CHAPTER132
Shit.
“Maybe.” My voice is inordinately tight, sensing his frown even though I’m not looking at him directly anymore; he takes the drink out of my hand and puts both our glasses on the table before us.
“We need to talk about this, Emma. Right now. Get it out of the way.”
Yup, this is what I feared. Boss Carrero tone. This is all I need.
I shift slightly to look up at him, my heart stilling and my breath pausing. I guess we had to do this sometime. What better place than on a private jet, thousands of miles high in the sky, where I have zero escape.
“I had to leave,” he says, his focus on me is almost uncomfortable.
“Of course, you did,” I say quickly, a little too sharply, and chastise myself inwardly for bristling at the first sentence.
“Stop it,” he warns, “Look at me and stop fiddling with the laptop; it’s staying closed.”
I roll my eyes; he’s watching me steadily. He takes my laptop and slides it on the floor between his feet, away from me.
“I left for both our sakes, Emma,” he continues, still locked on me intensely.
“If I remember rightly, you left for your own … needs.” At least he has the grace to look away and sigh. My face is flushing and my cheeks are hot; talking about this is making me uptight already. This was never going to be a good conversation. It just hurts me irreversibly.
“Yeah, well, we had started to overstep the mark a little too frequently, as you kept reminding me,” he points out calmly, but there’s a sadness sin his voice.
“Is that what we’re calling it nowadays?” I sound pathetic, huffy, and immature, and I actually hate myself for it.
“What would you rather we call it? Gross misconduct? Sexual advances from your boss?” There’s a slight sneer, but overall, he sounds calm, his face almost expressionless, although his green eyes have darkened stormily.
“Um, no. Drunken antics that got out of hand … twice,” I utter nervously, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“Three times,” he corrects.
“I’m sure you weren’t drunk in the car,” I add.
“Maybe I should have been.” He shrugs with one shoulder and shifts in his seat.
“Well, that would have been safe, driving the way you were,” I sarcastically retort. I sound more than immature now; I sound confrontational and in no way ready to talk.
Why am I trying to antagonize him? Does he just bring this need out in me to fight with him lately?
“I’m an excellent driver, Emma. I’ve driven with some of the best racing instructors in the world.” He ignores my jibe.
“Is that the direction we’re taking now, squabbling over your driving accomplishments?” I pout, crossing my hands in my lap and sighing deeply. He wrinkles his forehead at me and looks out over the aisle at the empty seats, shifting in his seat for the second time.
“I left because, if I didn’t, it was going to go one of two ways … either I’d end up fucking you or strangling you.”
I’m gobsmacked; there’s no other word for it. He just put it right out there so bluntly.
I’m sure I should read my contract under the section about appropriate conversation topics with your boss, and maybe check the sexual harassment clauses.
He flicks his eyes over my burning face, accepting my silence.
“It’s clear that parts of our relationship sometimes blur the lines. We work closely, we live in each other’s pockets, and sometimes I forget that you are my PA above everything else.”
“What exactly do you confuse me with?” I snort because that would be nice to know. I kind of need a definition.
What else would you call what I do?"
