CHAPTER49
How does he know about Ray?
“Fine,” I answer stiffly.
“Come here; we need to talk about this.” He watches me intensely, a no-nonsense expression on his face.
“No,” I close him down and take a gulp of my water; it almost chokes me going down. I want to know what I told him about Ray, and about my father, but I also don’t want to know, don’t want to talk about this. I feel sick. Maybe I should tell him I need to throw up and lock myself in my room for an hour, make him leave me alone. I need to think.
“Don’t you trust me, Emma?” He sounds so hurt, it hurts me too and knocks me sideways in surprise.
“Of course, I trust you,” I say, turning to him, flashing anger, incensed at the question.
How could he ask me that?
We’re together almost constantly; I have to trust him. I do trust him. I have never told him otherwise!
I realize it’s the first time I’ve admitted to myself that I actually do, and it startles me a little as I really let it sink in.
I trust Jake! I trust a man! When did that happen? How did that happen?
What’s more amazing is that I trust playboy Casanova Jake Carrero, my heart-throb boss with his string of women and his hands-on personality.
“Then talk to me, Emma,” he presses further, refusing to give up, his eyes still steady on me. I shake my head and turn away because I can’t look at him while feeling so shellshocked.
Why can’t he understand that certain things don’t need to be brought up, talked about?
The past is done, and I’m done with the past; talking about it only makes it linger, brings it to the forefront of my mind where it has no place to be.
“I don’t need to talk about this,” I huff, urging him to drop it.
He’s on his feet and walking towards me, and I feel trapped as he approaches. I know if I walk off, he’ll follow me. He has that determined expression on his face, the one usually reserved for stubborn clients. He grabs my upper arm gently and pulls me to face him; his expression is angry, but his manner is calm. I try to twist free, but he holds me tighter; I think he knows I’ll walk off if he lets me go.
“You said he beat you and tried to molest you.”
I gasp and withdraw from him, shocked that I even let that much out in my drunken stupor. My heart flips over in my chest.
Crap. I don’t want him to know about that. What the fuck, Emma?
I don’t want him looking at me like some sad little victim incapable of taking care of herself.
Why would I tell him that?
He seems surprised by my reaction and lets me go instantly.
“Please, Jake.” Trembling with the unexpected bite of tears in the back of my eyes, I stalk past him. I can’t do this; he has no right. I can’t get upset and let him see weak Emma; she doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve no desire to let her come back now.
“I want to know, Emma; you’re my friend.” He follows me and the anger writhes inside of me once more; teen Emma raises her ugly head and loses control like she always did, fiery temper flaring.
“Why? It changes nothing!” I snap, a little too aggressively, and throw him a hateful glare impulsively.
Shit."
