CHAPTER121
“Are you in love with him?” She flashes up at me with fluttering lashes and a wispy half-smile. I blink at her and swallow hard.
“No, I’m not.”
Am I?
I don’t know how I feel anymore, and I don’t want to examine that possibility.
“I think you are. I think he’s maybe in love with you too,” she pouts sweetly, her eyes wide with possibility. I shake my head sadly. Well, I know for a fact that’s not true. The fact that he’s somewhere doing God-knows-what to other women is proof of that.
“Jake doesn’t do love, Leila; he likes things casual,” I point out emptily. A fact I know only too well.
Hasn’t he even admitted it?
“I’ve seen him in love once,” she responds wistfully and looks away from me shadily, as though she’s let a secret out.
“You have?” I blink hard and my cheeks flush. That stomach lurch of pain at her admission almost strangles me.
“Just friends huh?” She watches me with a little smirk on her face. I stay silent and just frown. “I’ve known Jake since I was seven; our parents are friends.” She’s avoiding my gaze. I wonder why she’s never been on his bed list if he’s known her all that time. She’s adorable and pretty; I look her up and down and try not to dwell on that thought.
“I can’t imagine him being with just one woman,” I shrug, my insides pounding erratically at the way this is going.
Do I really want to hear this?
“He was very young; I think he was maybe fifteen or sixteen. She was his first real girlfriend. We don’t get on much.” She glances at me shyly, a wicked look in her eye as though she wants to reveal more. I don’t want to know; I don’t like this feeling burning inside of me, and I want this conversation to end.
“Leila, I really have to go. Don’t forget, I told you to keep my number, and we can meet up sometime.” I kiss her on the forehead affectionately, impulsively Jake-like, and lift my bag.
“Yes, yes, I love New York. Just try and keep me away, sassy Ems. Give that boy a good talking to when you get home,” she gushes and kisses my cheek, overly excited and energetic, a Leila trait. The subject change is something she does, flitting from one thing to another in a blink of an eye.
I really am sad to be leaving Leila behind; I never imagined I would let someone in as my friend the way I’ve let her. Sarah would be shocked at seeing us together these past few days, and I experience a pang of guilt about it as Sarah’s face lingers in my mind’s eye.
The plane ride is going to be long, so I pull out my laptop, drink a glass of water, and try not to dwell on the fact I’ve cut my vacation in the sun short, to go home to New York and Sarah’s sleazy boyfriend in my apartment. I should tell Jake somehow, maybe a text or email, but I don’t want to. If he wanted to hear from me, he would answer my calls.
I answer some emails briefly and sort some minor issues out for Rosalie. Now she knows I’m back in work mode, I tell her to relieve the temporary stand-ins on my return.
I can’t concentrate. I dwell on Leila’s last conversation and find myself pulling up Google images of Jake in his early teens, trying to see if I can find this mysterious first love. There are so many images of him with women that it brings a pain to my chest, and I can’t look anymore, can’t bear to see the endless pictures of him with gorgeous bimbos. I don’t want to see some ethereal-looking woman-child that he once fell in love with; I can almost bet that she wasn’t one of the leggy boobs and would stand out a mile.
It mustn’t have been that serious, because she no longer exists. He’s never mentioned her. Not once.
Or maybe she is the one that got away, and that’s why he never brings her up, why he never commits to women.
Way to ruin your mood, Emma.
My apartment is depressing after living on a luxury yacht for a week, and I can smell Marcus in everything, even the air around the front entrance. It makes me cringe. There’s no one home, and I’m grateful for that. It’s late; Sarah will be at work, and Marcus, God knows where. I leave Sarah a note on the fridge not to disturb me because I’m jet lagged, and head to bed. I just want to lie down and get lost in a book or movie, anything to keep my head empty and unfocused.
I need to wait until my boss decides to finally show his face or contact me to know what the hell is going on. For the hundredth time I dwell on the fact he might fire me, and I shrug.
Maybe I’ll quit. With this job on my resumé, I’m sure I’ll get another PA job quickly.
Do I want that? I don’t know anymore. It might be for the best now that things have gone south.
It’s after midnight when I’m woken by the buzz of my cell sliding across my nightstand. I reach out to it, fuzzy from fatigue, blurry eyed and disoriented.
“Emma Anderson,” I breathe huskily without opening my eyes. I’m on auto pilot.
“Where are you?” That bark has me sitting up with a start.
Crap. Jake!
He sounds pissed, and I’m too frazzled with sleep for this, shocked awake with his surprise contact.
“New York,” I gulp, suddenly reeling from the fact he’s finally calling me.
Is he back on the yacht?
I get a tinge of regret at leaving.
“You’re at your apartment?” He’s grumpy and coldly distant.
“Yes,” is the only reply I can give; I sound so vulnerable and young, it annoys me. There’s a silence and a tension crackling on the line. I rub my eyes in a bid to feel less zombie-like, pinch my cheek to wake me up more, hands trembling.
“You cut your vacation short?” he starts, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation.
“Yes. I wasn’t in the mood for any more surf and sun, Mr. Carrero.” I hope he hears the sarcasm in my voice. Did he really think I would stay out there without him and hang out with his friends for a full two weeks? Again, another agonizing silence.
“Good, because we need to be back at it. The Hunter merger has encountered issues; I need you at the office tomorrow.” He’s in business Carrero mode, devoid of all affection and humor.
“Will you be there?” I’m trying to sound as cool as him, but that rising warmth of hope lift its head, and I scold it back down."
