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“Now, Emma!” he growls my way, and I realize this is futile; he won’t let me leave until I do. I take a deep breath and stare at him as I tell him in detail as much as I can remember. He sits the whole time in silence, jaw clenched and brows down in a glare, watching me intensely. I hate him looking at me that way. I’m doubting myself now, wondering if he’s thinking I’m a drama queen, if he even believes me, or is wondering why I would assume Dan had done anything wrong.
When I’m done, he raises his cell and barks orders at some poor soul, issuing marching orders on the grounds of sexual harassment. He stills while they explain something on the other end of the line.
“Then set it up … Him, you, and whatever legal team representatives are available, first thing … Offer him severance; I don’t give a shit! … I want him gone! No one lays a hand on any woman in this company without consequence … There’s footage from the elevator CCTV … I’ll deal with security myself.” His eyes fixated on my face as he snaps the commands, showing contained rage.
There’s a rising sense of pride within me as I watch him on the cell, that surge of love I’ve always felt around him.
Mr. Commanding ‘Don’t Mess With Me’ Carrero. Scary-as-shit boss.
One thing that surprised me when I first got to know him was how passionate he seemed about standing up for women and their rights and respecting them in the workplace. Despite his playboy, womanizing status, I know he’s probably one of the few men I am safe around in this building. I guess his relationship with his mother has a lot to do with it. It’s one of the reasons I trust him so fully.
“No … The woman in question will not be there. I will be on her behalf.” He’s still angry, shouting down his cell to whoever was unlucky enough to have a direct line to Jake.
“Call me back when it’s set up … No matter what time … I’ll clear my schedule … Yes … Goodbye.” He hangs up his cell, his mouth held in a tight line.
“I’m taking you home.” It’s a command, not a question, and I know there’s little point arguing with him when he’s in battle mode. After the elevator scene, I don’t fancy walking to the station alone anyway. I’m shaken, but I can only nod and look away unsurely. I sense him move closer to me, almost touching my knees with his legs.
“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and gentle, so I’m forced to glance up. He’s holding out a hand to me, and I accept it as he pulls me to my feet. Slowly, he wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him, and gives me a soothing hug, like Jake of old. His chin rests against my temple, letting all the tension seep out of me.
This is the Jake I miss the most, the friend he always was. This is the Jake who rips out my heart whenever he shows his face.
I miss you so much!
“I’m fine,” I sigh, trying not to sag against him or react to his body against mine. The two of us stand embraced, but it’s awkward and tense, nothing like our past hugs. He releases me, searching my face for a hint of untruth but sees nothing. I’m so beyond used to men behaving that way toward me that it no longer affects me as it should, a sad fact.
“Come on. My car’s in the garage.” He takes my arm, guides me out of the small room, keeps me close beside his warmth, and heads for the elevators.
Once inside, the atmosphere becomes strained, and neither knows what to say nor how to behave. He lets me go and moves away, giving me some space, and I wonder if it’s because of Gabrielle. Maybe he doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable enclosed in a small space with him, not that he ever would. Thankfully, the trip to the underground garage is short.
He leads me to his car, something he rarely uses when coming to work. It’s a low, sleek, powerful sports car, a McLaren P1. His baby. I’d never seen it before, let alone been driven around New York in it. He mentioned it many times, and I know it cost him over a million dollars; I’m stunned by how seductive it is. It’s jet black and looks almost sinister, sat in his personal parking space like a shadowy Batmobile in the corner, shiny and purring at him from afar. The car is the epitome of sexiness, and I can’t help but get a little stir of internal heat at how it looks.
Figures that his car would scream with as much sex appeal as he does.
This garage is only used by the higher-paid execs and has a full-time security guard wandering around, a gated entrance, and a hoard of CCTV cameras, making it feel like Fort Knox. I follow him as the car beeps in response to our approach, unlocking. I walk to the passenger side as he touches the handle and lifts the car door toward the sky to let me into the molded seats and high-tech interior. He then shuts the door down, concealing me behind the tinted windows, before walking around to the driver’s side and getting in smoothly.
This car screams Jake from every pore. Something about its relaxed coolness, sleek sportiness, and intimidating shape. He presses a button by the steering wheel, and it roars into life, sounding like an expensive jet plane, purring with vibrations as he presses on the gas. The lights glow on display in front of us, and a whirring electrical noise comes from the rear as the tail fin rises from the sleek flat back. It’s hard not to feel a rush of excitement with this car.
“I like your car,” I smile his way, seriously impressed. It feels like I’m sitting in a Formula One dream machine, and even though I’ve never been interested in vehicles of any sort, I can’t help but feel like this one is special.
“I like my car too,” he grins over at me like a boy with his favorite toy, all bad moods lifted at being reunited with it. He reverses out of the space, expertly in control of his beast, and head outs of the garage, waving to the men who lift the barrier to let us out. The tunnel exit is lit by ground lights guiding us to the outside traffic, giving it a sense of driving out of some concealed spaceship into the air above. The roaring engine is the loudest machine I’ve ever heard. As the car moves effortlessly out into traffic, I can sense how it sticks to the road, taking corners like it’s on rails. It adds to the excitement of feeling like I’m sitting next to Bruce Wayne.
“Why do you never drive it? I’ve heard about it, but this is the first time I’ve actually seen it.” I blink around in the dark interior, feeling like the co-pilot in a private airplane.
“I only got it back a couple of weeks ago; it’s been away for months having adjustments to my specs. I also changed the color; it used to be bright orange.” He’s keeping both eyes on the road, driving carefully as we hit traffic. The engine’s louder than I expected in the open air, and I can hear the whizzing whine of a turbo. This car is sex on wheels, making my adrenaline rise as its vibrancy surrounds me.
“Black is more your color,” I smile at him, awed by how good he looks sitting in the pilot seat of this beast, effortlessly taking control of something so powerful. He belongs in a car like this.
“So, is this why you learned to drive with Formula One favorites?” I tease, “So, you can drive your ridiculously expensive car?”
“No. I bought the car after many years of lessons and a lot of research. This baby is a car made for people who can actually drive.” He flashes me his ‘because I can’ grin, and I shake my head, his ego untainted by his latest admission.
“Seems like a waste on the streets of New York.”
“I have it transported every so often to my family’s home in Italy. They have amazing tracks over there to give this girl a run for her money.” He swells with pride, patting the dash and smiling at the dark interior as he stops at a red light. The car drops into a purring mode, reducing the noise greatly.
“Girl? Please tell me you haven’t named her?” I laugh at him, but he looks my way with a shocked expression.
“Don’t be sacrilegious! Of course, you must name your baby. She’s my girl!” he says as he rubs the dash again and croons a little as though soothing an offended woman. “She’s called Miss Anderson!” he winks at me with a grin, receiving a sigh and a shake of my head.
“Of course she is!” I look out the window, away from his smile and cheeky expression. Ordinarily, I would give anything to have the casual humor between us back, but this … normalcy … hurts.
“You doubt it? She’s stubborn, fast-paced, and fiery. ‘Miss Anderson’ made perfect sense.” He shoves my shoulder lightly with his fingertips to prove the point. I frown and push him back with a haughty pout.
“Actually, now you mention it, it should be called Jacob. It suits you.” I smile and look away triumphantly.
“Thin ice, Anderson!” He despises his birth name passionately, so I use it to tease him. He throws me a warning look steeped in humor.
“Like I care. I spend my entire life walking on it when it comes to you.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he pushes my face childishly, his palm squishing my nose for a second. I give a muffled “Hey,” and pull his hand from my face.
“Jerk.”
“Diva.”
We smile at each other for a second, then tense, dropping our hands and looking forward simultaneously out the windshield, suddenly realizing this isn’t right anymore. Funny how we’d forgotten for a moment, only to come crashing back to reality and then silence. Jake seems to mull over something before breaking the tension.
“How’ve you been, Emma?” He glances at me, then concentrates on the road, watching for the lights to change. I shrug awkwardly, my heart rate elevating at his sudden seriousness.
How can I be honest and tell him I’ve been dying inside since he made me walk away? That this situation just highlights how much I miss him and us.
“Okay, I guess.” I can’t look at him. I can feel his eyes on me, then the car bursts into a roar again, and we’re moving. I don’t think Jake has ever driven me home himself before; this feels too intimate somehow, just the two of us.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, so honestly, I can’t help but glance at him. His eyes are on the road, and his handsome profile shows no hints of emotion. Just honesty.
“I’ve missed you too,” I sigh. Our eyes meet for a millisecond, then we both look away, tension rising fast, crackling in the air. He tenses his jaw, looking as though he wants to say something, but he bites it back and focuses on the road. I can’t say a word. I don’t know what to say; conversation is harder than I imagined it ever would be, especially when all I want is to crawl into his lap and be enveloped by every part of him.
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