CHAPTER83
No, did I say that? I don’t think I did. God why did I get so drunk?
Everything is spinning wildly, and my mind is a mess.
“No, Emma. Do you think I would look at you any differently?”
That’s what he meant. Well, now he mentions it. Yes, I did actually. Why wouldn’t he?
I must let men think I that want them to touch me; I somehow attract it. I must do something to deserve it for it to happen over and over. Even coming to New York, men at Carrero House still targeted me.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I reply flatly, staring out of the window absently, back in control of my sobs and tired from the exertion.
“Emma, you did nothing wrong,” he says, breathy and tense; I think he’s having trouble believing I would feel that way. He has no idea; he’s never been in a situation anything like my past.
“I’m supposed to be strong and cool and capable. I mean, you rely on me for everything. I can’t just whimper and fall apart like some broken China doll just because I have a shitty past.” I stare away from him, trying to fully regain my cool. He’s looking at me with such an odd expression, and I realize we’ve been driving for ages.
How far from the hotel did we stray? Seems like an eternity.
I need to get out of this stifling car, to take deep breaths to both cool and calm myself.
“You are all of those things, Emma, and I think partly because of the shit you endured.” He sighs heavily. He truly doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “You’re also allowed to be human and, vulnerable. You’re allowed to let someone in. Let me in!” he’s almost pleading at me.
“Not with my job, Mr. Carrero,” I smile emptily, my voice lighter while trying to sound normal, wishing to end the tension between us. Even though he doesn’t reciprocate, his eyes soften, and I wipe away my tears, turning to him once again. I’m calm and in control once more.
“Even with your job,” he answers gently, reaching out and taking my fingers in his tenderly, entwining them together, leaving our hands on the leather seat between us. I don’t look down, but the warmth of his touch sends a small reassurance through me, fully calming me.
“I think the boss would soon have something to say if I reverted to some feeble, emotional victim who wept over old scars, don’t you?” I smile, hoping to turn this conversation back to our usual banter and release this heavy fog-like tension around us.
“The boss would be an idiot if he did.” He looks over at me, a hint of a sad flicker. Not fun and flirty Jake, he’s still in serious mode.
“My boss is sometimes an idiot,” I flutter at him impishly. “He gets me drunk, irrationally drunk, and lets me fall apart when he should know better.”
“Maybe getting you drunk is the only time you’re truly yourself around him. That, and it’s easier to seduce you when you can’t see straight,” he retorts. I finally catch that mischievous glint in his eye. He visibly relaxes into a casual pose.
“So, you planned on getting me drunk, Mr. Smooth? To take advantage of me!” I shake my head, my mood restored to a tipsy mellow, everything else fading away. I’m glad that we’ve steered away from emotional topics, with this weird habit we have of going from fire to soft lapping waves in a flash.
“No. Maybe. Yes. Damn, you caught me!” He’s smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and I know he’s still digesting what he’s learned about me. I didn’t want him to know any of that stuff. I want to take it all back.
What does he see now? Damaged goods? Some pathetic little girl that men tried to molest? A slutty girl who encouraged it, maybe? Her own father couldn’t even look at her, too disgusted to want her.
That inner shame and self-loathing rises out from the fiery depths once more and I swallow it down."
