Chapter 6

It's been twelve weeks since I met Jake Carrero and I'm no longer unsure around my over-familiar boss. In such a brief time, the forced proximity and grueling demands has carved out an amicable relationship that doesn't completely offend me. I find him tolerable, sometimes even amusing. I'd go as far as saying companionable. I maybe even like him a little more than I ever imagined I could. The full force of my job requirements came upon me in a tidal wave after the Hunter breakfast. Margo decided to throw me in the deep end as it was the only way to test my resolve and she had slowly been receding from the picture, until now. Now she is completely absent. I run after him to meetings, carrying files and folders, a wealth of information always at my fingertips. Awaiting his commands, always up to speed with every detail he's dealing with, always involved. He's an exhausting workaholic with a very hand on approach, yet I've never been happier or more challenged. I'm content. Trips are frequent and tiring and I spend my days in an endless flurry of typing, answering phones, having orders tossed at me and dealing with a hundred people via my iPad, iPhone, and laptop; all of which he thrust at me rather ceremoniously after the Hunter meeting. I'm excelling at the control and efficiency and I'm starting to take it all in my stride. Despite acting like he's Mr. Cool and laid back and takes nothing seriously, I was pleasantly surprised to find Jake is deeply embroiled in his father's business. Surprised to find Mr. Carrero does in fact possess a very shrewd business brain and high IQ that contradicts how he presents himself. I guess that's a part of his allure; he's smart, sharp, and attentive, but wrapped up in casual charm and sexiness normally associated with dumb underwear models. I've been privy to so many contracts and papers in such a short time that my head reels every night when I go to bed. I've lost the ability to switch off and I now lie awake, restless with things I need to get done the next day. Eager to go back to work. I've found so much more enjoyment in submerging myself in my new role than I ever found on the tenth floor. Jake was right about identifying my skills; he pounced on them and uses them to full capacity every single day. He's never boring to be around, that's for sure. My wardrobe has expanded hugely thanks to the skill of Donna Moore and I can't say it's unpleasant. Her taste is impeccable, and she has chosen things I would have bought for myself. Margo was right, it's a perk that I am enjoying. I look forward to her frequent visits, laden with bags of clothes that Jake has assured her I need. "Emma?" Jake's voice cuts through my thoughts as I run through my schedule on the iPad in my hand, engrossed in shifting appointments to fit in an impromptu trip and emailing the changes to Rosalie to organize. She's my new assistant, replacing me in my old position now Margo has retired. He's just arrived back from an early lunch with one of his brainless bimbos and only walked in. "Jake?" I answer without looking up, aware of his body heat close behind me. I am always aware of his proximity. "I need the Hunter file." His voice runs over me smoothly. "Already on your desk" I smile graciously, pulling down the back of my tailored jacket, a gray woolen Dior courtesy of Donna; standing in the middle of my office which is right outside his. I walked out from placing those exact files on his desk when my email beeped. "Thanks, did you call and arrange my dinner booking with Clare?" His girl of the moment, yet not the lunch date; some Hollywood actress turned country singer with endless legs and oversized boobs. I dislike all his girls, and the frequency in which he replaces them. "Yes. You're in at eight at the Plaza, where she's staying. I've arranged for the car to collect you." I respond drily, trying to keep the disdain from my voice. "Good girl." He pats my back childishly and I give him an indulgent look … hating the term. "Good girl?" Like I'm some sort of puppy. Next, he'll be giving me a biscuit. "Emma?" "Mmm-hmmm?" I look back down distractedly as an email reply from Rosalie pings to the top right corner of my tablet. She's down at accounting and not at her desk, ten feet away. "Fuck!" Jake breathes right behind my head; his breath moves my hair and it sends goosebumps over my skin from the contact. "What?" I look up in surprise at him, craning round to see his face behind me. He's glaring past me toward the wall of glass in the outer hallway as a group of suited men and women make their way toward us from the elevators. They haven't seen us yet, as their view is impaired from the angle. Jake swipes me around the waist and halls me backward, causing me to almost drop my iPad. Pulled into his office, he shuts the door as I squeal in surprise at being man handled in such a Neanderthal way and make a protest. "Jake!" "Shhhh." He covers my mouth with his hand, still caught in his arm, he pulls me backward lifting my feet from the floor. My arms flail with the sudden kidnapping, and I grip my iPad tighter, struggling weakly. I hate when he does stuff like this! He has no concept of personal space or how inappropriate it is to manhandle your PA. He manhandles me way more than I ever thought possible. This is often a daily occurrence in some way or another and he sees nothing wrong with it. "Just be quiet and do as you're told!" He drops me from his embrace, grabs my free hand hauling me toward the rarely used door of his office into his second room with apology. It's a changing room come office that I've never actually understood. He stores clothes, art, and random crap in here, including the couches which used to grace the office floor. He latches the door behind us and sits on one of the cream couches, leaving me heaving in the middle of the floor like a crazy person. Struggling to calm my thudding heart rate. "Jake are you having some sort of mental breakdown?" I snap, looking around the room he has us caught in while I steady my breath. I run my hands down my skirt, trying to un-wrinkle my clothes now I've been unceremoniously released to regain my demeanor. "It's my father … I don't want to see him." He shrugs at me as though it's all the explanation I need. I know that several heated calls have taken place in the last few days when the Hunter merger become public. I learned quickly how strained the father-son relationship is and it's not the first time we have evaded Carrero senior. He either evades him or insists on antagonizing him in heated rows. Usually public fights. They have a deep-rooted conflict I've never pressed him about. "Why didn't you leave me out there to tell them you're not here then?" I snap and keep my voice low. I hate when he grabs me, yet it's something he does frequently when he wants me to move in a hurry or get out of his way. Wouldn't kill you to just ask me to move! "Because wherever you are, is where I usually am. He knows that!" I can't argue with that logic. Jake seems to require my presence a lot more than I ever saw him with Margo. His cell starts to ring in his pocket, and he pulls it out, sighs and slides it back down onto the couch, silencing it. I sigh at his hopelessness, my temper dissipating and push my cool facade back into place as I take in the dejected look on his face. So boyish at times. He stretches his hands behind his head in that casual way he has, closes his eyes as I watch, bemused, but still irritated. My boss, the man-child. Sometimes endearing, but generally a huge irritation to my day. "If we hide out here for ten minutes, he will fuck off." He says with closed eyes, hands tucked behind his head and mimicking sleep. "Jake." I warn lightly; he rarely swears at work. He opens one eye and smiles at me, sliding to his left and turns, lifts his feet onto the couch and slides down to get comfy. A move into a laid down position. Yes, this is the CEO of this empire! "Power nap until he leaves my floor?" He winks; even through tailored suits, I can still make out the strong lines of his body and glance away to steady my focus on the rail of clothes in here. Distraction always works. Mostly. When was the last time he used any of the suits hung in here? Focus on the suits! I'm pretty sure the black Armani is the one he had sent in for the banquet we never attended. I should have it returned, I think to myself, and make a note on the iPad. He pats the sofa next to him suggestively, a cheeky Carrero glint in his eye but I continue with my notes refusing to make eye contact. "I think not, Mr. Carrero." Sighing inwardly at the man I have to deal with every day; he's never dull anyway. "Your loss." He closes his eyes again. We pause as we hear voices in the room next to us, faint and distant, that quickly evaporate as the intruders leave again. Both of us silent and still. "You've a meeting in about fifteen minutes, I'm sure half those suits are going to be in it." I point out, sounding unamused and bored. "I'll just imply I was busy elsewhere." He shrugs, refusing to open those eyes and managing to look crazily attractive in this pose. I sigh. "Busy doing what?" "Busy in a cupboard with my PA, trying out the softness of the couch." He smirks, opening one eye and then the other slowly, to grin at me. "I'm not having you imply we were up to no good somewhere in this building. Do you know how quickly that would get around the temp pool?" I respond calmly; this is a repetitive conversation which only makes me sigh again. Only I would be lumbered with a boss as trying as this, who loves nothing more than to stress me out. The sexual innuendos never run out with him or the jokes about implicating us. "We are up to no good, may as well get on the couch and make it worth your while. I'm sure I could help un-wrinkle that skirt." I roll my eyes; he's in his playful mood. I probably won't get much work done this afternoon at all when he is like this. He's trying at the best of times, but worse in playful mode. I check my watch in irritation, we should get out of here. "In your dreams," I respond drily, trying my hardest to ignore him. "Always." He throws me a quick eyebrow lift, a cheeky smile. I remain impassive. He's tiresome and we have a meeting we should already be arriving at. Needless to say, he no longer intimidates me, and his overly familiar behavior is a sign that we have grown somewhat closer in the past weeks. He stopped behaving quite so properly a while ago and I gave up objecting because he is simply too exhausting. He's watching me as I smooth a stray hair back into my French knot, aware that his eyes are on me. I raise mine in question. Throwing him my haughty look. My silent, "What?" "I miss it sometimes you know?" He's watching me now, a strange look on his face and a faraway glaze to his eyes. "Miss what?" I mumble trying to sort my jacket out. He really did a number on making me look rumpled this time. "Being able to intimidate you." He's grinning again and eerily reading my thoughts of a moment ago. Something he does a lot. "Shame," I respond flatly. I add a note to my planner for a reservation next week and pull up a new email I received. It's finance asking for the spreadsheets we finished this morning. Rosalie is obviously having no fun with them today. "I think it's safe to leave the closet with you now, Mr. Carrero." I close my iPad inside it's protective cover and don't look at him. "We're back to Mr. Carrero, are we? Have I made you pout, Miss. Anderson?" He throws me his most innocent schoolboy look. I'm fully aware of my using his title when he pisses me off, he thinks I'm mad at him. Maybe I am. He did haul me into a cupboard after all. "I think you need the boundaries redefined, seeing as you just manhandled me into a closet." I pout at him. "Point taken. I'm so deeply sorry for my terrible behavior." He's still smiling at me and I have the urge to smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. This annoys me immensely. I hate that he always manages to make me cave, even when he's pissed me off. He's incorrigible and exhausting. I don't know why I endure this every day. I push it down; I would rather stay pissed or appear to be, as it usually gets him to behave a little more demurely. "Anytime soon?" I gesture at the door impatiently with a nod, crossing my arms. "You go, I may stay here for a bit and watch you walk out." He turns, getting comfy again to watch me move. A look of wickedness gracing his face and I exhale heavily. "Enjoy the view," I retort. "I'll leave my resignation on the desk as I pass." I smile sweetly, upper hand as always. He couldn't run things quite so well without me. "Reason being sexual harassment … … Again!" I raise my voice to highlight my uppity tone. "You couldn't leave me, Emma … You adore working for me too much. You would miss my sexual harassment." The laugh in his voice indicates he is still smiling my way. Ass. I raise an eyebrow back at him and turn away as though I'm serious and fight the urge to smirk. He has a way of getting under my skin even when being juvenile. I open the door and slide out, looking around cautiously. I notice that his office door is ajar, and I head out to peek around seeing everything is clear. A small walk to my old desk and I can check most of the floor is vacant, with only the regular secretaries milling around and paying no heed to me. I pull out my cell and text him that all is quiet rather than venture back in. I can't believe he made me hide in the closet from his father. Sometimes he acts like a two-year-old not New York's most eligible bachelor! He appears a moment later, looking cool and collected and smiles as he tugs a strand of my hair back down from my French knot. I could slap him, he knows how much his fussing my hair annoys me, yet it's something he does several times a day for a reaction. I smooth it back in place and curse under my breath at his back, resisting the urge to throw him a finger. I pick up the files for the meeting and check my watch again, we should make it if he moves his ass. * * * The meeting is eventful to say the least. His father makes a grand entrance halfway through and everyone clears the room quickly. The two Carrero men go at it like raging bulls as I stand outside, observing the many eyes watching them through the glass. I stand with my back to them, iPad in hand as I reply to emails and I can hear them arguing in Italian so that no one else can understand what they're saying. His father is pissed, but Jake is antagonizing him. I can tell by his tone of voice and a quick glance confirms it with his aggressive posture. He never knows when to stop. The merger could still be called off, he should be smoothing things over, not letting his feelings get the better of him. Finally, Senior storms out, yelling something in hostile Italian and Jake snorts in answer. Senior glares back at him before stomping off with a flurry of nervous assistants running after him, without a backward glance, the air crackling with tension. "Emma!" Jake's voice makes me jump. He sounds pissed and I snap around as he wanders out, loosening his tie; his eyes normally so still are stormy and dark and despite his controlled, cool tone, I can sense he's aggravated. "The merger is going ahead." He almost growls it at me, looking a tad ferocious. I swallow my nerves back down. "He isn't stopping it?" I'm surprised by this. "He can't." He frowns and takes my arm, pulling me back into the board room and slides the door closed. Holding me close to his face. Another example of his hands-on approach. "It's gone public, just like I planned. If Hunter or my father back out now, it will damage both of their reputations. They both stand to make a lot of money and a lot of jobs ride on this merger. Hunter can't refuse, his business will go under if he does." I realize that the last few weeks maneuvering this deal in certain ways, and letting certain facts leak, has been deliberate. Brain behind the brawn, and one of the reasons his father always pushed him to get involved in the family business. Funny that it's backfired on him. "If he stands to gain from this, then why is he so angry?" I query. I know Giovanni Carrero values money above all things. "He despises Carl Hunter, you know this." He shrugs with one shoulder. Casting a look over my head and frowning at the meandering staff. "Why did you choose to merger this deal if you knew it would be this way?" I've been dying to ask him that question for weeks but never felt it was my place to interrogate his decisions. Jake's expression closes, and he looks thoughtful. "Let's go for food … I don't want to talk here." He glances up and out one of the long windows again, as though insinuating he doesn't trust nearby ears. "You just had lunch an hour ago, Jake," I point out, but he shrugs in response and I know it doesn't matter. He has the appetite of a horse. The boy could eat all day and still find space for seconds.