17
His cell starts ringing in his pocket; he pulls it out, sighs, and drops it onto the couch, silencing it. I sigh at his hopelessness, my temper dissipating, and push my cool facade back into place as I take in the dejected look on his face.
So boyish at times.
He casually stretches his hands behind his head and closes his eyes as I watch, bemused but still irritated. My boss, the man-child.
Sometimes endearing, but generally a massive irritation to my day.
“If we hide out here for ten minutes, he will fuck off,” he says with closed eyes, hands tucked behind his head and mimicking sleep.
“Jake,” I warn lightly; he rarely swears at work. He opens one eye and smiles at me as he turns sideways, lifts his feet onto the couch, and slides down to get comfy.
Yes, this is the CEO of this empire!
“Power nap until he leaves my floor?” he winks. Even through the tailored suit, I can still make out the strong lines of his body, and I glance away to steady myself, focusing instead on a rail of clothes in here. Distraction always works. Mostly.
When was the last time he used any suits hanging in here? Focus on the suits!
I’m pretty sure the black Armani is the one he had sent in for
the banquet we never attended. I should have it returned, I think to myself, and make a note on the iPad.
He pats the sofa next to him suggestively, a mischievous Carrero glint in his eye, but I continue with my notes, refusing to make eye contact.
“I think not, Mr. Carrero,” sighing inwardly at the man I have to deal with daily. He’s never dull, anyway.
“Your loss.” He closes his eyes again. We pause as we hear voices in the next room, faint and distant, that quickly evaporate as the intruders leave again, both of us silent and still.
“You have a meeting in about fifteen minutes; I’m sure half those people will be in it,” I point out, sounding unamused and bored.
“I’ll just imply I was busy elsewhere,” he shrugs, refusing to open those eyes and managing to look crazily attractive in this pose. I sigh.
“Busy doing what?”
“Busy in a closet with my PA trying out the softness of the couch,” he smirks, opening one eye and then the other slowly, to grin at me.
“I’m not having you imply we were up to no good somewhere in this building. Do you know how quickly that would get around the temp pool?” I respond calmly; this is a repetitive conversation that only makes me sigh again. Only I would get lumbered with a boss as trying as this, who loves nothing more than to stress me out. The sexual innuendos never run out with him, nor do the jokes about implicating us.
“We are up to no good; may as well get on the couch and make it worth your while. I’m sure I could help un-wrinkle that skirt,” he teases. I roll my eyes; he’s in his playful mood. I probably won’t get much work done this afternoon at all when he is like this. He is trying at the best of times but worse in playful mode. I check my watch in irritation; we should get out of here.
“In your dreams,” I respond drily, trying my hardest to ignore him.
“Always.” He throws me a quick wink with a mischievous smile. I remain impassive. He’s tiresome, and we have a meeting we should already be arriving at. Needless to say, he no longer intimidates me, and his overly familiar behavior is a sign that we have grown somewhat closer in the past weeks. He’d stopped behaving quite so properly a while ago, and I had given up objecting because he is simply too exhausting.
He’s watching me as I smooth a stray hair back into my French knot, aware that his eyes are on me. I raise mine in question, throwing him my haughty look. My silent, “What?”
“I miss it sometimes, you know?” He’s watching me now, a strange look on his face and a faraway gaze in his eyes.
“Miss what?” I mumble, trying to sort my jacket out. He really did a number on making me look rumpled this time.
“Being able to intimidate you.” He’s grinning again, eerily reading my thoughts of a moment ago, something he does a lot.
“Shame,” I respond flatly. I add a note to my planner for a reservation next week and pull up a newly received email. It’s Finance asking for the spreadsheets we finished this morning. I sent a message Rosalie asking her to resend them with the original timestamp.
“I think it’s safe to leave the closet with you now, Mr. Carrero.” I close my iPad inside its protective cover and don’t look at him.
“We’re back to Mr. Carrero, are we? Have I made you pout, Miss Anderson?” He throws me his most innocent schoolboy look.
I’m fully aware that I use his title when he pisses me off; he thinks I’m mad at him.
Maybe I am. He did haul me into a closet, after all.
“I think you need the boundaries redefined since you just shoved me into a closet,” I pout at him.
“Point taken. I’m so deeply sorry for my terrible behavior.” He’s still smiling at me, and I feel the urge to smile back, tugging at the corners of my mouth. This annoys me immensely. I hate that he always manages to make me cave, even when he’s pissed me off. He’s incorrigible and exhausting. I don’t know why I endure this every day. I push the urge to smile down; I would rather stay pissed or appear to be, as it usually gets him to behave more demurely.
“Anytime soon?” I say as I gesture at the door impatiently with a nod, then cross my arms.
“You go. I may stay here for a bit and watch you walk out.” He turns, getting comfy again to watch me move, with wickedness gracing his face. I exhale heavily.
“Enjoy the view,” I retort. “I’ll leave my resignation on the desk as I pass.” I smile sweetly, upper hand as always, knowing he couldn’t run things quite so well without me. “Reason being sexual harassment … again!” I raise my voice to highlight my uppity tone.
“You couldn’t leave me, Emma. You adore working for me too much. You would miss my sexual harassment.” The laugh in his voice indicates he is still smiling my way.
Ass.
I raise an eyebrow back at him, turn away as though I’m serious, and fight the urge to smirk. He has a way of getting under my skin, even when being juvenile.
I open the door and slide out, looking around cautiously. I notice that his office door is ajar, and I head out to peek around, checking everything is clear. A short walk to my old desk, I can see most of the floor is vacant, with only the regular secretaries milling around, paying no heed to me. Rather than venture back in, I pull out my cell and text him that all is quiet.
I can’t believe he made me hide in the closet from his father. Sometimes he acts like a two-year-old, not New York’s most eligible bachelor!
He appears a moment later, looking calm and collected, and smiles as he tugs a strand of my hair back down from my French knot. I could slap him; he knows how much his messing with my hair annoys me, yet it’s something he does several times a day for a reaction. I smooth it back in place and curse under my breath at his back, resisting the urge to throw him a finger. I pick up the files for the meeting and recheck my watch; we could make it if he moves his ass.
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