Chapter 9

The sun piercing tiny slices through the drapes is worse than having salt poured in my eyes. The nausea hits as I try to sit up and my mouth waters crazily. My cell is by the bed, and I realize it's been switched off; I never switch it off, I don't even know what time it is and I could have missed a multitude of calls. I swallow down the bile and reach for the glass beside my bed, lukewarm water will have to do. I know I should remember last night but after my third drink on the couch I don't remember much else. I don't do hard liquor, so it's no surprise. I'm a total lightweight. I know at one-point Jake came back; I think. Maybe. I have strange images of him leaning over me with his tie hanging free; I'm not even sure if it was a dream or a memory from another time. I shower fast to combat the dizziness and ram toast and paracetamol down my throat in the sitting area in a bid to recover quickly. The place is silent, and I guess Jake is still in bed. I remember Felicity is here, I forgot about her; I always try and ignore his female guests. At least I slept through her screaming for once which is the only upside to my hangover. My head winces every time I move and I'm having to sip water to keep the gag reflex at bay. I'm regretting drinking brandy immensely. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I let it get to me that much? Why did I let that idiot get under my skin? I have more resolve than that, but I think it was the shock. It's been twelve years since his last contact and although I knew he would resurface one day, I hadn't expected it yesterday. I'm wearing workout clothes as I intend to hit the gym when the nausea subsides to sweat this out of my system. I'm glad we don't have any meetings today, nothing planned until this evening with a late client dinner. I might be able to get through it if we're working from here. It's gone 9.00 a.m. and wonder why Jake's not up. Even on weekends he never sleeps past six, even with a hangover, and this isn't like him. I don't have to ponder it for long, as he appears, walking in the door, wearing sweats and a T-shirt soaked in sweat. He's already been down at the gym and has a towel draped around his neck. He is bright and cheery as usual; he's a morning person, something I'm not and never have been. I smile with effort as he walks in, grimacing as I just feel awful. "Morning, shorty," he smiles back. "Morning," I mumble. "How's the head?" "Sore." I sigh and wince almost in reply. "There's painkillers in the bathroom." He flashes me a happy smile as he walks past the couch. "I got some already." I shake a packet in the air as proof. "Have you eaten?" he walks across toward the kitchenette intent on whatever he is doing. Always at home in our suites. "Yup …" "Good. Quickest way to recover from a hangover. Can you order me some breakfast, I'm going for a shower?" He's at the fridge drinking a bottle of water, before throwing me a Jake special "I'll floor you with my sexy" smile and raised eyebrow in way of thanks and stalks off to his room. I wonder where Miss. Crane is as I watch his rather too pert ass sauntering away and guess she's still asleep. Jake must have exhausted her last night, and it instantly pisses me off. Killing any good mood, I may have thought of having today. Ughhh! * * * He eats breakfast in the sitting area while reading through papers, in his trademark jeans and T-shirt, he's barefoot and his hair is still ruffled and damp from his shower. He looks nothing like the CEO of the company I first met, and every bit a random guy on a weekend. It somehow feels a bit too domestic. Felicity is sound asleep in his room giving us some much-needed peace before her screeching voice grates on my nerves again. I am glad of her absence, for some reason her presence today is annoying me, way more than normal. He doesn't seem intent on any kind of work yet, and I'm glad. I'm trying to stay as still as possible, laying in my space on the couch beside him It's the only way the nausea and sore head are bearable and I'm trying to concentrate on the laptop on my thighs. The screen won't stay in focus and I'm finding it hellish. I sigh, sliding it onto the table and lay down properly, resting my head on the cushioned arm. He gives me a knowing smirk and I glare at him in response. I'm so not in the mood for him to take the piss right now. Yes, I'm hungover, Jake. So, what! I should maybe remind him of how many times I've seen him legless and stumbling into hotel rooms at stupid o'clock. I've seen sunglasses wearing, grouchy, next day Jake, many times over the past few months. He finally puts down his mug of coffee and financial times and throws a glance at me. He shifts in position into his "I'm getting ready to chat" pose and I groan inwardly. I'm suffering, and I would really like to stay silent for the entire day. Cool composed Emma is on holiday right now. "You want to talk about last night?" he looks me straight in the eye, all Mr. Serious and my hair stands on end. "Last night?" A memory of it for a start, might be helpful. He watches me carefully and I shift in my space, a little uncomfortably, unsure what's so engrossing. What did I do last night besides getting smashed? What does he want to talk about? "Drunk Emma as fun as she was isn't someone I've ever met." He eyes me accusingly. I already feel apprehensive about his tone. "Or will likely to again, seeing as I feel like hell." I grimace and haul my arm over my eyes, so I don't need to look at him, he's studying me a little too intensely. "You want to continue our conversation?" He pushes on, regardless of my "go away" posture. Lays his hand casually on my bent knee, propping it up at the wrist and rests quite happily there. "What conversation?" I ask, genuinely confused but stay concealed under my arm, my gut churning like I may not like this. "You don't remember?" The surprise in his voice makes me a little wary. I shake my head and the color rises in my cheeks; Jake never presses for no reason. What the hell did I say to him last night? "I put you to bed." Well, that explains why my cell was off. He turns his off every night, whereas I normally don't. Just in case I'm needed. "Thanks." I mumble. I want to ask him what I said, but I don't, because I'm scared. I'm scared I might actually have told him something I didn't want him to know. "You talked about your father." He says matter of factly. Crap. Like that. The anger rises in me unexpectedly and it's too quick to grind back down. "He's not my father! … He's just a donor to my existence, and nothing more." I snap, jumping to my feet, his hand falling to the couch, surprising him. The heat rises in my chest; teen Emma's anger renewed with a fury and I'm pissed at myself for her appearance once again. I angrily storm to the kitchenette, I need water and a second to calm down. And a boss who stops bloody well digging into stuff that has nothing to do with him. "And Ray?" The question is so precise and unimposing yet has a devastating effect on me. Stomach lurching to my throat, I falter and drop my water bottle hard on my foot, giving out a shocked yell and jump back as pain sears through my toes. "Are you okay?" He leans around, looking at me. His eyes steady on me as I scramble back but my head reels as I bend down to retrieve the Evian bottle and try to take a deep breath through instant dizziness. Control Emma … Control. I stand back up slowly, and more deliberately, letting it pass. How does he know about Ray? "Fine." I answer stiffly. "Come here, we need to talk about this." He watches me intensely, a no-nonsense expression on his face. "No." I close him down and take a gulp of my water, it almost chokes me going down. I want to know what I told him about Ray, about my father but I also don't want to know, don't want to talk about this. I feel sick, maybe I should tell him I need to throw up and lock myself in my room for an hour, make him leave me alone. I need to think. "Don't you trust me, Emma?" he sounds so hurt, it hurts me too and knocks me sideways in surprise. "Of course, I trust you." I turn to him, flashing anger. Incensed at the question. How could he ask me that? We're together almost constantly, I have to trust him, I do trust him. I have never told him otherwise! I realize it's the first time I've admitted to myself that I actually do, and it startles me a little to really let it sink in. I trust Jake! I trust a man! When did that happen? How did that happen? What's more amazing is that I trust playboy Casanova Jake Carrero … my heart-throb boss with his string of women and his hands-on personality. "Then talk to me, Emma," he presses further, refusing to give up; his eyes still steady on me. I shake my head and turn away because I can't look at him while feeling so shellshocked. Why can't he understand that certain things don't need to be brought up … Talked about? The past is done, and I'm done with the past; talking about it only makes it linger. Brings it to the forefront of my mind, where it has no place to be. "I don't need to talk about this." I huff, urging him to drop it. He's on his feet and walks toward me and I feel trapped as he approaches. I know if I walk off, he'll follow me. He has that determined expression on his face, the one usually reserved for stubborn clients. He grabs my upper arm gently and pulls me to face him, visually his expression is angry, but his manner is calm. I try to twist free, but he holds me tighter; I think he knows I'll walk off if he lets me go. "You said he beat you and tried to molest you." I gasp and withdraw from him, shocked that I even let that much out in my drunken stupor. Heart flipping over in my chest. Crap. I don't want him to know about this. What the fuck, Emma? I don't want him looking at me like some sad little victim, incapable of taking care of herself. Why would I tell him that? He seems surprised by my reaction and lets me go instantly. "Please, Jake." Trembling with the unexpected bite of tears in the back of my eyes, I stalk past him. I can't do this; he has no right. I can't get upset and let him see weak Emma, she doesn't exist anymore; I've no will to let her come back now. "I want to know, Emma, you're my friend." He follows me, and the anger writhes inside of me once more. Teen Emma raising her ugly head and losing control like she always did, fiery temper flaring. "Why? It changes nothing!" I snap a little too aggressively and throw him a hateful glare impulsively. Shit … I'm falling apart; I don't shout at Jake. I don't shout at anyone like this. I've more control than this now, I'm no longer that hostile teen Emma. "It affects you." He's equally riled, but I don't care. Be angry. You started this, Jake. Leave me alone. "This doesn't affect my ability to work for you, therefore it's none of your business." I snarl through gritted teeth. "You are my business; we work together almost every second of almost every day. Our relationship goes a little deeper than boss and assistant. It depends on trust and honesty to be able to work this way." His voice is heated, he reaches for me again and I move out of the way, tense, and prickling. If he touches me, I may lash out, I need to go to my room. "I trust you with every detail of my life; would be nice if you did the same." His voice matches mine, tense and tempered, rage bubbling between us and it feels like intense static in the air. "You don't pay me to burden you with my past." I snap at him. Evading him still. "If you don't tell me, I'll find out for myself." He threatens, and I catch the glimpse of darkness move into his eyes. "What do you mean?" I falter at his threat. Losing my fire for a second. There's an edgy tone I don't relish, and it stops me in my tracks, causing me to glare at him with uncertainty. "I'll have security do a deep background check on you, and pull up old dirt," he snarls. Caught in his own anger. "You wouldn't?" I scream at him, panic flaring at what he might find out and my heart almost implodes inside my chest. How dare he! That crosses the line in so many goddamn ways, and I'm not even sure it's legal. What the hell is he doing? What's he even thinking about? I'm supposed to trust him after he's just said that to me? Rage and hatred shoots through me at a hundred miles an hour and I can't contain it. I clench my fists and march away from him, stamping. I need space before I break something over his head. Before teen Emma and her erratic emotional self bursts forth and ruins my life. I'm reeling but I'm terrified that he may do as he says. What if he does? What will he find out? I pale and fall instantly weak at the thought. I don't want Jake finding out about my past, about how damaged I am. My time in a children's home and why. He would never look at me the same again. "No. I wouldn't … I would rather you wanted to tell me." He's shouting too. I can't even begin to start to calm down, despite his admission but it makes me feel slightly reassured, hysteria holding its breath despite my seething anger in full roar. A warm tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away furiously. I don't cry. I never cry, I hate crying. It's so weak and vulnerable and makes me feel inadequate and worthless; I bristle inside and turn on him once again. "This conversation is fucking over!" The rage in my voice seems to startle him and instead of yelling more, he looks taken aback, remorseful. Silenced with my hint of psycho. Too little, too late, Jake. Go away and leave me alone. I turn and stalk away, stomping hard and pushing things out of my way. Felicity appears from the bedroom and I cast him back a haughty glare with intent. I think he gets the message. The "go fuck off and play with your fuck buddy" message and slam my bedroom door, closing out his view of me. ASSHOLE!!!! I want to scream it at him through the closed door; I've never had this wave of reaction toward Jake before and I can't control it. I'm beyond livid. I'm reeling, angry, and hysteria isn't far away. I hate losing control this way, every emotion bubbling to the surface like an angry volcano threatening to explode. I know I need to bring myself down or else my life is over. He's my BOSS! I mastered this once I can do it again. I can push it all down and force it back into its black box. Put it all back neatly and close the lid. Bring calm back to the surface and put the mask back on. Salvage something before it's too late. But I can't! Because he knows! Because he saw a sliver of my shameful wretched past and I'm devastated. He will see I'm a fraud, that PA Emma, his number two is nothing more than a facade for a broken piece of worthlessness that men liked to knock around and touch. It makes me feel sick inside and I hurtle myself onto the bed amid a flurry of tears. I hate crying, I don't cry! I won't give them my tears; I won't let them have that from me. They took everything else. I roll on my back and take gasping gulps of air, swallowing them down painfully. Knowing I need to control myself. That's right, Emma, breathe. I hear myself telling teen Emma, as she lays on the floor of her Chicago room. That little voice talking her through. In … Out … In … Out … In ….Out. Slowly, and surely. I force myself to focus on the light fitting on the ceiling above me and keep going. Knowing it helps. In … Out … In … Out … In … That's right, nice and steady. I'm not in Chicago anymore, it's okay now. I'm in control of this. I regulate my breathing to match my count, bringing myself down from near hysterics. Drying my eyes. In … Out … In … Out … Slower, bring it down a notch. I've overcome this a million times, and I can do it again. I can fix this. I'm better than this. In … Out … In … Out. Take deep breaths in … It's getting easier. In … Out … In … Out. Calmer, smoother breathing. The tidal wave subsides slowly, and the blackness fades out. My lungs move easier, the heaviness lifting, and I inhale deeply. In … Out … In … Out. Like a chant. I'm in control … I'm not a child anymore. Ray is not here to hurt me. In … Out … In. The room around me is safe and still. No one can hurt me anymore. I'm stronger now. I'm more capable. It's not my life anymore. In … Out … The tears disperse fully, and I sniff back the remnants. In. Out. The anger subsides and I'm left feeling raw and vulnerable. I stop chanting as I breathe fluidly. I'm back in control and laying so very still. It's easier than it used to be. I'm better at it and it takes less time now than it used to; new Emma is laying on the bed staring at the ceiling and she's remorseful. Logical, clear thinking, back in full swing. Knowing what she has done. I can't leave it this way with Jake. I screamed at my boss … my friend … I don't know if I can face him again. But if I don't, it will only get more awkward. I may get fired. I don't think Jake would fire me, but still. He can't work the espresso machine and coffee is his lifeline. A small smile tugs the corner of my mouth as I picture him trying and the inner calm of my regained self pushes me to sit up. I'm ashamed and embarrassed. My iPad lights up on my side table, indicating I have an email and I catch Jake's name from my viewpoint. I lean across impulsively, sliding it over and pull it onto my lap. Opening the screen with a tentative slide, I click on the email notification. Chest throbbing heavily. Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift. I open the email, thinking back to the last time he gifted me a song, and my heart retracts a little in pain. Remorse hitting me hard, nervous at what this may say. Jake Carrero has gifted you: "Please Forgive Me" by Bryan Adams. A lump rises in my throat along with the threat of new tears, only this time they're not in anger or sadness. Jake is trying to make things okay with me and I can't just ignore him. The swelling of my heart at his attempt and his sweetness has me on the verge of breaking down. I need to claw back some dignity and face him, let him see that I'm still the same Emma I was and maybe ask him to forget this ever happened. That I'm not an insane psycho with a troubled past who screams at him and runs away to hide. Well, maybe I am. I stand up and walk coyly to my door, shaking so lightly and open it quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid and steadily walk into the sitting room. My emotions churning like mad. He's sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his cell in his hands. His powerful body tense and stiff and he's looking at the floor lost in thought. It's his thinking pose, when he's trying to choose a course of action and I'm overcome with remorse. I made Jake stressed. I did that. Felicity is standing in the space by the door pulling on her shoes and glaring at him icily. Maybe it wasn't all me. I wait until she slams out dramatically, expecting him to react but he stays focused on the floor lost in his own head. She hadn't even noticed me standing here. Here goes! I take a deep breath and walk toward him slowly and unsurely. I have no idea what I'm going to say as we have never fought this way before. We argue and bicker and we have disagreements, but we have never walked out on one another in rage. I glance at him shyly as I get to four feet away. Trembling. "Jake?" I breathe softly, apprehensively. My voice startles him and his head snaps up. He must have been lost deep in his thoughts and I catch the uncertainty in his eye. "Hey," he says warily. He looks so lost it physically hurts. "I … umm …" This is harder than I thought it would be. I can't look at him, so I turn my face to my right, away from him, across the room trying to find a focus while I find the words. There's a noise from the couch and then I'm hauled into his arms, my head pulled against his chest with a warm hand cupping my skull. He envelopes me in a bear hug and I'm too stunned to react. I stiffen at the alien-ness of it and then slump with relief and accept his touch. Jake's not mad at me anymore, we're done fighting. "I'm sorry." He breathes into the top of my head, his face buried in my hair. My body completely surrendering to the goodness of his embrace. My touchy-feely boss! I'll have to forgive him again, for manhandling me, only this time it's not that bad; it feels good and it takes away all the anger and doubts inside of me. It seems to be restoring me to my former self. "I'm sorry too." The emotion catches in my throat, my voice breaking with hoarseness while I revel in the feel of him. Jake, my boss. Jake, my first real male friend. I don't want to fight with him this way. I've never been hugged like this by anyone. Not even my mother and it feels so safe, so unfamiliar, yet so right. I close my eyes and allow myself to breathe him in; I wonder if that makes me weird. Freaky Lisa comes to mind. "I won't push anymore." His voice is still soft and warm above my head and my arms have slid around his waist of their own accord. I'm holding him as tightly as he's holding me. The realization makes me feel awkward and embarrassed by the intimacy and I let go. I'm overstepping the mark. He senses my reaction and releases me too, sheepishly we stand apart and I'm overcome with shyness. Crap. This is new. He shoves my shoulder like an adolescent and I know it's to cover our awkwardness, so I shove him back. For a twenty-eight-year-old he sure knows how to revert to fifteen at times. That gains me a Carrero grin and I shake my head at him, rolling my eyes, amazed at how easily we can just get over it. It reminds me of how easily Sarah gets over things and I suddenly miss her. He's back in playful mode and for once it doesn't irritate me, it relieves me. This is what I need. "Knew you couldn't hate me for long, Bambino." He's still smiling and trying to look convincingly assured while failing. Yeah, of course, you were so confident when I walked in. I remember his stressed posture and lost look, only moments before. "Hmm, the jury is still out on that," I answer impassively. I could never hate Jake. He throws me a mock injured look and I push him harder this time, so he falls back onto the couch with flailing arms and a shocked expression. Easy there, teen Emma, he's still your boss. "Hey, woman! Any more of that and I'll have to retaliate. I can promise you; my kind of physical exertion will put some color in your cheeks." He gets up as though he's going to grab me and I squeal, throwing out my arms toward him and shoving him straight back down with more force than necessary. He falls into the couch and just laughs at me. "Hey! … Gross misconduct, Miss. Anderson." He chucks a scatter cushion up at me, but I dodge it easily and catch it. "Sue me." I throw it back with a smile as I walk to lift my cell and groan at the numerous notifications. I'm a little breathless, and a hell of a lot happier. I push down the thoughts about sperm donor, Ray, and Chicago. Jake says he won't press me on this issue, and I know he means it, I can relax again. We can relax again. We just need to move on now. I glance at my work out clothes and realize I need to get changed; we have actual work to do. I appraise him lounging on the couch, still watching me and I feel better, lighter. He drives me crazy sometimes but at least Jake isn't someone who harbors moods or anger for very long. Well, unless you're his father. Generally, he has a sunny manner. The thought makes me smile … Sunny … Never thought I'd associate that word with Jake Carrero. "Are you going to get changed?" I ask as I skim through my cell trying to now push us forward. I need to get my laptop open and check the email from Rosalie. She's text me, informing me there are file attachments, revisions to the Hunter—Carrero contracts Jake has requested that require his immediate attention. I push the last thoughts of sperm donor away and get back into PA mode. It's better this way. "Nope." He lays out on the couch tossing the cushion in the air casually and watching me from his vantage point; I frown at his casual attire and lack of moving. "Well, I'm going to get changed so at least I can feel like I'm ready for work." I take my cell with me and start to walk back to my room, engrossed in replying to Rosalie's email. "Emma?" he halts me in my tracks. I freeze; a tiny tremor of doubt crosses my mind and I hold my breath. Waiting. "Uhuh?" I try to sound non-committal. "I'm glad we're okay … Let's not fight about that shit again okay?" his huskiness betrays a slight hint of emotion. "Okay." I turn and give him a genuine smile; a warm tide of affection fills my stomach as he throws me a genuine natural smile in reply. No showy playful or "I'm just so gorgeous", but relief we're friends again and I return it even more so. No one makes me relax like Jake does. Sometimes it's a curse but right now, I don't mind it. It feels okay to sometimes relinquish a little bit of the control, to stop holding everything in, especially when that smile is the reward. * * * Jake has watched the most godawful movie on the huge flat screen for the last half hour and I can tell he's bored of it. He's been channel hopping, messing with his cell and laptop and moved position on the couch about a hundred times. He's restless. I'm reading one of the proposals for a small start-up Jake asked me to consider, and I'm fully aware he's been avoiding conversation. I know that look on his face, a little wary and a little unsettled. He's still unsure that we're okay but I'm letting him stew by carrying on with work and avoiding chatter. "Let's go running?" his listless tone drags me from the papers in my hand and I sigh heavily. "No." "Why not?" "Because you drag me out at six most mornings to jog with you, and I know you're going to do it again tomorrow so I'm not doing it now." I throw him my best moody glare. "You suck," he sighs childishly. "Jake?" I laugh. "You do realize you're my boss?" "And?" he actually pouts, looking very much like a child about now. "You're behaving like a moody teen … Don't you have any new bed buddies to pester?" I chastise, sighing loudly. "Hmm." He sounds uninterested. He never seems to find women that hold his interest long. My irritation rises because he has that air of frustration which I know only too well. I can practically time how long it will be before his mood starts to really tumble and I get to be on the receiving end of grumpy ass Carrero. "For god's sake! … Okay!" I snap. This could go on all afternoon and I can't focus when he's being this way. He grins and jumps up to go get changed into sweats. He's a smug winner. Likes to throw his success at me with huge champion grins. I swallow down the tension inside of me. Back to normal then. I go to my room and change into workout clothes and running shoes, I grab a hooded top and walk back into the main room as he walks from his door. He's in gray sweats and hooded top and as always looks so much younger and carefree dressed this way. Less playboy billionaire and more normal, good-looking guy going to the gym. He leads the way to the elevator, whistling the whole time in a far better mood and we head down to the main floor in companionable silence. My cell vibrates and I haul it out to check, it's a text from Sarah. "Hey, are you home this weekend?" We're due to fly back on Friday so I reply that I'll be around. "I may need your DIY skills. I want to redo my room." I sigh; decorating is not what I planned with my first whole weekend off in a while, but Sarah is useless with a paintbrush. "Okay. I'll text later, I'm going for a run." I reply, not wanting to talk about this right now. She sends me back some kisses and a smiley face and I slide my cell back into my pocket. I start smiling despite my mild irritation at her request. I do miss Sarah, despite how distant we've grown and lately I have started to feel it more than before. I have no idea why the change in me, but I am more aware of it. Aware of how cold I have been. We exit the Four Seasons Hotel into the gloomy afternoon, and I fall into an easy pace beside him when we hit the pavement. It's wet and muggy and gray. The air is cooler than it's been the previous couple of days, and it forces me to jog a bit energetically to get warm. We stretched in the elevator but I'm still feeling stiff. "Trying to race me?" he grins and pulls up his hood against the rain. The street is quiet and practically deserted, yet so picturesque despite the overcast sky. "You'd have no chance." I pull my hood up too, the drizzle isn't too bad, sort of refreshing. "First one to the museum wins." He lurches into an impulsive run and takes off without waiting for my answer and I follow in hot pursuit. My heart is pounding as I try my hardest to keep pace, but his stamina and long legs soon beat me into retreat, and I have to stop to gasp air into my lungs. My throat and legs are burning from exertion and I have to bend my head down between my knees to stop the rise of nausea. He comes jogging back, noticing that I've given up. "Lightweight." He bends over beside me and pulls me over to him with an arm casually around my shoulders, making me stand up. He pushes his water bottle in my hand, and I accept it gratefully. Tugging me with him, we start walking slowly in the direction we had been heading as I catch my breath, already I'm sweating all over. I'm not as fit as I thought I was, and we have barely run three hundred yards at full speed. "Shut up." I breathe finally as my chest stops heaving and the nausea subsides. Throat clogged with over exertion. "You need to get in the gym with my trainer … he'll sort you out. Take care of that wheeze." Grinning as he winks at me, he's barely panting. "Boxing is not my thing." I shake my head; he still has his arm casually around my shoulders as we walk, our bodies leaning into one another side by side. To the average onlooker, we would probably look like a couple. "Maybe it should be … It's better than therapy. Why do you think I'm such a happy go lucky guy?" He winks. I hand him back his water, throwing him a look of indulgence. A look that says, "all that casual sex?" and he lets me go to take a drink. He empties it and throws it in a nearby trash can, impressed he met his own bullseye. That juvenile boy inside fist pumping at his ability to dunk a plastic bottle. "Do you really want me to learn how to beat you up, Jake?" I smile cheekily, watching him with amusement. "Carino. Even if you became a pro boxer, I would still put you on your ass. You're half my weight class." He smirks and squeezes my shoulder lightly. "I don't even know what that means." I stop, leaning back to stretch out my limbs and start jogging on the spot to signal I'm recovered enough to continue. He pulls my hood further forward over my face and shoves me in front of him playfully, so that I'll lead. "It means that you'll never be able to beat my ass, girly." He laughs with a huskiness that is a little too alluring. "Don't tempt me," I warn. "I like a challenge." "Well if beating is what you're into?" I catch the cheeky glint in his eye and sucker punch him in the ribs playfully before he can finish his sentence. He pushes me away and tries to trip me deliberately, catching my wrists so I don't fall, and he receives a pout and glare. He rights me on my feet with a laugh and we set off again. He's in a childish mood this afternoon … Great! That's all I need. It's seriously his worst mode. We jog on in silence for two blocks before we round a corner and head in a new direction. I take in the unfamiliar streets and surrounding scenery; Seattle seems lower paced and more relaxed than New York but it hasn't got the same buzzing energy and I kind of like it. It's a welcome break in our hectic schedule lately. "What are you thinking about, Miele?" his voice cuts into my thoughts. Jake's looking at me as we run, and he has to keep pushing his hood back at the side to see my face, the gesture makes him look childish and I smile warmly. "Wondering where I would dump your body if I beat you to death." It's a smug retort. "It's like that, is it?" he grins. "Yep." I'm not prepared for the sudden lurch at me as he grabs me by the waist and tips me upside down in mid-air. With his muscles, I'm no more than a gym bag in weight and I squeal in surprise and choke on the sharp intake of breath. He tips me completely over onto my feet so that I'm still bent double but in a head lock, my butt facing away from him with my head against his abdomen. I'm squealing and trying to wrench myself free as he keeps walking, but I'm stumbling backward. "Jake … Stop it." I'm laughing stupidly and unable to fight as he has my arms pinned to my sides. "I can't. I'm looking for a shady corner so I can administer some much-needed discipline." He threatens, but he has a playfulness in his voice. He finally releases me and hauls me back up, pulling me against him with an arm around my shoulders and drags me onward. My hood falls free, letting the soft rain cool my heated face while breathless from his antics and disheveled from his manhandling. "You know how many sexual harassment laws you just broke? I could haul your ass through the courts." I point out. Laughing hard as I do so. "With my reputation, my lawyers would probably just settle." He smirks and winks and I shake my head at him and try to pull my clothes back into their rightful place within the confines of his arm and fail miserably. "Should stop manhandling the staff then!" I snort, unable to stop giggling as he's walking fast and making me stumble to keep up. "Where are we going?" "A walk … I'm bored at the hotel," he says dejectedly. "Are you ignoring my suggestion?" I ask innocently. "About manhandling my staff?" "Yes." "Yes … There's no fun otherwise. You were made for manhandling, Ems." He throws his playful "I'm the shit and it means I get away with it" smile and I fight the urge to sucker punch him again. I pull myself free from his grip and shove his arm off so I can finally adjust my clothes properly. He has them all twisted around me and my hair is falling in my face. He tugs the hair tie out of my ponytail so that it all comes tumbling down and I throw him an exasperated look. "It was coming down anyway." He offers by way of an explanation and tosses the hair tie in a dumpster as we pass it. "Hey," I sulk. "I don't have another one with me." He shrugs, which only makes me narky with him. "You'll just have to leave it loose then, won't you?" He ruffles my hair, trailing his fingers through the length and down my back softly. "Stop acting like a child … Sometimes I seriously can't understand why I work for you, or that you even run an empire." Watching him now, he's far removed from Mr. Business, or even Mr. Public eye. He's adolescent Carrero. He reaches out a hand, ignoring me and tugs me closer by the hood so I'm within reach of his arm and puts it back around my shoulders. Only this time it's loose and casual, and my clothes stay neat and in place. I don't bother fighting this time; I'm so used to touchy-feely Carrero by now that I've stopped caring any more. He has very few inhibitions, and he's been raised by a touchy-feely Italian, family. Why doesn't it bother me? It would bother me if it was anyone else. I guess because Jake is the first man I've ever known who touches me without intent. There's no threat, or ulterior motive. In the way that a child touches automatically because they want to, and they don't see the issue with doing it. In the way he constantly flirts or makes suggestions of a sexual nature, yet never follows through. It's harmless, it's just how he is. Saying that, however, he's a constant annoyance at work forever tugging my hair or prodding me in the side and manhandling me into cupboards. Maybe I should sue him for sexual harassment; I smile to myself. Teach him some boundaries, that would show him. "We need a break, Emma … I'm listless and tense all the time lately … distracted." His voice is subdued suddenly. I appraise his expression as he seems distracted, even with his hood still up, making him look more street thug on the prowl and less Mr. Business. There's an empty, lost expression just under the surface. I couldn't sue that face. "You're the boss … You don't need anyone's permission." We're walking along an alley with no real idea of where we're going, and it's stopped raining. The sun peeks out between the dull clouds, threatening a better afternoon. "Maybe somewhere to relax for a week." He's looking around, seemingly lost in thought. "Where do you want to go?" I ask curiously, there aren't many places he hasn't been so his choice is limited. "We could be spontaneous," he answers quickly, and I raise a brow. Surprised at that. "Could we now?" I emphasize the "we", making it clear that taking your PA on holiday with you defeats the purpose of a holiday. Not to mention it being odd. "You don't want to come?" he looks at me in the way a child would on finding you're no longer taking them to buy candy. And all I can do is shake my head. "Ummm, why would I come on holiday with you?" I stifle a giggle at his expression. "Because you work as hard as I do and could use the break too. Because I want you to." "I don't think it's appropriate" I hesitate, somewhat amused that he would even suggest it. He's actually being serious? "Emma, we have literally lived in hotels together for the past few months and you've stayed the night in my apartment more than once … Why is it any different?" "Because a holiday isn't work … it's different!" I'm starting to feel uncomfortable with this direction of conversation. Why is he pressing this? I think of what kind of gossip would fly around the offices if wind got out that we headed off in the sun for a week together. Not to mention how it would look if the media took pictures of us together, relaxing on a beach, or a boat, or whatever he chose to do to kick back. I wonder if he ever took Margo on a break. I should ask her next time she checks in to see how I'm doing. Ask her if she ever got whisked away for a romantic time out. "Don't overthink things, Emma." He lets go and pulls my arm, indicating we should jog again. My limbs are getting heavy, so I follow without hesitation; we should slow the pace to warm "down" anyway. I guess it also signals the end of conversation, I observe drily as he jogs ahead making it impossible to talk. I follow him as we round the corner and start heading back in the direction of the hotel trying to keep up. I get the vibe from him that he's sulking about this and I stifle the urge to laugh at him. What the hell? Jake sulks? Actually sulks. Since when? And why? Because I won't go on holiday with him? Surely, he can't be pissed at that? I keep my eye on the straight, muscular shape of his back as we jog and think rationally about this. He's been tenser lately, maybe he's just stressed. Jake doesn't sulk. He's probably just tired and eager to get back. It's been non-stop lately with so much in the pipeline and he's right, we could use a break. He stays ahead of me at a good pace so that all I can do is jog to keep up as we head back to the hotel via an unfamiliar route and I can't help but feel a little miffed at his sudden cool attitude.