115
I swallow hard as a wave of fear creeps up from my toes and envelopes my body.
“You and I need to talk … now!” He slams the door shut, latching it so no one else can enter. I’m sure the entire floor heard the bang. My body stiffens; this is the last thing I need. Being in here and feeling the way I do, I have no defensive play for him this way.
How can he just sweep in like a tornado and ruin me? All the control I’ve mustered, all that inner calm, is swept away with his voice and a look.
I turn away, sure he’ll see the emotion filling my eyes as I pull the sheet from the copier, throwing it among the piles I’ve laid out. It’s a good excuse to keep my head turned away, using the task to stop tears from spilling over while I scramble to hold on to any control I have left.
The only thing I manage to say is, “Go away,” my voice small and fragile as all bravado dies a death. His strong hand grabs my arm, yanking me around to face him, setting me off balance, so my arms flail out, and I plant my palms on his chest to steady myself. I recoil at the heated touch and quickly remove my hands as searing tingles race through me from the contact.
“You’re not going to Europe!” His eyes bore into mine, his jaw tense. He looks dangerous and wired; I think he’s lost his mind. This is the first time I’ve ever truly feared him physically hurting me. He seems ready to hurt someone, and I’m the only one locked in here with him, so I’m nervous. The blood drains from my face, my body sending another surge of coldness through me in response.
“It’s not even a possibility yet; I’ve only just seen the job. I haven’t applied.” I sound timid and afraid. His face softens as he realizes my fear, so he eases some of his grip on my arm.
This has nothing to do with him. He can’t control your life. Stand up to him, Emma. Don’t let him stamp all over you.
“You belong here … in New York … in the Carrero Corporation.” He looks away, his rage sizzling into something else, something unreadable. He lets go of me, and I move away fast, putting distance between us, standing against a table in the far corner. He sees me move and frowns as though he doesn’t understand why I would be nervous of him.
Really, Jake?
“Please, Jake. This isn’t your concern anymore.” I turn away, confusion and heartbreak fighting one another. He’s standing straight and tense, every pore sending me mixed signals in the small, windowless room.
Why couldn’t this have been different? His coming to see me and treating me like this only further drives the wedge between us.
“You’re always going to be my concern, Emma … whether you know it or not,” he says, his voice lower and softer now. I turn to face him and find him looking at the wall to the right. His eyes are transfixed on nothing as he sighs heavily. It seems his fiery burst of anger has quickly burned out.
“You make it sound like a burden like you have no choice?” I almost laugh as I say it, feeling anything but joyous, just broken. He looks at me, eyes slowly moving over my face, his expression guarded. He says nothing, frowns infuriatingly, giving nothing away.
Someone bangs on the door, causing him to jump. I can see he’s lost his angry glare from my corner, his temper fully dissipated, his body slumping a little. The giant fireball of fury that barged in here has burned out, and he seems to have lost all his fight. I realize he’s not acting like the Jake Carrero I thought I knew.
“Open the door, Jake, before the office temps start a rumor that we’re making out in the copy room,” I sigh, overwhelmed, heavy and tired. I think I’m probably on the verge of fainting. Internally rattled but mostly just fed up with being an emotional wreck. I need a drink. With Jake, all of this has been too much for me. From no contact at all to seeping into my entire day, Jake is like an all-consuming black hole.
“Maybe we should give them something to gossip about?” he says with a tiny smirk at me, and I recognize a hint of my Jake … my cheeky Mr. Carrero. He hasn't changed one bit underneath the ‘bear with a sore head’ demeanor, which makes me melancholy. Despite myself, a smile tugs at my lips, and I shake my head at him.
“I could still sue you for sexual harassment since I still work in the same company.” I glance away shyly as he unlocks the door, letting in an irate receptionist. She looks from him to me and back again before turning cherry red and making excuses to disappear. Jake watches her go but leaves the door standing ajar; neither of us has the energy for this anymore. He puts his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders hunch like he’s been deflated. Instead of making him look more vulnerable, all it does is make him look so much stronger and much more male. A pang in my chest hits hard, almost winding me.
“I’d probably deserve it,” he says, shrugging and looking me up and down. I can’t read anything on his face, only that he’s no longer angry. “Don’t go, Emma. Please.” He sounds so sincere. It’s so unexpected that it causes a lump to catch in my throat.
“I haven’t decided on anything, Jake. I need space to think, not you charging in here yelling at me and ordering me around. I need time to figure things out,” I respond firmly, watching him, aching for him.
He sighs heavily, looking me over slowly and deliberately; I feel goosebumps form under his gaze.
“I don’t want you to go. I need you to understand that.” There’s a hint of that boyish Jake I love so much, which rips through my chest like a chainsaw. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and walks toward me, closing the gap between us, forcing the air around me to thin so I can barely inhale.
“You wanted me out of your life a month ago; nothing’s changed between us. New York is my home, Jake, but maybe it’s not where I’ll find my ‘happily ever after.’ If you’re still my friend, let me make my own choices.” I move toward him slowly, impulsively, itching to reach out and touch him, but stop a foot from his tall, powerful frame as I realize what I’m doing; we’re standing face to face.
“I want you to be happy, I do,” he frowns down at me, “I just don’t want it to be where I’ll never see you again.” His green eyes darken to almost hazel, and the intensity of his frown furrows his perfect brow.
“The last thing you said to me was that we would never see each other again. Now it seems like you didn’t mean it.” The aching need to fall against his body and feel his arms close around me pushes me to move back a step. I’m not stupid enough to believe we could ever go back.
“Maybe when it comes to you, I just don’t know what’s good for me. I don’t know when to leave it alone.” He lifts his hand to push a stray hair from my face, something he’s done a thousand times before, but it never felt as unbearable as it is now. Unable to stand it, I turn my face, and his hand falls away.
“You need to leave it alone. Leave me alone to get on with my life.” I swallow down the tears, so close to breaking.
“I know.” It’s barely audible, more a breathy agreement. His eyes lose a little of their Carrero sparkle. We both inhale slowly, acknowledging what we know is for the best, as heartbreaking as it is, for me at least.
“Walk with me, Emma … at least to the elevator?” It’s such an odd request that leaves him looking so young and unsure. There’s a vibration in the air between us, a heaviness full of tension. I hesitate, then nod and move forward. He takes my movement as acceptance and opens the door for me, following me out.
“Does this mean you’re sorry for acting like a stalker?” I throw him a shy smile, unsure how to navigate this situation, hoping humor, like always, would break the tension.
“No.” He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. At least we’re no longer yelling; we’re just quiet and reflective.
“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch. Still overbearing and arrogant.” I smile softly at him again, walking side by side, trying to act normal yet nervously filling the silence. The change from how we used to act around one another is highlighted even more; we’re just pretending now, with the awkwardness of this walk crackling in the air.
“You haven’t even begun to see the depths of my overbearing stalker skills.” He grins, but the usual humor in his voice is missing. We’re just going through the motions of how we used to joke and laugh. It’s all very polite, hiding a sea of emotions under the surface.
“Talking of which …” I hesitate and look around as the words fall out impulsively. Ray is flashing into my head, but I pause.
Not here; people will hear.
He frowns at me, sensing I have something serious to ask him.
“What is it?”
“I need to talk to you about something … well, actually ask you something. Just not here, okay?” I look around again as we get to the elevator. Too many curious eyes are glancing our way, wondering why Jake Carrero is walking me to the lift. Too many ogling women appreciating the sight of him. The elevator pings as the doors open; Jake steps in, and I turn to him to say goodbye.
Suddenly, Jake hauls me inside with him, and I stumble into his arms against his hard chest as his arm slides around my waist to stop me from crashing to the ground off my heels. I gasp in shock, stunned, aware of how many people have just seen what he did. I push him away hard and angrily, trying to right myself on my own feet.
He is always manhandling me whenever he chooses, like a freaking child. Even after everything, he still thinks he has a right! Why the hell does he do things like this?
“What are you doing?” I snap, annoyed that my frustrations are met with a smile and a shrug. The urge to throat-punch him is overwhelming. I stand up straight and adjust my jacket, which is bunched under my armpits.
“You wanted to talk; what’s more private than in here?” The doors slide shut, locking us in, and I glare at him and mime a strangling gesture at his neck with my hands.
“You’re so … aargh! Always with the grabbing!” I bark, turning away from him in agitation, ignoring the self-satisfied look on his smug, asshole face. He looks amused!
He’s right; cameras here watch everything but don’t record sound. My temper simmers to minorly annoyed as I realize he’s done me a favor.
How many times has he acted like this in the past? Too many to count.
The eternal child in him is frustrating.
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