CHAPTER91
Great. Thanks Sarah.
I’m seething internally.
“She didn’t think I should know?” I thinly veil the venom in my voice. I can’t stand this wiry, curly-headed, out-of-work actor freeloading from my friend in our home. My voice is tight and haughty and holds nothing back of my dislike.
“Why?” he responds belligerently, and I push down the urge to throw something at his head.
“Because it’s half my apartment, and I pay half the bills,” I retort angrily, incensed at his nerve.
“We kinda figured you would be moving out, seeing as you’re shacked up with your boss,” he smirks at me as his eyes do the usual route from my cleavage down to my ankles and slowly back up. He makes me sick. I’m beyond livid. Sarah knows that nothing is going on between me and Jake. I swallow the urge to slap him across his messy head, tightening my fingers into fists by my side while swallowing hard.
Smarmy prick.
“I’m not shacked up with my boss! I work for him, that’s all,” my voice full of hatred, my teeth clenched.
“Yeah, sure.” He’s eyeing me in that ‘know it all’, sleazy manner of his that makes my skin crawl, his eyes seeming to say, “I can imagine you screwing him in all those fancy hotels”.
“Fuck you, Marcus! You know nothing!” I turn on my heel and stamp back into my room, anger threatening to burst out. I just cannot be bothered with him or a fight.
Asshole. I can’t stand that weaselly little prick. What the hell is Sarah thinking?
He has the good grace to disappear into Sarah’s room, and I’m left to change quickly and diffuse the rage. I’m glad I have a lock on my door as I just don’t trust men like him, men who undress me with their eyes; they always make my skin crawl.
Pushing thoughts of Marcus away as a minor irritation, I change into jeans and a T-shirt and leave my hair in a loose ponytail so I can focus on the task at hand. If I’m going to be clearing out a mountain of clothes, then I would rather be comfy. It’s not lost on me that a few months ago I didn’t even own jeans; Jake sarcastically mentioned that fact early on.
What has Jake Carrero done to me?
Opening my door so I can listen for Jake’s arrival, I haul a pile of clothes from the top of my dresser and dump it on my floor followed by subsequent piles around my room.
Jesus, that’s a lot of clothes!
The resulting pile is almost half as tall as I am. I really need to clamp down on this excessive buying of Donna’s; it really is abusing the company assets, spending so much on stuff I don’t need. I haven’t even worn half of the things she sends my way. I’m like her own human-sized dress up doll.
I put my iPad in the docking station and turn on some music: a random mix of popular songs that I like and the ones Jake has sent me over the months, our weird form of communication. I smile at some of the titles, lifting my mood again as I scroll through, able to pinpoint the memory or the reason he sent each one.
I don’t hear Jake arrive, but Marcus lets him in, and then he’s standing in my bedroom doorway, looking muscular in a red T-shirt and jeans over sneakers. His presence, as always, makes me instantly happier.
“Hey,” he smiles, then throws a wary look and thrusts his thumb over his shoulder indicating he’s asking about Marcus. I shake my head and shrug; he knows I don’t like him. He frowns in response as I turn my attention back to the piles on the floor of my neglected bedroom.
“You weren’t wrong; I think Donna has dressed you for a year,” he exclaims, coming to sit on the floor beside me, sprawling out casually. It just looks odd with him sitting on the floor among a sea of girl’s clothes in a girly bedroom.
“Whose fault is that, Mr. ‘Oh, buy her an outfit for this, that and the next thing’ every time you see her?” I poke at him with a giggle.
“Maybe I should tell her to ask you from now on, when you need something?” He holds his hands up in mock apology.
Too much money and not enough sense.
“That would be an idea,” I smirk, raising a brow.
“Get rid of what you don’t want.” He pulls a dress from the pile and holds it up to admire it, thrusting it down to pick up lingerie instead, with a smile and a dirty wink.
“Most still have tags, Jake. Donna should return them.” I snatch the bustier from him and throw it toward my dresser where my lingerie lives. His raised eyebrow is not lost on me but I ignore it. I don’t really want Jake ogling my lingerie.
“Just give them away, Emma; they’re already paid for,” he shrugs.
“Jake, there’s thousands of dollars worth of stuff here,” I implore with frustration. He has no concept of money sometimes.
“And?” he says, as if to prove my point. I forget that he probably spends more than that on one piece of jewelry for a passing date. He’s always been generous in that way."
