text. I'm as fed up as he looks. My laptop is keeping my focus; if this meeting runs over any longer then it's going to be a late night and we have flights to catch in the morning. I have an hour on the subway to get home to Sunnyside as it is after this so I can pack. I watch him lift his cell from the table in front of him and start touching the screen with a hint of amusement on his face, I wonder what he's up to. A second later my own cell buzzes and I pick it up, seeing the email notification from Jake. Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift. Frowning, confused, I open the email and find he has gifted me a song. Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift. "Rescue Me" by The Raffetillies. I stifle a giggle and shake my head, looking up through the glass and catching his quick eyebrow raise before he turns his attention back to the meeting at hand. Biting my lip, I scroll iTunes for a suitable title and purchase a gift in return. I send it to him and wait to see if he will read it. "Cry Baby" by Melanie Martinez. I wait, watching for his reaction and hold my breath while smirking as he pulls his cell over and slides the screen. A couple of presses, then he lets out a laugh and tries to cover with a cough. I catch a couple of the stuffed shirts look up disapprovingly, but they say nothing, and the meeting continues. Jake throws me a wink with a small shake of his head. Very amused. Back at you, Carrero. Not so funny now, are you? I smile to myself, satisfied with our little joke. * * * Finally, the men all shuffle out of the boardroom as I stand dutifully by, politely saying farewells like a good little PA. Thank god. Jake emerges with a smile on his face and immediately pulls me to one side. "Effective form of communication … Music." He grins at me, looking as gorgeous as he always does, if not a little tired with dark shadows under his eyes. "I can see this being abused by you, now you've found something else that you think is clever and amusing." I smile with a slight groan at the twinkle in his eye and can already predict this will become frequent. "Say it with song titles … They do say music can speak volumes." He winks, resting his arm on the door jamb over my head, so he's leaning into me extremely close and smelling a little too divine. Citrus and jake – a perfect combo. I'm aware of the odd glances a couple of passing assistants throw our way and try to press myself back a little, to make it look less intimate. "Hmmm." I look down at the time and point out that we should head home, uncomfortable with the attention he's drawing. After all we have a flight to Seattle to get on tomorrow and I don't want to fuel gossip.