31
“Carina, even if you become a pro boxer, I would still put you on your ass. You’re half my weight class,” he smirks and squeezes my shoulder lightly.
“I don’t even know what that means.” I stop, leaning back to stretch out my limbs, and start jogging on the spot to signal I’m recovered enough to continue. He pulls my hood further forward over my face and shoves me in front of him playfully so that I’ll lead.
“It means that you’ll never be able to beat my ass, girly,” he laughs with a huskiness that is a little too alluring.
“Don’t tempt me,” I warn.
“I like a challenge.”
“Well, if beating is what you’re into?” I retort, catching the mischievous glint in his eye, and sucker punch him in the ribs playfully before he can reply. He pushes me away and tries to trip me deliberately, catching my wrists so I don’t fall, and he receives a pout and glare. He rights me on my feet with a laugh, and we set off again.
He’s in a childish mood this afternoon. It’s seriously his worst mode. Great! That’s all I need.
We jog on in silence for two blocks before we round a corner and head in a new direction. I take in the unfamiliar streets and surrounding scenery; Seattle seems slower-paced and more relaxed than New York, and it hasn’t got the same buzzing energy, but I kind of like it. It’s a welcome break in our hectic schedule lately.
“What are you thinking about, carina?” His voice cuts into my thoughts. Jake’s looking at me as we run, and he has to keep pushing his hood back at the side to see my face. The gesture makes him look childish, and I smile warmly.
“Wondering where I would dump your body if I beat you to death,” I retort smugly.
“It’s like that, is it?” he grins.
“Yep.”
I’m unprepared for the sudden lurch as he lifts me by the waist and tips me upside down in mid-air. He flips me over completely, back onto my feet, so that I’m still bent double but in a headlock, my butt facing away from him with my head against his abdomen. I’m squealing and trying to wrench myself free as he keeps walking, but I’m stumbling backward. I’m no more than a gym bag in weight with his muscles, and I squeal in surprise and choke on the sharp intake of breath.
“Jake … stop it!” I’m laughing stupidly and unable to fight as he has my arms pinned to my sides.
“I can’t. I’m looking for a shady corner so I can administer some much-needed discipline,” he threatens with playfulness in his voice. He finally releases me, hauls me back up, pulls me against him with an arm around my shoulders, and drags me onward. My hood falls free, letting the soft rain cool my heated face while I’m breathless from his antics and disheveled from his manhandling.
“You know how many sexual harassment laws you just broke? I could haul your ass through the courts,” I point out, laughing hard as I do so.
“With my reputation, my lawyers would probably just settle,” he smirks and winks, and I shake my head at him, trying to pull my clothes back into their rightful place within the confines of his arm and failing miserably.
“Should stop manhandling the staff then!” I snort, unable to stop giggling while he’s walking fast and making me stumble to keep up. “Where are we going?”
“A walk. I’m bored at the hotel,” he says dejectedly.
“Are you ignoring my suggestion?” I ask innocently.
“About manhandling my staff?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. There’s no fun otherwise. You were made for manhandling, Ems.” He throws his playful ‘I’m hot shit, so I get away with it’ smile, and I fight the urge to sucker punch him again. I pull myself free from his grip and shove his arm off so I can finally adjust my clothes properly. He has them all twisted around me, and my hair is falling in my face. He tugs the hair tie out of my ponytail so that it all comes tumbling down, and I throw him an exasperated look.
“It was coming down anyway,” he offers by way of an explanation and tosses the hair tie in a dumpster as we pass. “Hey,” I sulk, “I don’t have another one with me.” He shrugs, which only makes me annoyed with him.
“You’ll just have to leave it loose then, won’t you?” He ruffles my hair, trailing his fingers through the length and down my back softly.
“Stop acting like a child,” I say with exasperation. “Sometimes, I seriously can’t understand why I work for you or how you even run an empire.” Watching him now, he’s far removed from Mr. Business or even Mr. Public Eye. He’s adolescent Carrero.
He reaches out a hand, ignoring me, and tugs me by the hood so I’m within reach of his arm, putting it back around my shoulders. Only this time, it’s loose and casual, and my clothes stay neat and in place. I don’t bother fighting this time; I’m so used to touchy-feely Carrero that I’ve stopped caring anymore. He has very few inhibitions, having been raised by a demonstrative Italian family.
Why doesn’t it bother me? It would bother me if it were anyone else.
I guess because Jake is the first man I’ve ever known who touches me without intent. There’s no threat or ulterior motive, like how a child touches automatically because they want to and don’t see the issue with doing it. It’s like the way he constantly flirts or makes suggestions of a sexual nature yet never follows through. It’s harmless; it’s just how he is. Saying that, however, he’s a constant annoyance at work, forever tugging my hair or prodding me in the side and manhandling me into closets.
Maybe I should sue him for sexual harassment; I smile to myself.
Teach him some boundaries that would show him.
“We need a break, Emma. I’m listless and tense all the time lately … distracted.” His voice is subdued suddenly. I appraise his expression as he seems distant. With his hood still up, he looks more street thug on the prowl and less Mr. Business. There’s an empty, lost expression just under the surface.
I couldn’t sue that face.
“You’re the boss. You don’t need anyone’s permission.” We’re walking along an alley with no real idea of where we’re going, and it has stopped raining. The sun peeks out between the dull clouds, hinting at a better afternoon.
“Maybe somewhere to relax for a week.” He’s looking around, seemingly lost in thought.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask curiously.
“We could be spontaneous,” he answers quickly, and I raise a brow, surprised at the ‘we.’
“Could we now?” I emphasize the ‘we,’ making it clear that taking your PA on vacation with you defeats the purpose of a break. Not to mention it being odd.
“You don’t want to come?” He looks at me like a child would on finding you’re no longer taking them to buy candy. All I can do is shake my head.
“Ummm, why would I come on vacation with you?” I stifle a giggle at his expression.
“Because you work as hard as I do and could use the break too. Because I want you to.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” I hesitate, somewhat amused that he would even suggest it.
Is he actually being serious?
“Emma, we have lived in hotels together for the past few months, and you’ve stayed the night in my apartment more than once; why is this any different?”
“Because a vacation isn’t work. It is different!” I’m starting to feel uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation.
Why is he pressing this?
I think of what kind of gossip would fly around the offices if they got wind of us heading off in the sun for a week together, not to mention how it would look if the media took pictures of us together relaxing on a beach or a boat, or wherever he chose to kickback. I wonder if he ever took Margo on a break.
I should ask her next time she checks in to see how I’m doing. Ask her if she ever got whisked away for a romantic time out.
“Don’t overthink things, Emma.” He lets go of my shoulders and pulls my arm, indicating we should jog again. My limbs are getting heavy, so I follow without hesitation; we should slow the pace to warm down anyway. I guess it also signals the end of the conversation, I observe drily, as he jogs ahead, making it impossible to talk. Trying to keep up, I follow him as we round the corner and start heading back in the direction of the hotel. I get the vibe from him that he’s sulking, and I stifle the urge to laugh at him.
What the hell? Jake sulks? Actually sulks. Since when? And why? Because I won’t go on vacation with him? Surely, he can’t be pissed at that?
I keep my eye on his back's straight, muscular shape as we jog and reason about this. He has been tenser lately; maybe he’s just stressed. Jake doesn’t sulk. He’s probably just tired and eager to get home. It’s been non-stop lately with so much in the pipeline. And he’s right. We could use a break.
He stays ahead of me at a good pace, so all I can do is jog to keep up as we head back to the hotel via an unfamiliar route, and I can’t help but feel a little miffed at his sudden cool attitude.
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