Chapter 3

It's after twelve. My head is a little woozy and stuffy as it's ridiculously hot in the office now, stiflingly so and it's making me feel nauseous. I've called maintenance twice to find out why they still haven't fixed the AC yet, it's blowing out tropical heat, rather than cold air and baking us all. My face is flaming, and my pulse is beating so fast and hard, like I've been sprinting. My clothes are almost clinging to me with dampness, and I'm irritated because of the inability to breathe or find relief. It's oppressive. Margo has left the floor for lunch and I'm to follow on her return. She was wavering in the heat as much as me, but I told her I was okay to stay. Wanting to prove my abilities. Ever the hero, Emma! Good move. This is a huge sign of trust, and I think she's testing my capabilities, leaving me to man the fort and cope alone during a very busy schedule. It's been three days since Jake returned and I feel like Margo is relying on me a little more. Living up to her expectations and taking it in my stride. I can't stand the heat on my cheeks and my blouse is clinging in places it never has before. Sticking like a second skin. I'm obsessively clock watching for her to return, to relieve me for an hour, from this damned infernal sauna before I pass out. My switchboard lights up, my insides tightening as his voice comes across the buzzer, "Emma, can you come in here please?" deep, low, and sexy. I get the now familiar tingle in my stomach at the sound of his voice which I still have no control over. I falter but reply with a, "Yes, Mr. Carrero." This is not what I need when I'm melting into a puddle on my seat and already out of sorts. Crap. Crap. Crap. I'm on my feet trying to peel my blouse from between my shoulder blades and smoothing it down without success. I pick up my notebook and pen, and glide past Margo's open office door at speed and into his, pushing the heavy dark wood open and sliding in. I want this over quickly. "Yes, Mr. Carrero?" He looks casually seductive today, sitting behind his desk amid an open laptop and piles of folders. His pale blue shirt has its top two buttons undone at the neck, His dark hair ruffled out of its normally spiked style, as though he's been running his hands through it, and his sleeves rolled up, revealing one of the tattoos on his inner left arm. A reminder of his rebel teen years. I know from images I've seen online that he has a few across his body. All tribal black tattoos and symbols; the effect is devastating even on me and I try not to react, annoyed that he still does this to me. "Are maintenance any further forward with fixing the AC? … It's way too hot up here!" He leans back, putting his hands behind his head in a very "guy" manner. Stretching out and showcasing that beautiful physique, his biceps increase in size while straining at the fabric of his shirt. It's hard not to get a little heightening of the pulse rate. Eyes down! "I've called down twice, sir … they're apparently on it." I keep my eyes averted, my tone level and sound as normal as possible. "Emma, you look like you're about to pass out, I think you need to head to another floor and cool down." His eyes run over me; I'm already conscious that I must look disheveled. I feel it. But the passing out has more to do with the way he's sitting now, and my body becomes overly aware of how much sexier he is in just a shirt. Removes the formality somehow. Really, Emma? He's your boss! "I can't leave until Margo … Mrs. Drake, returns, sir." I blink at him and resist the urge to let my eyes wander over his figure. "When is she due back?" he frowns at me, oblivious to the riot of hormones raging through my body. Or just unbothered by them. "Soon, maybe fifteen minutes or so. She's on her lunch early, I've to go on her return." I sound polite and factual. Trying not to squirm in my damp shoes and hoping I do not look as awful as I feel. "Soon as she's back, I want you to go cool down, it feels like it's melting up here … In the meantime, I need to dictate a letter. Maybe you'll feel cooler in here, I have the air vents open." He gestures at the wall of windows and I note the blinds moving a little as the small amount of air gets in. He's right, it is cooler in here—marginally. Well, it would if he wasn't sitting looking like that. Emma, again? Really? "Ready when you are." I hold up my notebook to move things forward and kill my train of thought. He turns his chair so he's facing the couch to the left of me and gazes at it, deep in thought. "It's for the CEO of Bridge-stone … A man called Eric Compton. You'll find his details on the system." He is in business mode, tone serious and face focused already. "Yes, sir." I scribble down in shorthand. "Emma?" his questioning tone clicks my attention back to him. "Yes?" I look up, at the tone of his voice, sure I've done something he doesn't like. Momentarily phased. "You can sit down you know?" he's smiling at me, amused, and nods at a chair at the side of his desk, pretty much in his line of vision. It's why he turned his chair. I blush and come around to sit in front of him abruptly. I hate that since coming to work for him my inability to control my blushing has returned but he has a knack for making me feel childish. "I don't bite … much!" He smiles with his "I know I'm irresistible" look. My eyes snap to him alarmed, and see the humor veiled thinly. I give a short-embarrassed smile, to cover my reaction, my heart upping a gear and inwardly chastise my stupidity. He's a joker. Right. Got it. Don't take things so literally! "I know you don't. " I smile coolly. Outwardly un-phased, despite irregular heart pounding and crazy goosebumps hitting my skin. Annoyed at myself. "You don't need to be so … stiff, around me, Emma." He relaxes back in his chair, dropping his hands on the arms, casually so. "Stiff?" I stare at his eyes, avoiding following the motion of his hands. A mild irritation fluttering within that successfully dampens anything else; I'm not good with male criticism. Especially about my demeanor. "You can thaw a little. I know you're efficient. You won't get sacked for relaxing." He looks amused, but annoyance churns down low inside of me. I came to do a job and I have pride in my professionalism, it's the one area I know I excel at. We can't all be laid back, Mr. Born Into Money. We don't all have the ability to sway people with a smile, have charmed lives with happy childhoods and irresistible faces. "This is me relaxed," I respond tightly, training my expression to not betray my mood. As relaxed as you'll ever see me, Mr. Carrero, seeing as I'm paid to do a job not pander to your ego. I pout inwardly, avoiding a direct look. He raises an eyebrow at me and breaks into an unguarded smile, confidently handsome and yet this time it irks me. "If you say so." That irritating smug look he has that's the other side to Carrero. It's that face that makes women drop their panties in a blink, but he also has this annoying male "know it all" cheekiness. Arrogance. Like he's always on the verge of a good joke, and it has to be one of his most infuriating qualities. "So, to the CEO of Bridge-stone …?" I raise my eyebrows, tapping my pen on my notebook, indicating we should move on, with a tight tone. I disapprove of his overfamiliarity. As much as I've seen him this way with Margo, I'm adamant that this working relationship will stay on a professional level. I have too much to lose. I've worked too hard to get here. He frowns at me, holding my gaze for a moment, unphased, but I ignore him, looking down at my paper expectantly; relieved when he sits back and dictates what he wants me to note down. * * * "Is that all Mr. Carrero?" I finish my notes and push the pen in the top of the notebook with a sigh. Clammier now than ever. "I'd like a copy of the letter sent to my father's email and I would like it if you would call me Jake! … Like I asked!" He lifts his feet to his desk, swiveling his chair back to face it and regards me with a relaxed, smug look. "If that's what you prefer?" I'm not used to employers showing so little concern for titles, or who behave so casually. I'm more than a little disappointed in the laxness I've seen from both Margo and Jake so far. In the way they behave with each other and it has me a little at unease. Here he is, sitting with his feet on his thousand-dollar desk, like a lounging teenager and it kills the image I once had of him. "I'm not Mr. Carrero … That's my father." His eyes flicker to the photo on his desk and I catch a dark shadow in them. He slides his feet back down, as though not so relaxed with that one tiny word - father. It's gone before I can decide if I saw it or not and I shiver inwardly. Men and their dark looks don't bode well with me; it's one of the few things which unnerve me deeply enough to bring me out in a cold sweat. "Okay, Jake!" It's almost painful to use his name, even if he insists. And it's forced. He seems to return to smiling, looking pleased as I stand, indicating my departure. "Do you like working here, Emma?" he catches me off guard, leans forward onto his desk resting his arms in front of him, halting my escape for a moment. I pause, stunned by his question. "So far," I answer without thought, wondering why he even cares. "Five years is a long time to work for this company," his voice is soothing to listen to, despite my reservations about him and I note how his tone alters when he's not talking business. He has this way of capturing you with just a subtle change, drawing you in. His relaxed natural voice is almost sensual, but overall comforting, genuine; he seems to have the art of relaxing people down to a finely-honed skill. The art of making women want to chat to him effortlessly. Very good, very clever. Win over women with feigned interest. Smooth player. "I guess I'm someone who likes to stick to something and work at it. See where it takes me." I tap my notebook against my hip in distraction, trying not to react to that voice. "You don't care that you're spending your twenties missing out on life?" He's appraising me again, something he does a lot whenever I'm faced with him and I still haven't gotten used to it. Eyes eating me up as though I'm a puzzle to be worked out. I guess I interest him on some level. "Perspective, Mr. Carrero … This job offers me opportunities most twenty-six-year-old women never get the chance to experience." I shrug. Trying to will those sharp eyes to look elsewhere and to stop tearing into me. "You never aspired to be anything different?" he watches me thoughtfully, if not a little intensely. "Such as?" I shift on my shoes, that internal rising awkwardness at his attention getting a little extreme. Uneasiness growing. "Managerial role?" he grins. He's amused with his remark, but I fail to see the joke, so I smile frostily. "I don't have the qualifications to be in a managerial position, Mr. Carrero … I worked hard to climb from admin assistant to here … This is where I want to be." I retort, easily irked by him again. "I guess that's lucky for me then." He throws me his "I can charm anyone" smile and I internally bristle. I want to get out of here. He obviously knows he's hot and he uses it to his advantage a little too well. I've seen how he turns it up on women, seems to like the reaction and turns more "Dude" with men. "Perhaps." "Time will tell, Miss. Anderson … You can go now, see if Margo is back to relieve you. That letter is not urgent so take lunch first." He smiles me away, obviously bored with my lack of female swooning, with what I assume is his "charming" look and I turn to leave. Exhaling with relief. "Very good, Mr … Jake." I throw him a tight smile and catch the flicker of amusement in his eye; aware now that he knows how much I dislike the informality. Very good, Carrero … Here for your fucking amusement. I walk toward the heavy door, mood ruined by his smug face and bubbling a tad hotly inside my stomach. "Wait. Can you book a table for two tonight, at Manhattan Penthouse at nine, in my name?" he adds quickly, and I turn back to nod that I have heard him. Blank faced and no reaction. Wonder which playmate is being wined and dined tonight? I've got used to the special date entries on his schedule and the list of current playmates gracing his bed. I'm sure he, long ago, ran out of headboard space to keep a tally of notches for his conquests and it's just another reason I will never warm to him. He's a slut. "Yes, sir." I pull the door closed behind me and scowl through the closed dense wood. The urge to stick my fingers up with venom surprises me. I guess I'll have to get used to the reactions he pulls out of me. Work harder to remain impassive. Seems he has an ability to piss me off without effort or without real reason and I don't even want to analyze it. Twenty minutes later, Margo returns, and I am free just as the AC finally breathes a fresh coolness over us from the ceiling, like a wave of relief. I'm sticky, hot, and flushed, and I need a change of clothes. I head to the bathroom for a quick freshen up and gaze at the badly lit mirror on the wall, to see I'm glowing red. My cheeks are flushed, there's high color across the nape of my neck, and I have a dewy complexion where my make-up has sweated. My hair is no longer slick and smooth in its bun but is weaving its way loose, despite the products I use to keep it sleek. I have natural waves which I straighten to get my hair this smooth and manicured. I'm in disarray. Dammit. I can't continue with my day looking like this. I look like I've done a workout in my work clothes, and I'm melting away. Looking like a panda with the way my eyeliner has collected under my lower lashes and my normally precision lipstick is smudged and damp. I blot my face and release my hair in an effort to minimize the damage. The humidity and heat have caused it to pull back into waves and it's covered in bumps and creases made by the hair ties. Without my straighteners it will never look right unless I wash it. The company has showers on the fourth floor within the company gym, maybe I should sacrifice lunch and get a quick shower to cool off. Sweating like I've been in the tropics. I check my watch and work out how much time I have and decide to go for it. I have a forty-five-minute lunch break and I can shower in less than half that time. Luckily, I keep a change of clothes in the office, a suggestion from Margo, in case I'm ever asked on an overnight trip at short notice. I know I have toiletries in the bag too. I go back and retrieve the bag, with my hair held in a loose ponytail, glad that Margo is focused on her laptop while taking a call and doesn't see me. Mona, the outer receptionist, throws me a funny look but says nothing. I head down in the elevator with my bag and enter the floor that has the employee fitness facilities and shower block. I work for a company that's invested in hotel, fitness, and spas, and these facilities are standard in Carrero buildings free for all employees. Another perk of this job, among the many. When I emerge I look brighter and neater. Make-up residue gone, fresh clothes, and hair falling into long, natural waves in its blow-dried state. Unfortunately, there was nothing to straighten my hair within the women's locker room, but I'm cooler. Make-up back in place, clothes a little less stifling, and a little fresher from being steamed and deodorized. Having my hair down bothers me, it's part of my uniform, part of my defense; being up and neat helps me feel more in control. Part of the image I present. Having it down like this makes me nervous. I know how often I tug at my hair and twist it when I'm home on weekends; another nervous old Emma habit that I've found no control over. Anxiety related and childish. There's nothing for it; tying it up without my products and straighteners will look messy. I've got to cope with it for half a day. Even I can get through that. I assure myself as I head to the cafeteria for lunch, ignoring people looking at me as if they don't recognize me and it makes me uneasy. * * * Back at my desk after lunch, the switchboard is flashing like mad and I Margo and Jake's lines are busy. Nina has a few calls on hold, so I buzz her to tell her to put one through to me too. I sit down to deal with the first call and catch sight of Margo waving through to me, smiling widely. She points at her head, then mine, indicating my hair and gives me a thumbs up, which makes me grimace. I don't think I've worn it any other way than up during my five years working here. I feel like I'm not dressed properly, and it bothers me far more than it should. I focus on the call. Half an hour later, I'm lost in thought, absorbed in a financial spreadsheet Jake needs by this evening. I've already plowed through a mountain of work today, making light work of it and not conscious of eyes on me until I hear the movement of feet shifting on wooden floor. Looking up absent-mindedly, more from reaction than any actual realization, I see Jake Carrero is standing staring at me. Six feet from my desk! I jump with fright and my face flushes with heat and fright. Crap. "Sorry Mr. Ca … Jake … I didn't see you there … Is there something I can do for you?" my voice is all over the place in my floundering panic. Heart thundering through my chest at a rate of knots as I dissolve into bumbling incompetence. How did I not realize that my boss is hovering by my desk? I'm supposed to be constantly aware and attentive to his every demand; this is such a faux pas on my part. I'm on my feet trying to plaster on my most friendly and efficient smile. I'm breathless. It's the fright he gave me; I'm flustered and trying to recover quickly. Body trembling with the shock I gave myself noticing his presence. "Emma …" He too seems at a loss for words, looking at me peculiarly. An uneasiness to his expression. "I was coming to give you these … You look different!" His face is unreadable. I can't even say what it is … I remember my hair's down and flush because I'm not prepared; overwhelmingly vulnerable and I falter. "It won't happen again. I took a shower at lunch, because of the heat from earlier." I need to reel myself in and claw back cool and controlled Emma. I'm babbling. I try a steadying breath to stop myself looking like a complete idiot. "You look …" his green eyes are piercing through me and it's sheer agony. All my little insecurities peeking up in one fell swoop. "Untidy? It's not how I would normally come to work." I'm rambling, and I'm fidgeting like crazy, unable to just regain control. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not me! Don't fall to pieces, Emma, not now … Please. Get a grip and pull yourself together. I know it's because he startled me; because I feel undressed, and I'm at a loss because I am out of my comfort zone, and he's acting … strange. My breathing is labored and I'm trying to steady it without making it too obvious and doing a terrible job. "I was going to say …" he clears his throat trailing off verbally and looks down at the papers, changing his direction of conversation probably because I'm making him uneasy. Great job! "So, here, I need these copied, emailed, filed … I'm sure you know the drill." He glances up and away again, as though he isn't comfortable making eye contact right now. I do, yes. I do, of course I do. I don't need direction. I need a focus. I reach out taking them from him in haste, stopping myself from grabbing like a mad woman. "Yes, sir." "Emma … You look nice," he injects softly, glancing at me only to make the remark and then back at his cell, which is now in his hand. I ignore the strange look of apprehension on his face and the tingles inside me ignite with ferocity. Shifting nervously, I try to steady my hands on the folder. This escalated quickly and I'm so angry with myself. I've literally just lost my cool and capable persona in milliseconds all because of my stupid hair. I plaster on my cool expression and smile tightly to reel it all under wraps. "Thank you, Mr. Carrero." It's out of my mouth before I realize I didn't call him Jake and it's yet another reason to silently groan. Try and regain composure. Years of control, Emma, and you go to mush in seconds. I'm beyond livid with myself. Margo appears a moment later carrying a briefcase and a jacket. I'm grateful for her sudden appearance and instant calming abilities. I glance at the wall clock noting it's not even 2.00 p.m. and click on why they seem to be going out. I forgot they had a meeting across town at the second Carrero building and are leaving me to man the office. Carrero Tower HQ with Senior; something to do with quarterly finances. King Carrero in his ivory tower. He prefers to lord his empire in a separate building from Jake, several blocks away. I wonder if the coolness between them is why. "Emma, divert any important calls and email me if you need anything. I've left you a pile of folders here." She taps a small mountain she has placed on the desk, oblivious to my making a complete fool of myself. "Work through and leave by four thirty." She smiles, her hand coming and hooking a stray tendril of my hair and catches me by surprise. "I like this, it's softer. You look so much prettier, more carefree and younger." She smiles again, eyes alive with genuine affection. I try to smile and force back the grimace that rises within, uncomfortable with the attention this slight change is getting me and fully aware it will never happen again. Not entirely comfortable with the way Jake is still looking at me as she fiddles with my hair and I smooth it out of her grasp gently. Nodding with a vague expression to avoid comment. I sigh with relief when they utter goodbyes, turn, and leave. Thank god, it's over. For god's sake. I haul over the folders to the front of my desk and throw my hair back over my shoulder angrily. I'm angry at myself, I'm angry that Jake made me lose my cool without even meaning to. I'm angry that for a split-second old Emma resurfaced, teenage Emma. Stupid, idiot, nervous, fidgeting Emma, raised her dumb head. I just made a complete idiot of myself. I've spent years pushing her into the background and trying to replace her with the more capable and confident me. I don't need her presence or her anxiety and insecurities near me. She's a broken little girl who held me back, and the last thing I need is to see her again.