The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 33

I get bogged down with work and end up with a headache from hell before heading home. It's been a stressful first day back, and now, more than ever, I hate his absence. We're a team; we work on all this crap together and do it well. I've never had to take over single-handedly, and I don't like it anymore. I'm angry at him for making me do this, mad at how my emotions are up and down, and I can't stick to hating him or missing him.

I know it's part of my job, and I know I'm capable, but I detest it. I know more about the Carrero empire than I could have imagined; I've so many staff at my fingertips that it's terrifying. I constantly converse with lawyers, security, HR, and other crazily-titled employees, and sometimes I wonder how my head hasn't self-imploded. I'm only twenty-six, and having so much resting on my shoulders is a considerable achievement. I know I'm good at what I do, but still …

Why the hell did I have to find my calling at the side of a complete asshole named Jake, who makes me feel completely lost without him?

***

"Miss Anderson?"

I glance up at Rosalie as she stands in my office doorway, so lost in this spreadsheet and my thoughts I never heard her approach. It's Thursday afternoon, and I'm feeling the strain of another busy day.

"Yes?"

"There's someone at the reception desk asking for you." She seems nervous and moves from foot to foot.

Do I make her nervous? I don't like the fact that I do.

"Send them in." I smile brightly, trying to put her at ease. I never used to care about the effect I had on her, but I'm not too fond of the way she's hovering or the unsure aura she has about her.

Am I that bad to work for?

"Not up here, Miss Anderson, down at main reception; security doesn't want to send them up," she explains hesitantly. I frown and glance at my watch; I've no meetings planned for another two hours, so this confuses me.

"I'll go down." I smile and wave her away, seeing her noticeable relief at my calm response.

***

I check my appearance in the elevator mirror and smooth down my pencil skirt and jacket. I'm back in PA mode with tailored perfection, the only difference being my hair which softens all of it. I'm getting used to it now, even though it throws off my whole style, and I often catch people staring at me.

I move through the building and out toward the main desk at reception.

"You've someone here to see me?" I smile at the receptionist as she looks me over blankly.

"I'm Emma Anderson."

She balks, obviously realizing who I am, and fumbles; I've had this a lot since I returned with new hair. I sigh heavily in irritation and suppress an eyeroll.

"Of course, Miss Anderson, yes. They're right over there in the waiting area. The gentleman in the green coat." She points toward the seating area, seemingly flustered.

Jeez, do I have that effect on all of them? How have I never noticed this before?

"Thank you. His name?"

"Ummm, he didn't leave one. He said you would know him, ma'am." She looks away quickly, aware she's just ticked me off further. I frown and nod, a little irritated at her lack of competence.

I move toward the large, seated waiting area and run my eyes along the people lurking around waiting for appointments. The green coat has his back to me and does seem vaguely familiar. I hesitate, then move forward and tap his shoulder gently.

It feels like the world stops spinning when he turns, and I'm faced with the familiar blue eyes that resemble my own. A faded gray, stubbly face, that crooked mouth, aged but still recognizable, the shifty eyes and awkward posture of that creep from my teenage memories.

My father.

I inhale sharply and step back, trying to conceal my disgust.

"Emma." He grins at me as though we're old friends, and I just openly stare at him, speechless and momentarily dazed.

"I know I shouldn't have just shown up, but …" he starts.

"Why are you here?" I snap, cutting him off with a glare and raspy voice, my tone as cold and shocked as I feel.

"I haven't been able to call you or contact you. I tried before, a few times, but you're never here. Your cell says it's cut off." He actually has the nerve to grin again, and I wonder if he's mentally unstable.

What the hell?

"Why are you here?" I repeat, grinding my teeth, not even taking a moment to point out that I changed my cell number because of him.

"You're my kid, Emma," he shrugs as if that's all the excuse he needs. My anger, simmering under my skin, rises a hundred degrees.

"I'm surprised you're aware of that." I realize surrounding eyes have looked up in interest, and we are drawing attention, people wondering why I am so hostile.

Crap. I can't do this here. Too public, and we have an audience.

PA Emma takes control over the shocked and emotional Emma, and I regain instant composure.

"Please come with me so we can talk somewhere private." I turn on my heel briskly, gripping my fingers together harshly, my nails biting my flesh, but ignore it. I want to throw up; my skin bristles as I sense him move behind me into the elevator, and I stand as far away as I can, trying hard to breathe.

"You don't know what it means to me to have you see me," he slurs with a lop-sided grin, but it does nothing for me.

"Stop talking," I hiss as the doors close on us, and I face him aggressively now that we're concealed, my fury revealed. "You can fuck off back to whatever hole you climbed out of, got it? When I get off this elevator, I'm going to have security remove you," I spit, the venom thick and clear in my voice, revealing my rage, my body barely concealing the anger running through me or the revulsion at his presence.

"Emma, please, I'm your dad," he whines, defensively lifting his hands, his eyes widening in disbelief at my sudden change in demeanor. So clueless.

"No, you're fucking not!"

It takes more than a sperm donation to be a father!

He steps back, blinking, but I have nothing but seething fury anger growing from deep within, hatred consuming me like a burning ball of wrath in my stomach.

"You think I don't know why you're here?" I laugh sarcastically. "You think I've lucked out and got myself a rich man in Jake Carrero? He's my fucking boss, okay? So, boo on you. I get paid a wage like everyone else. A normal fucking wage that doesn't even touch on any lavish lifestyle. I am nothing to him except his assistant," I sneer at him. The urge to shake him comes over me, and tears hit the backs of my eyes as I am consumed with devastation.

"No, no, I'm not here for that, really," he scrambles, his eyes darting anywhere but to mine. He looks confused and, dare I say it, … disappointed.

Yes, that's right, asshole, squirm!

"Really?" My voice is dripping with hatred and unconcealed disbelief that he would stoop this low.

"I just want to get to know you. I've missed so much." He's flailing; he knows he is dive-bombing, his voice lacking conviction. His eyes search the elevator for a point to focus on.

"You're a fucking liar. You had your chance when I was a kid. Where were you for the last twenty-odd years?" I retort, emotion stinging my eyes, my heart aching badly as I try to reign it in.

"I was, Ummm, uh …" He's raking his hand through his hair evasively, probably shocked that I'm nothing like my mother. If I were, I would be lying in a hospital bed beside her in Chicago, thanks to Ray Vanquis. The elevator pings, and doors open, but no one's there to walk in. I turn on him again, unable to calm down at all.

"What do you really want? Be honest. I might actually give it to you if you are," I test him. He has the grace to look uncomfortable, at least, and shiftily looks away. I can smell booze at this distance, and it's the first time I notice the yellow-stained whites in his eyes. Maybe he's a drunk. Perhaps it's drugs. I don't care!

"I could do with a little help. Get back on my feet, you know?" he answers sheepishly, barely able to look at me.

"You mean money?" I grit my teeth so hard it hurts my jaw. His face flushes, and he nods.

"What is my middle name?" I snap suddenly, my frayed emotions kicking in, and teen Emma slides out impulsively.

"Ummm …" He moves back, blinking hard.

"When is my birthday?" I yell loudly, my voice shaking. He gulps and tries to look anywhere except at me.

"Do you even know how old I am?" I scream in his face, fully erupting as his inability to answer consumes me, and my composure dissolves. He looks like he's going to run. I throw my hands up in exasperation and turn away before I truly explode.

"How much money do you need to get the fuck away from me?" I am so beyond mad that I can barely think straight, my heart pounding through my chest and my head aching badly. I want to curl up and cry right now, my body trembling.

"If it's like that, then as much as you can spare," he whispers; a hint of success in his tone hits me like a spear in my chest, utter agony.

Anger rises inside of me like a volcano about to erupt spectacularly. I'm floored; I can't even formulate a response. It's all-consuming, pushing down any rational thought after the week I've had, the month I've had, the heartbreak I have sobbed through, and my lack of self-worth because of men like this shithead right here.

I spin and impulsively slap him hard across the face with the force of all my pent-up emotions from the last week and all the shit Jake has put me through. The strength of the impact stings my hand, and I recoil, gasping in shock as it reverberates like a throbbing pulse through my wrist, shaking me back to sense.

What the hell did I just do?

His eyes are enormous as he falls into the corner of the elevator from the sheer force of my smack. I've never lashed out and hit anyone like that with unprovoked violence. I can't talk. I'm as shocked as he is at what I just did. I shake my head, words catching in my throat as I stifle a sob and run for an escape. The doors are still open, and I blindly move with speed, immersed in a surge of hysteria.

I head for the stairs, kicking off my shoes erratically, and hurtle past a couple of shocked, suited women in passing. I hit the stairwell in its gloomy darkness and stumble clumsily down a few steps, hurting my ankle and sinking onto the cold steps to let loose. I struggle for breath as my chest caves in. My head is a jumbled mess of confusion as adrenaline courses through me savagely; I wail with pain as the tears cascade.

I clutch at my head, yanking my hair as though to calm the chaos.

I just assaulted a man in the elevator of my high-profile workplace!

I'm sure security has cameras, and I've probably just broken about ten laws. I can't get up. I can't make my legs work. My breathing is labored as the sheer panic at what I have done sets in, and my body is unresponsive to my commands.

Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to ask me for money? Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

My mind spirals out of control, and my body shakes and shivers as the realization dawns on me, like hitting a brick wall. The tears increase, falling thick and fast, as I realize I have literally, single-handedly destroyed my career over someone who was always supposed to love me.

Why did he have to do that? Could he not pretend, even for one minute, that I was worth more than money? Genuinely want to know me?

As much as I hate him, it still crushes me to know that my only value to my biological father is how much cash I can give him. I break down entirely, howling and falling to pieces. I can't breathe; this pain is too much, and now, to top it off, I'll be fired for sure. It's the only worthwhile thing in my life, and I go and do something that is sure to get me dismissed.

Blinded by tears, all logic gone, I pull my cell out of my jacket. Without thinking, I dial Jake's number with shaking fingertips, tears coursing down my face, my nose running wildly. I can't think straight; I need to feel grounded again and safe. I need to hear his voice. I need my Jake to do what he always does and bring me back from the brink of hysteria.

It rings twice, then he answers, even seeing it's me.

"Hello."

Oh my god, he answered.

I cradle the cell tighter to my face, stifling my sobs to try and talk. The wave of relief hits me hard, like a punch in my gut, and I am momentarily stunned that he picked up.

"Emma?" He seems concerned before I even speak; he must be able to hear my heavy breathing and pathetic sobs and sniffs. I'm hardly quiet.

"Jake, I … I …" I don't know what I'm doing; I can't get the words out. I don't want him to be mad at me anymore. I need my friend; I need my Jake. I'm so desperate for it that it physically hurts. I have no idea what to say or if I should even be calling him, but it was automatic, like breathing.

"Are you crying?" His shocked tone is a welcome relief.

"Please, don't fire me," I sob. It's the only rational thing that forms in my head. I'm wiping my face with my sleeve, but it's pointless as the tears fall fast and endlessly.

There goes my make-up.

"I'm not going to fire you, Emma. Is that why you're crying? Is that what you think? Where are you? What's wrong?" It's my Jake's normal voice, his tone concerned, a little more than concerned. He sounds worried. It makes me break more; I miss him so much it's killing me.

"I hit him," I whisper painfully, ignoring his questions. I'm ashamed of my admission, but I can tell Jake the truth. "In the elevator," I continue, knowing I'm barely coherent. I need to calm down, take deep breaths, and bring the hysteria to a more manageable level.

"Hit who? Emma, has someone hurt you?" His voice is panicked; he sounds odd and angry, but not at me. It's the same anger he had before he beat Ray to a pulp. I wonder if he thinks Ray's come back, and it softens the pain, knowing he cares.

"Yes … no … yes." I'm so confused. He hurt me, just not physically. But it hurts so much.

"Emma?" His voice becomes strained; he's trying to keep his emotions in check. He's trying to get me to talk sense and pick out the details he wants, "Where are you exactly?" He sounds it out slowly as though I'ma child.

"I'm in the stairwell of Carrero H-H-House," I stutter and sniff loudly, gasping in much-needed air, "I don't know what floor." I crumble again in pieces, completely useless. He has no idea how it feels to have him talking to me again, making my heart flourish and pushing a ton of weight away. He sounds like my Jake.

"Listen to me, Cara mia," he soothes gently, "Look around. There should be a sign with the floor number at every entrance." He's tense, and I'm glad; I want him concerned. I want him to care. I don't want mad, cold, and cruel Jake. I want my Jake to come back, my real Jake. The one who looks after me.

Just his voice is calming me down, and the tears have stopped spilling so vehemently. I take a deep breath to steady myself, patting my face on my sleeve, not caring about the mess it leaves. I look above me, up the small flight of stairs I'm sitting on and locate the white sign high on the wall over the exit.

"Floor thirteen," I sniff and swallow back the lingering tears, gaining some control as I wipe moisture from my chin with the back of my hand.

"I'm going to send security to get you. Stay on the line, Emma. I'll be one second. I promise. I won't leave you," he pleads gently, and the irony is not lost on me.

I cradle the cell to my ear as though my life depends on it, the only contact I have with him and the version of him I have been pining for. My line goes quiet; I'm calmer, but I can't stop the fresh tears from pouring down my face silently. They're tears of relief this time because he's come back to me. Jake is being Jake.

"Emma?" He finally returns, and I let my breath out, unaware I have been holding it in the tense gap.

"I'm still here." I'm quiet and weak all over. I guess opening up this dam full of tears has caused considerable damage as I can't seem to stop them nowadays.

"Who hurt you, Bella?" His voice is soft and gentle. His pet name causes another fresh tear to roll down my face. "You need to tell me who he is so I can have them sweep the building," he coaxes gently and firmly, sounding so warm and safe to me right now.

"I hate him," I whisper softly, the child in me making herself known. I sit silently, my throat constricting painfully, but I am starting to pull through.

"Talk to me, Emma, please. I can't stand this." Pleading and gentle, Jake is irresistible to me right now. I wouldn't deny him anything when he is back to being the man I miss so much, the one I can rely on.

"My father. He came here," I sniff, wiping away residual tears, starting to gain control over them too. Jake calms me effortlessly, and he has absolutely no idea. He's my lifeboat in a stormy sea.

"To the offices?" A startled response, much like mine was.

"Reception on the ground floor." I swallow and sit up, able to take a steadying breath, my voice getting stronger.

"What did he do, Bella?" His voice is barely above a whisper, treating me like fragile glass.

God, Jake, I need you so much.

"He asked me for money. To pay him to stay away from me," I smirk bitterly through the pang it causes and laughs sardonically. I sound heartbroken. Maybe I am. There's a deathly silence, then quiet curses calling my biological father an awful name. Jake, at least, gets it.

"I slapped him in the face. My hand hurts." I drop my eyes to the bright red skin on my palm and the throb emanating. It was worth it.

"I would have broken his neck," he snarls. "Emma, you need to calm down, okay? I'm getting on the first flight back, Bambina. I'll be home as soon as I can get there." The genuine affection in his voice causes a fresh wave of tears, more relief. I've wanted him home more than anything else, and he's finally coming.

"Why did you leave me?" Before I can stop it, it comes out, emotion-fueled desperation at finally having regular Jake back.

"Don't talk about that now. When I'm home," he breathes as men come into the stairwell, feet clattering on the floor and a door creaking; they call my name out from above.

"Security is here," I whisper and hear him sigh with relief.

"Go with them; show them what he looks like on the security footage, then I want you to go home … to my apartment. Stay there until I'm back; wait for me." Bossy Carrero is back, but I won't argue; this is who I need. I won't even refuse to go to his place; I want to be there when he gets back.

"Okay."

"Emma," he adds as an afterthought.

"What, Jake?" I pause.

"You won't get fired for slapping that fucker in the elevator. The tapes will be wiped; I'll deal with him myself." The gruffness of his voice is reassuring; I sigh and sniff, finally calming my tears, relieved that he will take care of everything like he always does.

The man above me on the stairs is holding my shoes out to , and I accept gratefully; the other offers a hand to help me up. I'm suddenly aware of the mess I'm in, a little self-conscious now at being caught by two strange men this way.

"I need to go now," I whisper into the cell reluctantly; I don't want him to go.

"Put one of them on," he commands gently, so I hand the cell to the one holding my shoes.

"He wants to talk to you." I hold it out, and he accepts, promptly putting it to his ear.

"Yes? … Yes, Mr. Carrero … Yes, sir," he glances at me and away again, "Right away, sir … Yes, as soon as she identifies him … Understood … Yes, sir, she's … she's calming down." He looks me over again; this time, I frown at him. I'm calm and back in control of my faculties, but I feel drained. "Okay, sir," and he hands the cell back to me; I put it back to my ear.

"It's me," I utter softly.

"Go with them; do as they say. I'll be back as soon as I can. Try not to think about this until I'm home."

I tell him I need to go, calmer and grounded. Commanding Carrero has taken control, and suddenly I feel nothing but fatigue. I say goodbye before hanging up, a wash of warmth and relief overtaking me.

My Jake is coming back! He's coming back for me. He's going to make it okay again. He makes everything okay.