Chapter 4

It's raining by the time I get home and I'm soaked walking from the station through the few blocks to my apartment. Sarah's out when I get into our third-floor apartment and I take in the coziness of the small rental instantly relaxed. I'm glad to be home, surrounded by our familiar comforts and bright rooms, our feminine haven. I'm tired, it's been a long day and I want to take a bath and go to bed. I screw up Sarah's note, informing me she has made Mac "n" Cheese, from the counter. It's in the refrigerator for me and I throw the paper in the garbage. The perks of living with a chef. She works late most nights and I can't remember the last time we spent more than five minutes in each other's company. Our lives comprise occasional brief conversations in passing, and notes on the refrigerator which suit me more than when I had to keep her company every evening. Sarah has been my best friend since forever; we came to New York together five years ago and were lucky to get this place. She'd been accepted to an elite cooking school and I had a temporary admin role in the Carrero corporation, as a receptionist even though I had zero experience and hardly any qualifications. I had been nothing more than a tea and coffee maker back then, eager to do anything to keep me here in this crazy city. My fresh start. My escape from who I didn't want to be anymore and reminders of it. Sarah was thrilled that I wanted to come with her; un-phased at leaving Chicago to go into the world on our own, but our relationship has changed since then. We've drifted apart in so many ways. I guess we don't need each other like we used to, and the apartment is the only thing holding us together. I kick off my shoes and head to my bedroom to get changed; haul on workout leggings and a sports bralette and towel dry my hair back to dampness before my short after work exercise regime. I find it helps me unwind from the day's stress and gets me in the mode for sleep. There's a flashing light on the answering machine and press it, a surge of anxiety in my stomach as I hazard a guess at who it will be. It's Marcus. Sarah's on-off boyfriend—it's who I expected it to be. They have been off again lately, much to my delight, but this call means he's back on the scrounge to hooking up again. I delete the message. She will never know he called. Marcus is as sleazy as they come, but Sarah can't see it; he's slimy, over-friendly and makes lewd comments and sexual innuendos when he's around. I think she can do better as he makes my skin crawl, but she tries to tell me that my experiences with men are the reason I can't warm to them. I know deep down it's partly the reason I'm this way, but he's still a creep. I try not to linger on it and switch on my iPad for some workout music. * * * I'm tired after my workout, meal, and hot bath yet I know I won't be able to sleep. I've never been a good sleeper, not since childhood, as far as I can remember anyway. I have vivid dreams that make no sense, full of darkness and anxiety that leave me ravaged upon awakening. Working out before bed helps but doesn't eradicate them and I've learned to live on the erratic, fretful sleep I do get. I still wish I could sleep like a normal person but I know that I may never lose the night terrors; my mind just can't let go of the past no matter how hard I try to move on. My cell vibrates, I jump with a small surprise noting it's a text from Margo. I've been waiting for my job to infringe on me outside of regular working hours; I know they've been going easy on me so early into the promotion. I wonder if this is the start of full on PA mode. Emma. I need you in an hour early tomorrow, you'll be paid overtime. There will be a car for you, so you won't be late. You're meeting Donna Moore. x That's fine, Margo. Thank you. I reply instantly, uneasily. This side of the job is new to me; Working early/late and specific outfits— the executives I handled on the lower floors weren't as important, I suppose. I'm aware that working directly for a Carrero is a whole different ball game and in a way, I'm eager to start properly. I need a new challenge as things on the tenth floor had become stale and predictable. * * * The car arrives bright and early next morning, a black four by four; a typical Carrero choice and the driver is dressed in a black suit similar to the security who had been in Jake's office. Their appearance makes me roll my eyes; aware the guy just loves all things black. I have since learned the guard that day was Arrick Carrero's personal bodyguard; Jake doesn't seem to require such things apparently. Dressed in cream slacks and a dusky pink, silk blouse; a present from my mother for my birthday which isn't until next week, but she mailed them early to be sure I got them. I don't celebrate my birthday and Sarah knows not to even mention it when it comes around. I was surprised by my mother's gift as she doesn't normally bother, but for some reason, she did this time. I felt too guilty not to wear them. They're not as crisp and tailored as my usual attire but still passable and I'm obliged to put them on at least once as I know how expensive they must have been. I hate that she felt the need to buy me things like this. Motherly guilt of some sort no doubt. It's her style, not mine, but she has tried. My mother is an eternal hippy; romantic frivolity is more her forte and part of her appeal to men. Even in her forties, she's still attractive and men find her desirable although the less I think about my mother's taste in men the better. I shake away that memory, pushing down the revulsion in my stomach. The car drops me at the familiar building; it's gray and wet this morning and there's a cold nippiness to the air. New York is coming up for a season change. I run through the necessary security passes before I'm on the sixty-fifth floor; the building is eerily quiet due to the early hour. Shivering, I pull my wool coat further around my shoulders to try to warm up although the building has state-of-the-art temperature control. Margo greets me at the office door with a blonde woman clad in expensive clothes and an air of seductiveness. Tall graceful and dressed all in red, Margo introduces her as Donna Moore the personal shopper and informs me I'm to be measured. Mr. Carrero insists that his closest staff receive this perk as his public image often sees him on red carpets and at the center of media interest. He expects anyone who might accompany him to be appropriately dressed, always. His father cashed in on his son's natural sex appeal from an early age using him as the front man for their range of high-end grooming products and aftershaves, which means a never-ending media interest. The boy is basically a super model for his own company. Still New York's poster boy, even now, he can't seem to move without a camera flash or adoring fan appearing from nowhere. I stand on a stool feeling hugely uncomfortable at her invasive measuring as she flits around me with a tape and questions me on things I wear, colors I like, and such. She pulls out her cell and snaps a few pictures of me from all angles. Unhappy with the images, she fusses at me to untie my hair. I hold my patience and irritation in check and follow her instructions. I'll never get it back in its sleek style without a lot of effort. There goes another day enduring it around my face and having everyone croon about it. Just great! "For my file, darling … So I remember your beautiful coloring and bone structure, and how you look with your masses of soft hair." She smiles at me, eyes dazzling like a kid at Christmas. I've no idea why that's a necessity at all. "I love your hair down." Margo smiles at me, eyeing me up and swooping in with a soft tone. "It makes a world of difference, Emma, really, it softens your whole face." She regards me with a warm expression and keen eye which adds another layer of uncomfortable to my mood. "You don't think it's unprofessional?" I smart. I want them both to back off and stop scrutinizing me, making me nervy. "Nowhere in the office uniform manual does it say—have your hair tied up like a school mistress." The two women giggle rather surprisingly, killing the whole aura of mature professionals. "We work in a very high-profile business that requires a certain attention to image." The heat in my cheeks rises with irritation, at the giggling, and the fuss over my hair. "Emma, darling, do you realize how gorgeous those waves are? You've such a lovely color of hair, like pale autumn leaves." Donna chirps over enthusiastically. I lock eyes on her blankly, trying not to dredge up images of moldy sodden black and brown splodged leaves on the New York paving stones last fall. Ignoring how uncomfortable I am looking "softer". "She's right, Emma. I think you look so much more natural and pretty like this. I think Jake agreed yesterday." Margo says a twinkle in her eye. A hint of a mischievous smile lurking. "Did he now?" I scowl, sarcasm light, meeting with amused looks. Ignoring the warm sensation deep in the pit of my stomach. "Oh, I adore your pout … You're adorable," Donna gushes and I sigh, realizing arguing is a lost cause. Donna is grinning at me in a mother hen kind of a way and it's the first time I notice the lines around her eyes, giving away a slight hint to her age. Margo is just encouraging it. "Emma, I merely meant that you do seem a little severe and uptight when your hair's back. I know that's ironic, considering how I look, but you're young and pretty. You've a natural beauty that you shouldn't hide. It doesn't make you look incapable." She's gushing all over me. "I look like a child like this." My temper is fraying, only too aware how young having my hair loose makes me look. "Well, doing that, you do!" Margo yanks my hair from my fingers and I flush, realizing I have been tugging at a strand under the scrutiny of two overbearing women. Annoyed and slightly embarrassed at being caught unawares. Crap … This is them … Anxiety! Making me feel pressured, putting me on a stand and fluffing around me, knocking me off kilter. Taking my hair down is like undressing me. "Yeah, just don't do the hair twirling and lip pouting." Donna nods in agreement, studying me with a finger on her chin. "You're a woman child … It's surprising." She laughs genuinely, but it only chafes my already frayed temper. I don't need the hair twirling pointed out, thanks very much. I know how bloody stupid it is! Teen Emma scurries to hide from my glaring wrath inside the depth of my head. "Oh, to be that young and beautiful again!" Donna sighs, but Margo throws her a shocked look exclaiming that she's gorgeous and they go off on a tangent of how fabulous each other are. I find it tiresome. It's like I'm in the twilight zone. "Okay, I'll start on your wardrobe darling. Margo has given me a list of the events you need to attend, and some work basics. I'll be back by the end of the day." She waves her hands in excitement. "We shall trust your judgment, Donna," Margo gushes and we watch as she sweeps out in a flurry of red chiffon and a clip clop of heels. The cyclone that is Donna Moore. The energy in the room calms and I almost sag with relief. "Is this necessary?" I get off the stool, relieved at being released, feeling like a full-size Barbie doll. "Yes, I'm afraid so … Jake's image is important; the Carrero name envisions luxury and wealth. If you're to attend events with him you need to represent the same image, my dear." She smiles at me with a note of sympathy. "Jake knows asking his staff to spend thousands of their hard-earned pay on an image is ridiculous, so just enjoy the perk." She tries to appease my doubts as I try to calm my internal bristle and urge to refuse. "I don't like other people choosing what I wear." I like to be in control of every detail of my life. It's how I function. How I keep calm. "Hush now. Donna is the one who helped me discover my inner goddess and made me look like this." She twirls like a teenage girl. She's wearing a fitted black suit today, molded, knee-length skirt and low buttoned jacket over a silky, silver camisole top, and perched on high black stilettos. Her blonde hair is a flawless French twist. She looks amazing. "Really?" I am slightly appeased. She's the picture of sophistication and control that I aspire to achieve; maybe Donna won't be so bad after all. "Oh yes. I was hopeless with my style when I started here. Fifteen years on and here I am." She beams at me. "Fifteen years?" the shock is obvious in my tone. That would mean she worked here before Jake was even old enough to help run an empire. He would have been thirteen! "Yes, I used to be Carrero senior's assistant." She's now clearing up the papers left askew by Donna on my desk. "What's he like?" I've always been intrigued by the older man and meeting him last year quelled none of the interest. He seemed to be a force to be reckoned with. Terrifying and cold. "Like someone you never want to willingly meet." The deep familiar smooth voice is so unexpected and close, I jump and spin around to see Jake striding in the door casually. The flutters in my stomach come back full force, reminding me I'm still standing in the middle of the room and I move to my desk and sit down. Instant nerves returning. He's wearing designer jeans in a soft, washed-out color, a white T-shirt with a graffiti print logo that is slightly too neat on that body, a modern leather jacket, and his trademark shades. He doesn't look like a guy who's coming to the office for the day. I'm not sure I'm impressed, despite how much it suits him, bad boy biker style. It's not exactly professional. "Mr. Carrero … I mean—Jake … Good morning." Controlled Emma is back in play, despite the hair tickling my face and the breathlessness at his appearance and attire. "You look really nice today, Emma." He smiles, allowing his gaze to travel over me from head to foot with a look of appreciation even behind shades. It makes me uncomfortable yet still my face flushes with telltale heat. Traitorous body! "And you, Margo." He turns his head toward her and it almost seems like an afterthought, but she smiles. "Don't I always?" she smirks and throws him a wink. "Of course." He grins at her and lifts his shades to the top of his head to nestle in his hair. I try to ignore the slight flip low in my stomach, hate that I react to him this way and quash it, looking anywhere but at him. He probably practices every sexy move and mannerism he has in the mirror a dozen times a night for ultimate appeal! "What's with the outfit?" she enquires, looking him up and down questioningly. "Even for you that's rather casual for work." "All work and no play, makes for a very sad boy." He grins back at her. Annoyingly confident in this attire. "Touch of espionage today, Margo, Bambino." His term makes me cringe. Baby? Really? Is this a hint of Casanova Carrero peeking out? I look down to my desk to hide the revulsion I know fleets across my face. "Do you need me to come with you?" she looks him over intrigued and completely un-phased by his pet name. "I actually need Emma, if she's up to it?" he turns, throwing me one of the heart aching "Yes, I know I'm sexy" smiles, but I don't react. I've seen this smile in action when I researched him, and it does little for me. Liar. "I'm up to whatever task you ask of me," I respond drily. Within reason! The Lothario smile is making me uneasy. "Intriguing." Margo frowns at him, still trying to work out what he is up to. "Is this the Daniel Hunter meeting? I thought we scheduled it for next week?" They're both standing at my desk, a little too closely for me to ignore, so I keep my eyes on the screen in front of me instead and try to appear busy. Opening today's schedule. "We decided to do it this morning … He's free for a couple of days. Next week he's flying to Paris." She nods, understanding what he's talking about; I'm not yet privy to the inner office secrets between them, which happen frequently. "My office, Emma, please." He walks away, and I can only follow without question. I slide up and match his purposeful stride, even in heels. He waits until Margo and I've followed him in and closes the door behind us; she goes straight to his laptop pulling it across the table to access, leans over the desk pulling up files as he turns to me. "Do you have anything less … PA … to wear here?" I falter and my entire face warms as he looks at me with a smile. A raised brow in question. What now? "Emma, yes, dear. You'll be accompanying Jake today, but you need to look like a date rather than an assistant." Margo crosses to the printer to retrieve the files she's printed off. I pause and muster all my willpower to keep my lungs moving in and out. Suddenly compressed with weight and unable to breathe normally. Again … What? I don't even know how to respond to that. "You are going to be his number two today … everyone knows I'm his PA, whereas, you my dear, are new blood." She smiles encouragingly, but it does nothing to my inner concerns. Panic raising its ugly head in the depths. "We're up to no good." He smiles at me in a disarming way as I try to gauge his expression and hers, not convinced they're being serious. Trying to remember how to inhale. "No, I don't have any other clothes here," I answer quietly, the irritation rising within me. "Maybe we can stop at your apartment and let you change?" Jake's looking at me closely now and I frown in confusion. Hands cold yet somehow getting clammy. Why would I? "Change?" I say icily. My stomach dropping at speed. "Yeah." He stands and walks toward me, eyeing me up as though trying to picture me in less formal clothes. Pushes his hands into his jean's pockets, which only further emphasizes his muscular body and lack of formality. It's distracting. "Something more casual." He chews his bottom lip while thinking and staring, a lot of staring. I glance down at my tailored cream trousers and spiked heels. I look exactly as I should. "What? Like jeans?" I try to control the edgy tone in my voice this time. Sarcasm oozing heavily. "I was thinking more … feminine … a dress." The humor in his voice grates on me, I thought I was done being Barbie already. This obviously is funny to him. Why does my being in a dress amuse him? Am I that un-feminine? "If that's required, then yes. I have access to dresses." Sarah has a closet full of them. The kind of romantic clothes I avoid like the plague. "We'll go there first then … I need this meeting to look more of a breakfast date between friends." He straightens up, pulling his hands free and crosses them across his wide chest instead. Still glued to my figure and boldly looking me over. "Am I to be enlightened on my role in this?" I ask stiffly. I didn't think I would be subjected to dress up. I try and outstare him, but he ignores it. "I'm meeting with Daniel Hunter … He's a player in his family business." He keeps his voice low, despite being closed in his own office. "I'll not say why until we work out a few particulars but thanks to his very public break up, the media is all over his ass and he can't shake them to meet in private." "You're his fake date! Daniel will have a girl with him too, so it will appear as though four friends are having breakfast at the Waldorf." Margo cuts in. "You'll need to take notes and get acquainted with the particulars of the proposed merger, Emma; this is your first big responsibility. I'm taking a back seat on this." Crap. I'm to do this while being stripped of all that makes me comfortable and confident. "I see." My insides turn icy cold and my face numbs. "All you need to do is smile and look adoringly at me until we get into the suite where Daniel is staying." Jake shrugs with one shoulder. He really sees no issue at all. Yes, I'm sure that's going to be easy. "When are you leaving?" Margo presses, turning his hazy green eyes away from the scrutinizing he is doing over me. "Now, if she needs to go home first … Where do you stay, Emma?" his eyes are back on mine, once again making me uneasy as he scans my attire. I tell him where in West Sunnyside and he nods before moving off to call his driver. I hear him telling him to meet us at the rear of the underground parking garage as I try to pull myself back together. "Take a notepad and pen in a handbag, anything else will look odd … It's a preliminary meeting to thrash out the proposal, so take notes." Margo soothes my nerves with a warm smile. Bringing my attention to her. "Yes, Margo." I answer blankly, head reeling with all of this and feeling overwhelmed suddenly. "Emma?" She halts me with a gentle hand on my arm. "Yes?" I pause at her sudden intense look. "Try to relax around Jake … He's actually very easy to hang out with." She grins, but it does nothing to remove the tension building up inside of me. I don't want to hang out, I want to do my job. * * * Less than twenty minutes later, I'm in the back of a large SUV with tinted windows and I'm sitting mere inches away from him. My briefcase on my lap and a pen in one hand. I'm preoccupied, mulling over the weirdness of this request. "That habit is at odds with how you present yourself, you know?" I look up at his remark questioningly. The way he is regarding me, and half-smirking my way. What the hell is he talking about? I realize I have a strand of hair between my fingers, absent-mindedly twisting it. I drop it and still my hands on my lap, internally cursing him out. For god's sake … It's the being unprepared, it has me on edge. Nice move, Emma. I scowl at teen Emma, always peeking at me from the recesses of my mind and smile tightly in response. "Nervous habit?" he presses further, looking smugger. "I don't get nervous, Mr. Carrero," I respond drily. Because I've spent many years perfecting the art of hiding it and for some reason, you bring it out in me when I'm not focusing. "Do I make you nervous?" he smiles; he's leaning back in his seat comfortably, an arm on the window ledge and looks effortlessly casual. Always annoyingly at ease. "I would not say that, Mr. Carrero." What would I say? Because he does make me nervous, if I'm being honest. I don't know how to act around him sometimes. "Do I intimidate you?" his tone is steady and quizzical, a hint of playful and it's already tiring me. Are we really doing this? "I just don't know you well enough to feel at ease around you yet," I answer, impressed with my diplomatic response under the pressure of his gaze. "I don't think any woman has ever told me I'm intimidating before." His eyes twinkle mischievously, his focus on me intense. "I don't believe I actually said that," I say. Sighing. "You didn't say no." "If that's how you perceived what I said." I smile tightly, but he laughs that only further grates on me. He's infuriating. "I've never met a woman who acts like you do around me!" he jests, pushing a foot against the door so he can lounge some more, and I throw him a cool yet questioning glance. What's that supposed to mean? Because I don't throw myself at you, begging to be mauled? "Women usually flirt … Make their intentions clear, or just quiz the crap out of me." He shrugs, un-phased by the statement he made and oblivious to how much of an ass it makes him appear. "Women openly tell you they want to bed you, Mr. Carrero?" I ask pointedly. I already assumed this was the case, the fact he expects it is a little repulsive. The fact he expected it of me, makes me mad. "Something like that." He grins at my honesty, watching me closely still, his body turned toward me slightly. "That must be nice." I look out at the passing scenery, completely uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, finding him highly inappropriate and praying to just get to Sunnyside quickly. Only one more block to my apartment and I can get a reprieve from this crap. Why did I have to live so far? "It gets old … I like being intimidating … That's one I haven't heard yet." He laughs at me again and I try to ignore it, hating that his laugh is still nice to listen to, despite his flaws. I cast him a shady look. Must be so boring having women fall at your feet every day and tell you how gorgeous you are. Must be so hard to have been born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and no real problems in life, except how sexy your outfit is that day. "In what way?" he says in afterthought, turning his gaze back on me once more. "What way what?" I am tense. I hate feeling this way and watch my fingers carefully, making sure they stay steady on my lap. Willing him to leave me alone. "In what way do I intimidate you?" he's finding this highly amusing, judging by the expression plastered over his smug face, and the tone in his voice which screams tease. "Is this necessary?" I bristle, tightly sitting upright and showing no hint of my inner feelings. "What? Wanting to get to know my PA a little better? … I think so." Sure, if that's what we call this … Ego fluffing. "Probing." I say evenly. "I don't think wanting to know why I make you so uncomfortable is probing … We're going to spend the next few hours together; I think it's necessary. It's a novelty for me." He looks smug without smiling. So talented. "I never said I was uncomfortable; you've summarized what I said and concluded what you're now pursuing. I merely said I don't know you well." He's exasperating me now and getting pissed at your boss is never a good career move. I try to keep my tone steady and unemotional, but I even hear the note of dry agitation in my own voice. "My apologies." He laughs in that disarming way he has, and I sigh angrily. He knows how to get under my skin and seems to enjoy it. "Are you always this defensive?" he asks, still pushing. For the love of god … I need to muster all my strength to remain impassive. "Are you always so informal with staff?" I retort defensively. Gripping my jacket hem to try and keep my temper low and not show him how much he's annoying me now. "Emma, my staff are people I respect … People whose skills benefit me. I don't see a need to act like a stuffed shirt because I employ them. I'm not my father." I hate the way he's studying me; I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, and I continue to ignore it. Continue to act cold. "You're not like him … I met him … You're nothing like him." In that he knows how to behave. He understands the boundaries between boss and employee. "Good. I don't aim to be." He shifts in his seat. "We don't exactly see eye to eye on most things." I give him a cool look and note he seems a little less relaxed at that word again. Maybe talking about his father makes him uptight. I can relate to that, not that I would call the sperm donor a father, the absent sperm donor of my childhood. "You're not curious?" he glances at me quizzically, green eyes once again boring into the side of my face and making me uncomfortable. "Curious about what?" "Why I don't get along with him? … Most women pry … They want the juicy details." A hint of a smile in his voice, a gross generalization of my sex. I curb the urge to eye roll at him. "No. It's not my business." I answer tightly; I'm not most women and I wish he would shut up. It's a relief when we pull up in front of my building and I glimpse my chance of escape for a few minutes. "This is me." I point up at the block of attractive brown apartments rising above us; he regards me for a second then gestures I should go and I almost exhale with thanks. "I'll wait here, go get changed … Something feminine and soft … Something you wouldn't normally wear." He gives me an odd look, hiding his amusement and I have the sudden urge to throat punch him. Something feminine? Really? I'm pretty sure any clothes made predominantly for women are classed as feminine! Once in my apartment, I go straight to Sarah's room. She's still sound asleep in bed, so I quietly pull two dresses from the back of her closet with a grimace. This doesn't sit well with me, but I pick the floral floaty number my mother would approve of. It's not as short as the other one and I know she has shoes that match this. I go to my room so as not to disturb her and change quickly, despairing at my reflection with a curse and return to the SUV looking like some floaty hippy girl in love, in less than ten minutes. "Better," he says, his eyes appraising me quickly as I slide in. I ignore it. Dressed like this I feel exposed; I need my armor … my tailoring and hair to keep my PA persona with me. Dressed like this I'm like teen Emma and it scares me, takes away my defenses. I don't like to be unprepared. The car moves off again and I sit back trying to relax. It's hard to do when every one of your nerve endings is on high alert. My legs are exposed a lot in this floaty dress, and I pull them in tightly against the seat, pulling the hem toward my knees sharply. "Why all the secrecy?" I ask in attempt to interrupt the way he's watching me. If I didn't know better, I would think he was checking my legs out. His gaze has certainly covertly swept the length of me twice since I returned. "His father, much like mine, owns a majority share of his business. Family money. If either gets wind of what we're meeting about then they would oppose this before I can get things in place. Once I maneuver this a certain way, they will be unable to refuse." He sits back, turning to stare ahead, instead of at me, thankfully. Finally, no longer pinned down by those green eyes. "So, you're going behind your father's back?" I blanche, blinking at him as though I have no real sense of this. "For now. He would refuse to even consider it." He shrugs and starts pushing at something with the toe of his boot on the door. An odd mannerism for who he is. "Why?" "Hunter and my father have a history. They let their rift cloud what's good for business." He moves closer to me, abandoning whatever he was kicking at. Almost a conspiration lean. "And you think a merger, with someone your father hates, is a good business move?" I sit back in my seat trying to keep the distance, trying not to inhale that aftershave or unique Carrero scent now it's closer. He smells too nice for my liking. "If I do this right, then yes … We stand to make a lot of money." He shrugs and goes back to looking out his window at passing scenery, moving back again and I exhale. "What exactly are you going to be merging with?" I relax, glad to have my breathing space back. "They're primarily ship builders. I want to take our experience and build floating hotels and spas bearing the Carrero name. Modern conveniences with luxury fitness amenities onboard … Super boats." "Like cruise ships?" "High-end cruise ships, only a lot bigger and more pamper based." "What makes you think they will be a success?" I'm intrigued by his plan. "The Carrero name … It's what Hunter needs for this venture to be plausible. Their reputation of late has suffered. They had a few multibillion-dollar disasters. They get our reputation and our name, and we get rights to the designs they have in progress." "So, this meeting …?" I'm impressed with his idea and know only too well the rich clients of Carrero would jump at a chance to stay on a floating spa. Carrero is all about luxury. "To outline my plan … How I'm going to maneuver my father to agree to the terms. He could dissolve the whole thing." He looks serious, a return of boss mode. "I see … What's expected of me when we get there, Mr. Carrero?" Best to know my part and be prepared so I can act accordingly. "I just need you to look adoring if we see any lingering photographers. There may be press hanging around. Daniel's going through a bit of a media scandal … Caught screwing someone of importance and then she dumped him publicly. Then, when we're inside, I need you to keep detailed notes of what's discussed so I can backtrack later." "Great." I grimace, wondering what looking adoring entails. Slightly nauseous at the thought. "You'll just have to follow my lead, Emma, and don't get too insulted if I need to touch you." He throws me a smile, watching for a reaction, a little too closely. My eyes widen and I almost gasp. "Touch me?" I flinch at the tone of my own voice betraying me. My heart rate ups a few notches and my palms become instantly clammy. I never signed up for touching. "You're my date remember … I may need to hold your hand, or it might look weird … When I take women out, they're usually inclined to hang over me." He shrugs again, those piercing eyes back on the front of the car and giving me respite. Of course, they are. This makes me uptight. I want to run away. Great … Now he wants to touch me and cuddle up for the cameras; nowhere did I sign up for that in my employment contract. "I have your permission?" He glances at me hesitantly, waiting for a response. "Yes." It's my job. I'm anything but sure, but what harm could it do? Keep reminding yourself of that fact, Emma … I'm sure I can tolerate hand holding for a few minutes, even with him. "Good." As the car draws up to a grand hotel, I'm not relishing what's coming, trying not to over-analyze any of this. Before I know it, his driver is opening my door. I step out as Jake follows behind me; we immediately see the hovering photographers with long-lensed cameras hung around their necks and they pique their interest as Jake slides smoothly up behind me, reaching his full height. Even without touching me, I sense him behind me. My body suddenly on high alert at his proximity. Nerves twist my insides to mush. "Ready?" he whispers and loops his fingers in mine as he comes around me to lead, pulling me toward the doormen. I can't concentrate on much else except the uncomfortable heat of his skin on mine and the way his hand practically dwarves my own. I've never let anyone hold my hand … Well, my mother, maybe once or twice, but she doesn't count. It's not a welcome experience and I have to steel against the urge to recoil and snap my hand away. Too soft, too hot, too intimate. Suddenly there's a small flash that startles me. Crap. They call his name from the right side of us, but he walks on ignoring them and pulling me toward our destination, pulling me against the side of his body, his grip tightening and keeping me close. I keep my chin down, watching my feet and for the first time glad my hair is down to shield my face. We walk on and I allow myself to be led; there's something disturbingly reassuring about it, despite my reservations. I feel safer than I had expected with him. The photographers are denied entry beyond the huge glass doors by tall, uniformed doormen. "Are you here to see Daniel Hunter, Mr. Carrero?" a faceless voice calls out. Shrill in the quiet air. "Are you consoling your friend over the breakup with porn star, Candy Kane?" Another voice. I cringe … What the hell? Someone of importance. A goddamn porn star! "Jake?" A male voice greets us from inside the lobby and I'm introduced to Daniel Hunter. Another billionaire playboy from a wealthy family. The two men fist bump in such a laddish way and do that whole guy arm embrace thing, where they bump shoulders in a macho manner. I watch in complete disbelief that this man is my actual boss, acting like a street thug while his buddy is tugging along a leggy supermodel looking creature. Got over his porn star pretty quick. Daniel takes in my appearance rather obviously. "She's not your usual type?" he smirks as the two men greet warmly. Eyes openly undressing me. "She's definitely yours though." Jake smirks, nodding toward the disinterested bimbo, reminding him of their purpose here and Daniel grins. I instantly dislike him. He's tall and well built, like Jake, but he has sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He's handsome in a classic American way but something about his features make him seem shifty. Sleazy maybe. The other girl looks bored; dark hair cascading over fake breasts, standing tall in stilettos and a short playsuit. She's picking at her red nails as we move on, following Daniel back into the hotel. Jake keeps hold of my hand, casting a glance back at the lenses pointed in through the glass entrance, he throws an arm around my shoulders shielding my face from view and I inwardly freeze. My lungs contract and refuse to function. "Try to relax … You're tense." He smiles down at me, close enough that most would assume he kissed me lightly and I know he's trying to give this impression. I hold my breath, suddenly assaulted with how good he smells and feels so close to me. It's unexpectedly sensual and the intimate closeness sends me into all out-panic mode. I react without thinking, to lift a defensive hand to his chest as my heart pounds crazily, ready to push him. I'm overwhelmed and scared. I don't like the proximity; instinct taking over. He grasps my fingers with his free hand and holds them gently, shielding my reaction and making it look like something else entirely. I focus on my breathing trying to block out the creeping fear running over me. Don't fall apart, I scold myself internally. Hold your shit together, Emma. It's only pretend and he's barely touching you. "I have a room." Daniel winks at us as though implying something is going on. I almost pass out. "I figured I would have a use for it afterwards." He throws a glance toward the leggy, bored, supermodel, who looks like she's as excited for that as she is about being here. I grimace and flush at his insinuation. Jake releases me when we're in the confines of the elevator and throws me a smile, like it's meant as praise, but I don't respond, too busy trying to calm my pounding heart rate and trying to get my breathing to normalize. We get to the desired floor and follow Daniel; he already has his key card in his hand. "I took the liberty of ordering a breakfast menu … I know you like to eat, Jakey boy." He grins Jake's way and gets a smile in return. "I'm starving, and I'm sure Emma needs to eat too." I nod shyly. Shellshocked and quiet while recovering. I hadn't had time to eat this morning, but I'm not sure how he could even know that. Finally, in the hotel room, I feel stupidly disconcerted. It's knocked me for six. Jake's hands on me have left permanent heat where he laid them, a lasting sensation as though they are still on me. I give myself an internal slap and pull myself together as best I can. I need to stop over thinking this.