84
The office is a welcome sight. My assistant, Rosalie, warmly greets me and compliments my hair, natural highlights, and tan. She gushes a little too much at how I look, and I’m forced to give her a cool glare to get her to return to a professional manner.
The issues with the merger are nothing and could have been handled by anyone involved; there was no need for me to be here at all. The lawyers have taken care of almost everything, and the minor details are rectified in half a morning. I walk through Jake’s office and dump the files on his desk; I like that they scatter messily, don’t bother straightening them, and quell the urge to push over his desk caddy beside them.
“Fix them yourself,” I mutter and toss his pen on top. It’s fair to say I’m still as pissed as ever, and right now, the thought of resignation is swirling in my mind rather childishly.
No, if I’m going to do that, I’d rather say it to his face. I wouldn’t want to miss THAT reaction.
I have a business lunch with a client waiting to discuss some points with Jake, and I assure them that he will arrange another meeting at Mr. Carrero’s earliest convenience. I smooth over the fine particulars with the client and swell with
satisfaction that I’m more than capable of doing his job for him when he’s not around.
What do I need him for anyway? To pander to his ego and swat away sexual innuendos all day. Pffft!
“Where is my son?” The booming voice rips me from my reverie at my desk as I snap up to see the force that is Carrero Senior stalking in. I stand quickly and gulp quietly.
Hell.
Like all of Jake’s worst traits, this guy is amplified tenfold and stuck in a far moodier interior with a less attractive exterior.
“He’s away for a few days, Mr. Carrero, sir. He returns on Friday,” I smile brightly and smooth down my skirt impulsively, as he always makes me feel so nervous. He’s very commanding in a superior way.
“I’m guessing if you’re here, then it’s not on business,” he barks at me, and I grimace tightly, the impulse to stick my fingers up almost choking me.
“I presume it’s a personal trip, yes, sir.” I fold my hands gently across my waist and smile brightly; the urge to fidget is strong in his presence, it must be a family trait being able to intimidate me like this, but I hold steady.
“He’s ignoring my calls,” he rages at me.
Well, at least I’m not the only one. He was ignoring Leila, too apparently, and now Senior.
“You tell him I want to hear from him today,” he snaps.
Well, that might be hard, considering he’s also ignoring me.
I sulk inwardly.
“Yes, sir,” I answer, falsely bright.
“I’m sick of this goddamn, sulking, fucking distance he’s put between us these past few weeks. He’s got his fucking merger, so he can fucking talk to me now,” he erupts at me, slamming a hand on my desk and making me jump in fright.
Wow, Carrero Senior is a swearer!
I remain impassive, my insides liquifying to melted Jell-O at his booming voice and aggressive manner.
“Very good, sir,” I smile sweetly and try not to crumble when he throws me that intense glare. I catch the family resemblance, that scary, intimidating expression with furrowed brows, as he storms back out, and I realize my hands are shaking. He’s not a Carrero you want to piss off; he’s Jake but with a much worse temper. I am aware that my blood has run icy-cold, and my legs almost give out from under me.
I reach for the office cell and dial Jake’s number, hand still trembling. Talking to me or not, he must call his father. I would rather not have a repeat of that little meeting; my nerves wouldn’t stand a repeat.
“Jake Carrero,” he answers smoothly. I know he’s aware it’s his own office calling him; he has caller ID. Yet he’s in Mr. Business mode, so maybe that’s why he answered.
“Jake, your father requests a call from you before the close of business today,” I advise smoothly, that inner dance in my chest bounding out to remind me that I miss him, achingly so.
“Does he now?” he says, flat-toned and disinterested. He doesn’t even question why I used the office cell to call him and not my cell.
Hmmm.
I hate that the tension between us is still as thick. I’m shaking, and I have to sit down. His voice, even like this, is pushing me to break inside. I just want everything back to how it was.
“He was rather insistent about it, so I suggest you call him sooner rather than later,” I add quietly, praying Jake just calls him; my nerves can’t deal with any more visits. He scares me so much.
“He yelled at you?” There’s a hint of annoyance in his voice this time, and a slight hope lifts in me that maybe he still cares.
“Not directly,” I reply softly, “He yelled … about you … in my general direction.” There’s a tense, drawn-out silence.
“I’ll call him.” His tone is softer, a hint of Jake in there somewhere. Emotions arise in my throat at the slight hint of someone I love. I can’t bear this.
“Thank you.” My voice is softer, too; I push down the urge to exhale heavily and try to think of something else to say, to change how things are between us. I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off.
“Well, if that’s all,” and he hangs up. No goodbye, no thank you. Nothing. Just click, and the line is dead. I stare at it blankly, silent with shock and completely miffed all at once.
Fuck you very much, Carrero. Asshole.
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