60
Asshole. I can’t stand that weaselly little prick. What the hell is Sarah thinking?
He has the good grace to disappear into Sarah’s room, and I’m left to change quickly and diffuse the rage. I’m glad I have a lock on my door as I just don’t trust men like him, men who undress me with their eyes; they always make my skin crawl.
Pushing thoughts of Marcus away as a minor irritation, I change into jeans and a T-shirt and leave my hair in a loose ponytail so I can focus on the task at hand. If I’m going to be clearing out a mountain of clothes, I would rather be comfy. It’s not lost on me that a few months ago, I didn’t even own jeans; Jake sarcastically mentioned that fact early on.
What has Jake Carrero done to me?
Opening my door so I can listen for Jake’s arrival, I haul a pile of clothes from the top of my dresser and dump it on my floor, followed by subsequent piles around my room.
Jesus, that’s a lot of clothes!
The resulting pile is almost half as tall as I am. I need to clamp down on this excessive buying of Donna’s; it is abusing the company assets, spending so much on stuff I don’t need. I haven’t even worn half of the things she sends my way. I’m like her human-sized dress-up doll.
I put my iPad in the docking station and turn on some music: a random mix of popular songs that I like and the ones Jake has sent me over the months, our weird form of communication. I smile at some of the titles, lifting my mood again as I scroll through, able to pinpoint the memory or the reason he sent each one.
I don’t hear Jake arrive, but Marcus lets him in, and then he’s standing in my bedroom doorway, looking muscular in a red T-shirt and jeans over sneakers. His presence, as always, makes me instantly happier.
“Hey,” he smiles, then throws a wary look and thrusts his thumb over his shoulder, indicating he’s asking about Marcus. I shake my head and shrug; he knows I don’t like him. He frowns in response as I turn my attention back to the piles on the floor of my neglected bedroom.
“You weren’t wrong; I think Donna has dressed you for a year,” he exclaims, sprawling out casually on the floor beside me. It looks odd with him sitting on the floor among a sea of girls' clothes in a girly bedroom.
“Whose fault is that Mr. ‘Oh, buy her an outfit for this, that
and the next thing’ every time you see her?” I poke at him with a giggle.
“Maybe I should tell her to ask you from now on when you need something?” He holds his hands up in mock apology.
Too much money and not enough sense.
“That would be an idea,” I smirk, raising a brow.
“Get rid of what you don’t want.” He pulls a dress from the pile and holds it up to admire it, thrusting it down to pick up lingerie instead, with a smile and a dirty wink.
“Most still have tags, Jake. Donna should return them.” I snatch the bustier from him and throw it toward my dresser, where my lingerie lives. His raised eyebrow is not lost on me, but I ignore it. I don’t want Jake ogling my underwear.
“Just give them away, Emma; they’re already paid for,” he shrugs.
“Jake, there’s thousands of dollars worth of stuff here,” I implore with frustration. He has no concept of money sometimes.
“And?” he says as if to prove my point. I forget that he probably spends more than that on one piece of jewelry for a passing date. He’s always been generous in that way.
“So, I should just donate it? What I don’t need?” I ask sardonically, really not amused with his lack of care.
“They’re your clothes, Mio Amore.” He shifts on the floor to pick up another dress, this time having a closer look at it and then looking at me. He’s trying to remember if I’ve ever worn it. I throw him a disdainful look and start throwing items toward the door for donating; this feels so wasteful. I don’t even want to tally up the costs of half of this and, apart from Sarah, I don’t know anyone I can give them to.
“You’ve never worn this?” He raises an eyebrow at me so that I look over at what he’s holding. “Nope.”
“Why not? It’s nice, kind of cute, yet sexy.” He’s still admiring it, and I frown to survey it properly.
“Where would I wear it?” It’s not exactly formal, but it’s not exactly casual. It’s sort of a romantic, floaty dress in a short, flirty style in a lovely deep red shade.
“Take it with us on our trip. Parade around on deck for me in it.” He puts the dress on the bed as though he’s decided it’s coming on the trip, regardless of my view on the matter; sometimes, Jake can be exasperating. I can’t argue, though; it’s a lovely dress and perfect for a vacation.
“Just the two of us?” I ask warily. I’ve been wondering about this since I agreed, churning it over nervously.
“Not if that makes you uncomfortable; I have friends we could invite. My father’s yacht has six double cabins if you want a crowd.” He’s still looking through the clothes on the floor with a little too much dedication.
Maybe it is the thought of just the two of us alone for two weeks on a boat that’s bothering me. There is no work to converse over, nothing to distract me from my mind, and no boundaries and rules to keep things in check. I think he’s hit the nail on the head. “Who would you invite?” I ask.
“Daniel, a couple of the guys I sometimes take trips with, and whoever they want to bring. I was also thinking of Leila Huntsberger. That way, you could meet Sophie’s new sister.” He cocks his head at me, and I smile gratefully. I would really like that a lot.
“So, they’ll all be couples?” I press warily, not sure how this will work.
What if Jake wants to hook up while we’re there?
“Really, Emma?” he sighs, “What do you think I’m going to do? Try and seduce my PA because couples surround us, and I’m incapable of abstaining from sex? I may always be trying to flirt with you, but I’m not an idiot; I know where the boundaries are, Bambina.” He seems exasperated for a moment.
I’m not sure that would be a reason to refuse if I am completely honest. I’m just anxious about all the possible outcomes, not having the control or planning.
“No, it’s just … it will be awkward.” I don’t look at him. I just keep sorting random clothes from the pile. Jake has stopped and is leaning against my bed, watching me.
“Why?”
“They might think we’re …” I hesitate and catch his eye. His relaxed pose accentuates that upper body mass, and I glance away quickly, always caught off guard by my hormones.
“Who cares what they think? I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, Emma. I need a break, and so do you. Stop overthinking and just agree. Besides, they’re my friends; they’ll know right away that we’re not screwing.” He slides his hands behind his head, frowning at me and shrugging a little angrily.
“Okay, for God’s sake.” I put my hands up in defeat; he’s so cranky tonight. Then I throw him an apologetic look before adding, “Don’t laugh, Jake, but I don’t own anything I could wear on a beach or a yacht.”
His face breaks into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.
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