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. xThat’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 lurk
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.
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.
I sit and pay attention as we eat from the breakfast buffet; the business merger sounds promising and I take key point notes on things he will want to recap. I listen intently to them thrash through proposals and possibilities with enthusiasm and can see that these men are genuine friends. They have a rapport you can only find between men who know each other well. Sarcasm and banter interlaced with business talk. Jake is one of the ‘guys’ when he’s around Daniel.I can’t help but notice as I’ve been sitting cross legged that Daniel Hunter has not concealed his open appraisal of me, his eyes following my legs and arms intrusively as Jake outlines some points of business. He makes my skin crawl and I’m doing my best to ignore him. I catch Jake glance my way a couple of times, with an unreadable expression before he looks back at his friend.I look up occasionally from note taking and am intrigued with the differences between them. The friendship seems genuine, but I don’t see th
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.T
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!&rdq
“Emma?” he looks at me pointedly, that hint of serious coming through the boyish charm.“Even women have needs.”Do they?I think sourly. I’m pretty sure I’ve never needed to go there. I tried it when I was young; non-serious boyfriends and the pressure of other kids doing it. I didn’t like it much and it only left a nasty taste in my mouth.“You would know, of course, being one hundred percent hot-blooded male.” I laugh at him, raising a brow at the man who is as far from feminine as any guy can get.“I go to bed with enough women to know it’s not only men who crave sex. There’s no way you can tell me you don’t get the raging horn, at all?” He’s a little too focused on me now and looking all too invested in this.“Jake, can we talk about something else? I don’t think I want to talk about sex with my boss over lunch.” An anxious knot has moved up
The afternoon is chaotic. For the first time, I’m glad of my assistant, Rosalie’s, lingering presence; it feels like I don’t get a second to think.Jake’s in his office with just as much going on as me; I’ve walked in there a dozen times with files and notes and each time he seems to be shedding clothes. He’s now sitting with his shirt pulled out, unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves rolled up. His normally styled hair is ruffled, messy, and his tie and jacket are strewn across his couch. His shoes are lying in the middle of the floor, a sure sign he’s stressed.I pick up his tie and jacket and hang them neatly on the hooks behind his door, shuffling his shoes to under the edge of his desk with the toes of my stilettos. I move all the papers from the left side he’s been through and pile them neatly into an open box file, before laying out some stapled contracts he needs to sign to send down to legal. He smiles up at me br