The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 22

I spend the meeting the next day wearing Jake's sunglasses and nursing a hangover. My eyes are puffy and sore, and my head's banging.

He put me to bed last night and left me alone until our first meeting this morning; he didn't even push me to eat breakfast or jog with him for a change. I know he's walking on eggshells, waiting to see how I am. He's giving me space, or maybe he's just looking at me and thinking I'm probably mentally broken and could fall apart any day now, so he should handle it with care.

I'm in 'cold and grumpy' mode, excelling at it, covering my inner turmoil and regrets. So far, I've snapped at every person I've met in triplicate. In the past, Jake has met my PMS face, which I have with a vengeance, but I may even surpass myself now. He has said nothing about my mood, no funny comments or sarcastic telling off's; he frowns at me. He's tugged my hand out of my hair repeatedly; I wore it down because I couldn't bear to stand there doing it up this morning, and I've finally decided it's going to get cut short. So, I'm done with all the fussing and styling.

Jake is unusually patient and steady, despite my endless raised eyebrows and cool glares. I think he's allowing me to misbehave because he feels responsible for getting me drunk and urging some shocking truths from me, guilty that I'm suffering a headache at his request and alcohol-fueling.

I'm angry at him today, mad at everyone. I'm unsure if it's because I feel rough or because I had some emotional breakdown that dredged the past up to the surface. Either way, a bear with a sore head hasn't anything on my mood, and the day is dragging endlessly.

The flight back to New York isn't as bad; I sleep a lot and feel better for it. I sit in one of the rear seats, away from Jake, amazed that I managed to get any sleep on a flight for the first time in my life. I guess a hangover is a cure for fear of flying. Or maybe I'm finally learning to trust his pilot.

I have my own space to get a grip on myself. I thought things would be awkward with him after I let all that horrendous crap slip out in the car, but he seems the same; if anything, he looks more normal than usual. Effortlessly Jake.

Finally, I wake and move to a seat beside him, sliding in easily and meeting his charming smile with my own. Within moments, I'm staring out onto the clouds in the beautiful blue sky while Jake has papers in front of him with his cell on top.

"Emma, for the love of God," he says. I flick my eyes back up, confused, and frown as he tugs my fingers out of my hair again. I roll my eyes, both at him and myself. I've given up trying to counteract this annoying habit when it surfaces; half the time, I am oblivious to it. "I swear, I will insist on tying that back up," he says in a snarky way. Whatever has transpired while I slept has him in a grumpy mood.

"So, first, you get on me to wear it down all the time, and now you want it tied back up?" I pout, a little annoyed at his new mood.

"I didn't think you would pull and twirl your hair like a child every time you got stressed." He tenses his shoulders and moves in his seat a little. He looks agitated, hands raking over the papers he's dropped in his lap. A glance shows it's a contract that has been causing problems lately.

"Maybe it's endearing to your clients. And I'm not stressed," I lie. Lately, my head never stops obsessing: over how Sophie is getting on, whether my mother is home yet, and whether Ray has crawled back into a dark hole after Jake's beating. Stressed would be an understatement and probably the cause of the hair twirling. He gives me a strange look and frowns.

"I don't care if my PA is endearing to my clients; I just want her to do the job I ask of her," he sighs. He's on edge, too, seeming distracted-Moody Carrero on full show.

"Which I do, hair twisting and all. Grumpy!" I huff too, and he looks at me for a moment, a brief flicker across his face as he gives up this pointless bickering. We're both so touchy today, it seems. No idea where his lousy mood came from, possibly a delayed hangover, if he even ever got one.

"Have you got any info on this dance my father has conned us into? He's eternally pimping me out to yet another glitzy affair," he says, softening his frown. I slide the file out of my bag and give it to him, glad for the change of topic.

The event is a dance and auction for some charity. We received his father's request that we should make an appearance at this event just as we were heading to Vegas, and luckily, I managed to print off the details before getting on the plane. It's not unlike Senior to make such requests.

Jake flips through the file, and I go back to gazing at the clouds floating by. I feel his eyes on me and realize I'm doing it again; I release my hair and tuck my hand under my leg. I can't help it. Everything that's happened in under a week has me on edge, even when I'm not thinking of anything. I've been uptight constantly. I seem to be unable to stop fidgeting lately. I can't even trace back to the subtle and mild fidgeting when it started again. I'm sure he started chastising me after

…

The kiss in the kitchen. I gulp.

"We may have to get drunk to get through this one," he sighs dramatically and slaps the papers down on the table.

"I think we should give the booze a rest for tonight. I don't think my poor body can handle a new hangover when it's still suffering from one," I grimace.

"Never heard of 'the hair of the dog,' tiny?" Jake smiles at me.

"Drink to kill a hangover and worry about it later." "Is that a Jake Carrero hangover cure?" I roll my eyes.

"Tried and tested. I'll happily let you try it."

"I'll pass. I don't want to spend my first weekend off dying in bed. Thank you very much."

"You can stay in my bed, and I promise I'll distract you from any nasty hangovers. The second tried and tested method is to sweat it out with some vigorous acrobatics." He winks at me with a cheeky grin and gets another heavy sigh in response as I battle the urge to laugh. Jake never tires of the sexual references. I wonder if I'll ever tire of laughing at them. I don't think I would find them funny or harmless if it were anyone else, but they don't mean anything to him.

***

The dance is pleasant and grand, with an awesome East Asian theme. Authentic costumes are everywhere; exotic canapes and cocktails flow freely, and my eyes are dazzled with all the sparkling décor. There are many droning speeches before the dance gets underway and, as usual, the flashing of a million cameras. I'm so used to them nowadays that I never really notice anymore.

"Dance, Miss Anderson?" Jake is back in charming and happy mode and dazzles me with a gorgeous, relaxed smile. "Certainly, Mr. Carrero." I take his hand and follow him through the crowd to join other guests; it's a slow song, and he moves me expertly. Dancing with Jake is fast becoming one of my favorite past times. Like everything he does, it's with a smooth, confident capability that seems annoyingly easy for him.

"It's a good thing you have a young female PA," I smile up at him, feeling relaxed in his embrace and letting myself ooze into him.

"Why is that?"

"Saves you having to wine and dine leggy blondes on short notice when you can't be bothered or hungover," I smirk, inwardly glad he has no date with him tonight.

"I guess. Although that stiff double whiskey sorted me right out." He's smiling; he seems relaxed tonight despite his earlier weird grumpiness, and he's got that casual, laid-back vibe.

"What's with that anyway?" I ask curiously.

"What's with what?" He looks over my head and nods at someone trying to catch his attention, ever sociable Carrero. Back to swaying with me to the music, he seems distant suddenly, but I know he's trying to avoid my Gestapo-like questioning.

"The lack of leggy bosoms lately?" It's been in the back of my mind, his lack of playmates and sleepovers, for weeks.

He shrugs and spins me around, pulls me back into his arm playfully, and lightly smacks me on the butt. I throw him a mock alarmed look; the tug of his grin is not lost on me, and I get that warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach at his good mood.

He's so much more mellow since we landed.

"Lost your sex drive or merely misplaced it?" I press.

"Nope." He's smiling, but that guarded look is back with my probing. He's being deliberately evasive, pulling out a bit of irritation from me.

Oh, so we're playing the one-word answer game, are we?

He looks amused at my dry expression.

"Bored?" I press.

"So-so. Just taking a break," he shrugs and looks over me again, winking at another attention grabber.

For goodness sake.

"You do that, do you?" I cock my head to the side, studying his chiseled jawline and the sparkle of his mystical eyes in this light.

He looks particularly handsome tonight.

"Sometimes."

I doubt it very much. From my research of all his years of social endeavors, I'm sure I never saw a break in the flow of women, but maybe some of them were just stand-in dates like me, PAs, and assistants when he couldn't be bothered.

"Are you sick?" I know I'm prying, but I live with him, and I know how much he likes a roll in the sheets, and, by my calculations, it's been a while since the last one-a long while.

"Not that I'm aware." He throws me a quizzical glance with raised eyebrows that says, "Where are you going with this?" but he is still smiling. He catches my hand and holds it to his forehead with a furrowed brow, asking, "Do I have a fever?"

I pull my hand free and shake my head at him in exasperation. We go back to swaying, but my brain is still mulling it over.

"You're not …? You know …?" I hesitate as the telltale heat runs up my cheeks, and I curse myself for asking this.

"What?" he laughs now; I think he knows what I'm going to ask, and it's absolutely hilarious to him. He has that amused look on his face, the all-knowing eye.

How does he do that?

"Having man problems?" I blush furiously.

God! I've become as nosey as him! And as inappropriate! Why am I even asking this?

"No. No 'man problems,' Emma. Don't worry. My libido is still intact, and waiting for you to name the place. Why are you so interested in my lack of sexual partners?" he asks, shaking his head and locking eyes with mine, finally being direct.

"It's just … I've worked for you for a while now, and it's the time there's been a lull in … playtime," I answer, my skin on fire, and I suddenly wish I'd never started this line of interrogation. I am practically squirming with awkwardness.

Why do I care so much anyway?

"You're keeping tabs? Maybe a little jealous?" he smirks at me, twinkling in those alluring eyes.

"No!" I flush and realize my cheeks are flaming now; I must be bright red. He's smirking at me as he moves me around in time to the music and pulls me against his chest so we're resting cheek easily to cheek, giving me a break from the interrogation. Instead, I'm enveloped by his warmth against my face. He moves my body against his expertly, slowly swaying us.

"I just need a little break from demanding, stroppy women; even casual sex can be a hassle," he shrugs flatly.

"I see. So, am I just the stand-in date from now on, then?" I ask seriously, a tingle of annoyance at that fact.

"Never! You're always my number one girl." He throws me a mock shocked look as though I've offended him. "I don't know why you're complaining. I don't think I've seen you warm to a single female I've dated," he states as a matter of fact, then spins me and brings me back to his face, tipping his chin down, so his nose grazes my shoulder when he pulls me in. His breath fans my naked skin in this strapless dress, giving me goosebumps. It's a little red number and far too molded to my body for my liking. He presses his ear against my ear intimately, the new position meaning my face is almost buried in his shoulder and neck, closer than moments before. I'm a little breathless, and this is not a platonic pose to anyone watching, especially as this dress is all cleavage, and Jake's looking directly into it.

"I didn't know I was meant to warm to any of them," I stumble over the words, conscious that I'm suddenly lightheaded and overly aware of how well our bodies fit together and how sexual this feels.

"You're not. It's up to you; either you like them or don't.

It doesn't matter … not one of them is permanent." He returns to his previous hold, giving me some breathing room again, and I exhale with relief. He lifts his hand from my waist, waves at someone behind me, and then returns it to its warm spot on my body, pulling me in a bit closer, if that is possible. I'm practically part of his body like this.

"What do you see in them?" I've mulled this over every time I've met one, never seeing the connection, and I can't stop asking these dumb questions. He raises his eyebrow, followed by a smile that says, "Really?" and I feel stupid.

Okay, so he's a man! And they're all drop-dead gorgeous with scantily covered, lithe bodies and huge boobs; every one has been stunning in that fake, plastic over-manicured way.

"I mean, besides that?" I falter drily.

"Nothing, hence why they're all temporary. None have your cute little face, perfect figure, or sexy little personality." He throws me another flirty grin. Eye-rolling has become my most used facial expression since meeting him and his cheesy lines.

"So, another deliberate move by smooth Mr. Carrero then?" Another premeditated gameplay? Maybe we're not so different, both controlling our lives so fluidly.

"Pretty much." The music tempo changes slightly, but it's still a slow song. He lifts my hand a bit higher, checks his watch, then puts his arm back in its previous position. He's getting bored being here. All the Jake signs are coming out. We'll be leaving soon at this rate, but I want to know …

"So, you avoid women you might want to make more permanent?" I press on like a dog with a bone.

"Mmm-hmmm makes sure I don't get too involved. Waiting on you to hurry up and confess undying love, Bambina." He winks at me and flexes his eyebrows knowingly.

"You're exhausting. You know that?" I sigh again, exasperated him at times. "So? What is your type if it's not leggy boobs with killer nails?" I push, smiling shyly but determined. His eyes flicker to me thoughtfully for a moment, then he shrugs.

"Someone real. Maybe short, blonde, blue-eyed with a name like Emma." His grin is over the top, full-on charming Carrero, and I resist the urge to bop him on the head. He's never serious about this stuff. Ever! I exhale heavily.

"More real than fake boobs and Botox, you mean?" Despite the little elevated heartbeat that has erupted, I ignore the comments about me and swipe them aside as another joke.

"Something like that." His short answers are starting to drive me slowly insane; I think he's deliberately trying to be obtuse and pull a reaction from me.

"You're not giving much away," I pout huffily.

"What do you want to know exactly? I thought I had already described the perfect woman. Did I forget pushy and nosy?" He spins me again, and now, back in his arms, I can see his face properly, but he's avoiding eye contact.

"If I believed you for one minute, Carrero! What's your type if you want more than just sex? Brunette, redhead, short, curvy? What?"

He frowns down at me, spins me under his arm, and quickly pecks me on the cheek as if to say, "Shut up."

"It's not so much about looks, Emma. She would be someone I could hang out with, who doesn't bore me. Someone with an IQ larger than her bust size."

Well, that's a revelation, and it's kind of sweet. I grin at him, stupidly pleased with his answer for no reason.

"Someone smart and normal?" I gush with surprise.

"Pretty much." He doesn't add a flirty comment for once, finally being serious. I figure many women worldwide would squeal over this tidbit of information, giving hope to the millions of adoring women.

"Someone like me?" I laugh, overcome with hesitation and a touch of nerves.

"I already told you, Bambina; confess how crazy you are for me, and I'll marry you before dawn. We both know you have the serious hots for your sexy boss." His face is nothing but sheer jest and smiles. I shake my head, eyes rolling at his usual annoying self, and sigh simultaneously.

"You're infuriating," I scold gently.

"That's why you're crazy in love with me, shorty. Drink?" he asks as he leads me to the table, but I shake my head; I guess he's signaling the end of the conversation, something we're both good at. He's done with this direction of prodding.

"Maybe best if I don't," I giggle, still not fully recovered. He studies me for a second, then shrugs.

"One won't hurt. Live a little," he encourages.

"I think you like getting me drunk, Jake."

"I like loosening you up, starchy pants. It makes it easier to get you naked." He winks at me as that devilish smile reappears; a nearby waitress gawps at what she overheard and moves away fast. I can only sigh and raise a brow at him.

"You pay me to keep my pants starched, remember? And on! If I were Miss Loose-and-Lively, I would be a shitty PA." We move toward an empty table amidst my disapproving scolding.

"I don't know; having a drunk PA might be fun. I'd love to see you endure a stuffy meeting drunk. A naked one would be even better. Not sure I would let others see you naked, though," he shrugs again, pulling out my chair and seating me at the table. He gestures for another waiter, seeing as our server has taken off.

"I probably wouldn't be a hit, naked or not, especially with the stuffed shirts you have meetings with."

"I can agree with that." He's smiling and hands me a champagne glass from a passing tray. "I like drunk Emma; I might ask her to be my temporary girlfriend. Like anytime we're both drunk, we're in a relationship." Despite my earlier protest, I take the glass, throwing him an indulgent look and fighting the urge to grin.

"So you've mentioned many times before." He's all jokes and fun tonight. I'm feeling edgy about his persistence tonight, and I don't particularly appreciate where this is heading.

"I'd like to see you really let go, Emma." He observes me as though he is examining something under a microscope.

"In what way?" I'm not sure I like that look on his face.

"No work just chilled and loose and free to have a good time."

"I work for you, remember? If I'm around you, it's usually a good sign that I'm meant to be working." I raise my eyebrows at him and sip my champagne, seeing his approval at my 'living a little', and sigh.

"Maybe I need to take you on vacation then." His body slides down in the chair, a la casual Carrero posture, and my heart sinks. That annoying spark of determination flits across his face.

"This again?" My gut tightens, and my mood dwindles.

"We go away together a lot, but maybe we both need a trip for pleasure? Lots and lots of pleasure." He's off in negotiation mode, and I grit my teeth.

"Jake …?" I warn, frowning to tell him not to continue.

"Listen to me. After Chicago and everything that went on, please, we both need this. It'll only be for two weeks, Emma. You'll have your own room; no hanky-panky, I swear. I will be the ultimate gentleman. My dad's yacht, the Caribbean, just picture it." It's almost childish begging from a moody boy.

"I agree, Jake, but it's still not right to take me on some romantic getaway," I try to refuse and ignore the guilt of making him look this way.

"Is that the issue? Do you think a yacht and a tropical beach are too romantic? Worried I may make good on some of my promises?" An edge to his tone indicates he's getting annoyed with me; he's disappointed and is not used to the word 'no.'

Why am I so reluctant?

"No, it's just …."

I don't actually know what it's just.

"Just?" he presses moodily.

I'm lost for words, and he sees me flounder.

"It's agreed then." He looks smug at my hesitation, progressing as if he's won his argument.

"What is?" My voice is tight, knowing him only too well and how overbearing he can be.

"We go on a trip," he shrugs oh so casually.

"I didn't say 'yes,'" I grind out, but Jake is in steam-rolling mode; he always does this to me. I've never known anyone who can maneuver me into his way of thinking. Or just bullying me into it.

"You didn't have a reason to say no either. I'll make you come with me and call it a business trip. I'll fire you if you refuse." He drinks some of his champagne, his eyes never leaving mine, that look goading me to challenge him.

"That's not fair," I sigh, knowing I'm losing because this is how he is.

"You're the only girl I know who would turn down two weeks in the sun, Emma. I'll still be paying you, regardless." He shrugs at me as if that answers all my concerns. I could scream.

"I'm not worried about the money," I glare at him haughtily, queen of insulted, but it only gets me a smile in return.

"You're worried about being alone with me? Worried I'll get you naked, and you can't refuse me? We're alone most of the time; we've shared a million hotel rooms; you've stayed in my apartment."

"It's not that, it's just …" I falter and sigh, unsure how to verbalize it.

"It's not work, and you're unsure how to navigate it?" he guesses, cocking his brow at me, a softness encompassing his expression.

"Maybe," I shrug, perplexed at this whole thing.

"Relax and trust me for once in your life, woman," he sighs, irritation in his eyes because he's starting to get annoyed with my persistent refusals.

"I do trust you, and stop calling me that." I shove his foot with mine hard. It's in its usual close position, almost welded next to mine, and an easy target.

"Do you?" He considers me seriously, and I can't ignore the hint of hurt.

Wow, when did that happen? When did Jake start doubting that I trusted him?

A wave of guilt runs through me; impulsively, I want to smooth away the frown on his flawless face, as it causes me all kinds of guilty pangs.

"Yes, I do. I don't know why you're looking at me that way. Who else would get away with half the crap you say and do to me?" I try a softer tone, but he looks sulkily across the crowded room. He sighs and indicates we should go. Deflated.

My sulky Jake.

I glance at my watch and smile tightly; it's not late, but he's right. I'm tired and don't particularly appreciate how this is going. It's no fun here anymore. We only needed to show our faces, and we have done.

I sigh and look away from him, knowing he's right; he's never mentioned what he did to Ray after we walked away from his lifeless body, but I know he's been thinking about it. Maybe he has a point; I don't want this to be something we bicker over endlessly. We do need a break. We need to clear the air and reset the button on all this irritation and tension between us lately.

What harm could it do?

"When do you want to go?" I finally breathe out.

"You're serious?" He catches my chin with his fingers and forces me to look at him. I shrug, knowing when I'm defeated, and his face breaks into adolescent happiness. He swoops down with a kiss on my head, and I can't help but smile as he beams at me. He's like a kid who's found a lollipop.

This is the man worth billions of dollars; who runs an empire.

Yes. This childish pain-in-my-ass is supposed to be my boss!