CHAPTER28
It’s been twelve weeks since I met Jake Carrero, and I’m no longer unsure around my overly familiar boss. In such a brief time, the forced proximity and grueling demands have 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 had decided to throw me in the deep end, as that 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, I’m always up to speed with every detail he’s dealing with, always involved. He’s an exhausting workaholic with a very hands-on approach, yet I’ve never been happier or more challenged. I’m content.
Trips are frequent and tiring, and I spend my days in an endless flurry of typing, answering phones, having orders tossed at me and dealing with a hundred people via my iPad, iPhone and laptop, all of which he thrust at me rather unceremoniously after the Hunter meeting.
I’m excelling at the control and efficiency, and I’m starting to take it all in my stride. Despite acting like he’s Mr. Cool, laid back and taking nothing seriously, I was pleasantly surprised to find Jake is deeply involved in his father’s business, surprised to find he does in fact possess a very shrewd business brain and high IQ that contradicts how he presents himself. I guess that’s a part of his allure; he’s smart, sharp, and attentive, but wrapped up in casual charm and sexiness normally associated with dumb underwear models.
I’ve been privy to so many contracts and papers in such a short time that my head reels every night when I go to bed. I’ve lost the ability to switch off, and I now lie awake, restless with things I need to get done the next day, and eager to go back to work. I’ve found so much more enjoyment in submerging myself in my new role than I ever found on the tenth floor.
Jake was right about identifying my skills; he pounced on them and uses them to full capacity every single day. He’s never boring to be around, that’s for sure.
My wardrobe has expanded hugely thanks to the skill of Donna Moore, and I can’t say it’s unpleasant. Her taste is impeccable, and she has chosen things I would have bought for myself. Margo was right, it’s a perk that I am enjoying. I now look forward to her frequent visits laden with bags of clothes that Jake has assured her I need.
“Emma?” Jake’s voice cuts through my thoughts as I run through my schedule on the iPad in my hand, engrossed in shifting appointments to fit in an impromptu trip and emailing the changes to Rosalie to organize. She’s my new assistant, replacing me in my old position now that Margo has retired. He’s back from an early lunch with one of his brainless bimbos and only just walked in.
“Jake?” I answer without looking up, aware of his body heat close behind me. I am always aware of his proximity.
“I need the Hunter file,” his voice runs over me smoothly.
“Already on your desk,” I smile graciously, pulling down the back of my tailored jacket, a gray woolen Dior courtesy of Donna. I’m standing in the middle of my office, which is right outside his; I had just walked out from placing those exact files on his desk when my email beeped.
“Thanks. Did you call and arrange my dinner booking with Clare?” His girl of the moment, yet not the lunch date; some Hollywood-actress-turned-country-singer with endless legs and oversized boobs. I dislike all his girls and the frequency with which he replaces them.
“Yes. You’re in at eight at the Plaza where she’s staying. I’ve arranged for the car to collect you,” I respond drily, trying to keep the disdain from my voice.
“Good girl.” He pats my back childishly, and I give him an indignant look, hating the term.
“Good girl?” Like I’m some sort of puppy. Next, he’ll be giving me a biscuit.
“Emma?”
“Mmm-hmmm?” I look back down distractedly as an email reply from Rosalie pings to the top right corner of my tablet. She’s down at accounting and not at her desk ten feet away.
“Fuck!” Jake breathes right behind my head; his breath moves my hair, sending goosebumps over my skin from the contact.
“What?” I look up in surprise at him, craning round to see his face behind me. He’s glaring past me toward the wall of glass in the outer hallway as a group of suited men and women make their way toward us from the elevators. They haven’t seen us yet, as their view is impaired from that angle. Jake grabs me around the waist and hauls me backward, causing me to almost drop my iPad. Pulling us into his office, he shuts the door as I squeal in surprise at being man-handled in such a Neanderthal way and make a protest.
“Jake!”
“Shhhh.” He covers my mouth with his hand. Still caught in his arms, he pulls me backward, lifting my feet from the floor. My arms flail with the sudden kidnapping, and I grip my iPad tighter, struggling weakly.
I hate when he does stuff like this! He has no concept of personal space or how inappropriate it is to manhandle your PA. He manhandles me way more than I ever thought possible. This is often a daily occurrence, in some way or another, and he sees nothing wrong with it.
“Just be quiet and do as you’re told!” He drops me from his embrace, grabs my free hand and hauls me toward the rarely-used door from his office into his second room. It’s a changing room-cum-office that I’ve never actually understood. He stores clothes, art, and random crap in here, including the cream couches which used to grace the office floor.
He latches the door behind us and sits on one of the couches, leaving me heaving in the middle of the floor like a crazy person, struggling to calm my thudding heart rate.
“Jake, are you having some sort of mental breakdown?” I snap, looking around the room he has us trapped in while I steady my breath. I run my hands down my skirt trying to un-wrinkle my clothes, now I’ve been unceremoniously released, and regain my demeanor.
“It’s my father. I don’t want to see him,” he shrugs, as though it’s all the explanation I need."
