58
“More real than fake boobs and Botox, you mean?” Despite the little elevated heartbeat that has erupted, I ignore the comments about me and swipe them aside as another joke.
“Something like that.” His short answers are starting to drive me slowly insane; I think he’s deliberately trying to be obtuse and pull a reaction from me.
“You’re not giving much away,” I pout huffily.
“What do you want to know exactly? I thought I had already described the perfect woman. Did I forget pushy and nosy?” He spins me again, and now, back in his arms, I can see his face properly, but he’s avoiding eye contact.
“If I believed you for one minute, Carrero! What’s your type if you wanted more than just sex? Brunette, redhead, short, curvy? What?”
He frowns down at me, spins me under his arm, and quickly pecks me on the cheek as if to say, “Shut up.”
“It’s not so much about looks, Emma. She would be someone I can hang out with, who doesn’t bore me. Someone with an IQ larger than her bust size.”
Well, that’s a revelation, and it’s kind of sweet. I grin at him, stupidly pleased with his answer for no reason.
“Someone smart and normal?” I gush with surprise.
“Pretty much.” He doesn’t add a flirty comment for once, finally being serious. I figure so many women in the world would squeal over this tidbit of information right now, giving hope to the millions of adoring women.
“Someone like me?” I laugh, overcome with hesitation and a touch of nerves.
“I already told you, Bambina; confess how crazy you are for me, and I’ll marry you before dawn. We both know you have the serious hots for your sexy boss.” His face is nothing but sheer jest and smiles. I shake my head, eyes rolling at his usual annoying self, and sigh simultaneously.
“You’re infuriating,” I scold gently.
“That’s why you’re crazy in love with me, shorty. Drink?” he asks as he leads me to the table, but I shake my head; I guess he’s signaling the end of the conversation, something we’re both good at. He’s done with this direction of prodding.
“Maybe best if I don’t,” I giggle, still not fully recovered. He studies me for a second, then shrugs.
“One won’t hurt. Live a little,” he encourages.
“I think you like getting me drunk, Jake.”
“I like loosening you up, starchy pants. It makes it easier to get you naked.” He winks at me as that devilish smile reappears; a nearby waitress gawps at what she overheard and moves away fast. I can only sigh and raise a brow at him.
“You pay me to keep my pants starched, remember. And on! If I were Miss Loose-and-Lively, I would be a shitty PA.” We move toward an empty table amidst my disapproving scolding.
“I don’t know; it might be fun having a drunk PA. I’d love to see you endure a stuffy meeting drunk. A naked one would be even better. Not sure I would let others see you naked, though,” he shrugs again, pulling out my chair and seating me at the table. He gestures for another waiter, seeing as our server has taken off.
“I probably wouldn’t be a hit, naked or not, especially with the stuffed shirts you have meetings with.”
“I can agree with that.” He’s smiling and hands me a champagne glass from a passing tray. “I like drunk Emma; I might ask her to be my temporary girlfriend. Like anytime we’re both drunk, we’re in a relationship.” Despite my earlier protest, I take the glass, throwing him an indulgent look and fighting the urge to grin.
“So you’ve mentioned many times before.” He’s all jokes and fun tonight. I’m feeling edgy about his persistence tonight, and I don’t particularly appreciate where this is heading.
“I’d like to see you really let go, Emma.” He observes me as though examining something under a microscope.
“In what way?” I’m not sure I like that look on his face.
“No work, just chilled and loose and free to have a good time.”
“I work for you, remember? If I’m around you, then it’s usually a good sign that I’m meant to be working.” I raise my eyebrows at him and sip my champagne, seeing his look of approval at my ‘living a little’, and sigh.
“Maybe I need to take you on vacation then.” His body slides down in the chair, a la casual Carrero posture, and my heart sinks. That annoying spark of determination flits across his face.
“This again?” My gut tightens, and my mood dwindles.
“We go away together a lot, but maybe we both need a trip for pleasure? Lots and lots of pleasure.” He’s off in negotiation mode, and I grit my teeth.
“Jake …?” I warn, frowning to tell him not to continue.
“Listen to me. After Chicago and everything that went on, please, we both need this. It’ll only be for two weeks, Emma. You’ll have your own room; no hanky-panky, I swear. I will be the ultimate gentleman. My dad’s yacht, the Caribbean, just picture it.” It’s almost childish begging from a moody boy.
“I agree, Jake, but it’s still not right to take me on some romantic getaway,” I try to refuse and ignore the sense of guilt at making him look this way.
“Is that the issue? Do you think a yacht and a tropical beach are too romantic? Worried I may make good on some of my promises?” An edge to his tone indicates he’s getting annoyed with me; he’s disappointed and is not used to the word ‘no.’
Why am I so reluctant?
“No, it’s just ….”
I don’t actually know what it’s just.
“Just?” he presses moodily.
I’m lost for words, and he sees me flounder.
“It’s agreed then.” He looks smug at my hesitation, progressing as if he’s won his argument.
“What is?” My voice is tight, knowing him only too well and how overbearing he can be.
“We go on a trip,” he shrugs oh so casually.
“I didn’t say ‘yes,’” I grind out, but Jake is in steam-rolling mode; he always does this to me. I’ve never known anyone with this ability to maneuver me into his way of thinking. Or just bullying me into it.
“You didn’t have a reason to say no either. I’ll just make you come with me and call it a business trip. I’ll fire you if you refuse.” He drinks some of his champagne, his eyes never leaving mine, that look goading me to challenge him.
“That’s not fair,” I sigh, knowing I’m losing because this is how he is.
“You’re the only girl I know who would turn down two weeks in the sun, Emma. I’ll still be paying you, regardless.” He shrugs at me as if that answers all my concerns. I could scream.
“I’m not worried about the money,” I glare at him haughtily, queen of insulted, but it only gets me a smile in return.
“You’re worried about being alone with me? Worried I’ll get you naked, and you can’t refuse me? We’re alone most of the time; we’ve shared a million hotel rooms; you’ve stayed in my apartment.”
“It’s not that, it’s just …” I falter and sigh, not even sure how to verbalize it.
“It’s not work, and you’re unsure how to navigate it?” he guesses, cocking his brow at me, a softness encompassing his expression.
“Maybe,” I shrug, perplexed at this whole thing.
“Relax and trust me for once in your life, woman,” he sighs, irritation in his eyes because he’s starting to get annoyed with my persistent refusals.
“I do trust you, and stop calling me that.” I shove his foot with mine, hard. It’s in its usual close position, almost welded next to mine, and an easy target.
“Do you?” He considers me seriously, and I can’t ignore the hint of hurt.
Wow, when did that happen? When did Jake start doubting that I trusted him?
A wave of guilt runs through me; impulsively, I want to smooth away the frown on his flawless face, as it causes me all kinds of guilty pangs.
“Yes, I do. I don’t know why you’re looking at me that way. Who else would get away with half the crap you say and do to me?” I try a softer tone, but he looks sulkily across the crowded room. He sighs and indicates we should go. Deflated.
My sulky Jake.
I glance at my watch and smile tightly; it’s not late, but he’s right. I’m tired, and I don’t like how this is going. It’s no fun here anymore. We only needed to show our faces, and we have done.
I sigh and look away from him, knowing he’s right; he’s never mentioned what he did to Ray after we walked away from his lifeless body, but I know he’s been thinking about it. Maybe he has a point; I don’t want this to be something we bicker over endlessly. We do need a break. We need to clear the air, to reset the button on all this irritation and tension between us lately.
What harm could it do?
“When do you want to go?” I finally breathe out.
“You’re serious?” He catches my chin with his fingers and forces me to look at him. I shrug in answer, knowing when I’m defeated, and his face breaks into adolescent happiness. He swoops down with a kiss on my head, and I can’t help but smile as he beams at me. He’s like a kid who’s found a lollipop.
This is the man worth billions of dollars; who runs an empire.
Yes. This childish pain-in-my-ass is supposed to be my boss!
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