90
It’s amazing what the human heart can endure when you have a will like mine. It’s incredible how you can bounce back like you were, no matter what life throws at you. It’s amazing how many masks I must keep in my back pocket for when one gets smashed into a thousand pieces so I can slide a new one on.
We’re on a plane already, and I’m calm, controlled, and acting like yesterday never happened. Redhead is gone, thank God, and Jake seems like the typical, good old Jake from before our vacation. Just like that! The past week or so was erased from memory.
All is almost right with the world if I can just ignore all of that, forget all the tears and ignore the crazy way he makes me feel that I can no longer honestly say is platonic. Despite me glaring at him about using it on the plane, he's on his cell.
“Yes, that’s right.” He waves his hand at my expression, dismissing me as I picture us crashing into the ground. “No, it doesn’t need his permission; it’s my money.” He sounds annoyed with whoever he is talking to. “Exactly as I sent you.” He frowns into space, and I go back to working on my laptop. “As soon as … Let me know if there’s any more contact.”
He slides his phone off and chucks it down, giving me a wary glance, yet saying nothing. I’m working through a document and go back to being absorbed, ignoring him. I hate flying; it’s tedious and stressful, and I’ve done enough of it to last a lifetime these past few months. Life has just reverted to complete normalcy overnight. I’m not sure how to feel, but it’s better than his absence and anger.
“You look serious.” He’s appraising my profile as I stare at my screen and try my hardest to block him out.
“I’m working.” I try and ignore that probing gaze.
“So, it’s your serious work face?” I can almost hear the smile in his voice and squint up at him; he’s in playful mode, and I just sigh in response.
Great, that’s all I need; he can be irritating in this mood when we’re stuck on a long-ass flight. Think bored child without any toys and only me to occupy him.
“Aren’t all work faces serious, Mr. Carrero?” I respond sassily yet flatly, refusing to be distracted, still not entirely back to normal with him but trying.
“Yours is especially serious this morning,” he teases, pinching my cheek annoyingly, and I quell the urge to react.
Lord help me.
“Perhaps it’s having me up and on a plane before sunrise, boss.” I’m trying hard to stay focused on my screen and ignore his invasive hands, or I will never get this done.
“Perhaps.” He’s smirking; I can see it from the corner of my eye. He leans out and closes my laptop, almost on my fingers. I flinch, pulling them away quickly, glaring at him icily.
“I haven’t saved that!” I point out.
“It saves automatically,” he shrugs knowingly, and I pout at him as I open it again, but he firmly lays a hand on it.
“Leave it. We have a long flight; I want you to relax.” He slides down in his seat as though demonstrating what relaxed looks like.
“It’s important,” I stress, irritation rising.
Only I could have a boss who doesn’t deem his own company’s business as important.
“It will keep,” his tone firm. His flicker of irritation makes me back down, wary of him still being touchy under the surface.
“Okay, fine. You’re the boss. How shall I relax, Mr. Carrero?” I sulk as he lifts a hand to the attendant, and she comes over with the tray of champagne; he takes two and hands me one with a nod.
“Why is it always alcohol with you?” I sigh, sipping it anyway. I’m so not in the mood to refuse him.
“Proven method. I stick with what works.” He raises his eyebrows impishly, all hints of annoyance gone so quickly.
“The resurfacing of drunk Emma?” I’m still pouting, my tone tight as I say it, and I can feel his grin without looking.
Asshole!
“Maybe just tipsy Emma; she’s nice too.” He winks my way naughtily.
“Hmmm.” I’m unimpressed.
“Or just Emma. I like Emma just as much.”
I flick a glance at him and turn away, unsure how to read the distant look in his eyes. He’s being unusually nice all of a sudden.
Guilty conscience?
“Maybe Emma and her other Emmas don’t like you much anymore,” I mutter quietly, averting my gaze to the bubbles popping in my liquid refreshment. Sometimes my brain has this amazing habit of saying out loud the most random of little thoughts hiding in the back of my head. It is the worst trait, and I bite my tongue.
“And why is that?” he chuckles, watching me steadily.
“Because,” I pout childishly. I don’t want to follow this line of conversation and start a row.
“Just because?” he probes, his eyes burning a hole in my face, being stupidly obtuse and grating on me.
“Do I need a reason not to like you anymore?” I know I’m being petty, but a small part of me has still not forgiven him for leaving me on that yacht and closing me out for days while he … never mind. This is why I should never have said it.
“I guess not. It would be nice to have one, though. Can’t have random acts of boss-hating being thrown about,” he grins, adjusting his casual posture in his seat while making it creak. Despite myself, I stifle a laugh; he can be funny sometimes, if not a little dumb. I frown again, trying to bring back my pout to stay moody.
“You could always boss me into liking you again, bossy,” I tease solemnly, trying to retain my upset look and failing miserably. He’s too good at always bringing me around.
“I might do that.” He watches me for a long second, then frowns deeply. “Is it because I fucked off and left you?” His voice has an edge with this question and a knowing look. I guess he’s decided now is the time to talk. We hadn’t yet, not about this.
Shit.
“Maybe.” My voice is inordinately tight, sensing his frown even though I’m not looking at him anymore; he takes the drink out of my hand and puts our glasses on the table before us.
“We need to talk about this, Emma. Right now. Get it out of the way.”
Boss Carrero tone. Yup, this is what I feared. This is all I need.
I shift slightly to look up at him, my heart stilling and my breath pausing. I guess we had to do this sometime. What better place than on a private jet, thousands of miles high in the sky, where I have zero escape.
“I had to leave,” he says. His focus on me is almost uncomfortable.
“Of course, you did,” I say quickly, slightly too sharply, and chastise myself inwardly for bristling at the first sentence.
“Stop it,” he warns, “Look at me and stop fiddling with the laptop; it’s staying closed.”
I roll my eyes; he’s watching me steadily. He takes my laptop and slides it on the floor, away from me, between his feet.
Crap.
“What example would that be?” He pulls out his cell and starts typing in response to a text. I wonder which leggy woman has his attention this time. I don’t even want to know.
“I should get a string of fuck buddies to visit for a week, rid myself of the tension,” I sigh heavily and stare straight ahead, bracing myself for his agreement, which will hurt.
His hands falter and pause. His body tenses, giving me a moment of satisfaction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his thumbs hover over the screen; putting the cell down instead, he leaves the text unanswered.
“If you want to be that sort of girl.” His tone is instantly different, tight-lipped, and kind of pissed.
Hypocrite!
I think he’s mad.
Hmmm, well, if it’s good enough for the gander, or whatever that saying is.
“Well, I work as hard as you do, so maybe I should follow your lead and play hard too. Seems to work wonders for you.” I’m fluttering my lashes innocently as his shoulders tense up. His jaw is tensing, and I notice his ear move as a result. I’m enjoying his reaction a little too much; in a way, it feels like payback.
“I don’t think it would make you happy, Emma, sleeping around, fucking strangers.” There’s definitely an edge to his voice. His frown has deepened, and he’s gripping the arm of his seat a little aggressively.
“You seem happy enough,” I push on, feeling brighter.
See, Jake? Two can play at being assholes.
“We’re nothing alike; I don’t get hung up on the emotions of it.” He’s glaring out of his window now, avoiding me, his voice still laced with anger. He’s trying to keep his cool. I know him too well, and it seems I got to him; the mighty Jake is possessive of his almost-conquest.
“You don’t know that I would. I don’t think I would.” I know only too well that I can’t. I know how I feel when I get close to having intimacy, hence my boyfriends not lasting long. But Jake doesn’t know that. His hand drops onto my thigh, and he squeezes it rather harshly, his nails biting in.
Ouch.
Now that’s gross misconduct and sexual harassment rolled into one, but I grit my teeth and refuse to show it.
“End of conversation, Emma,” he snarks at me darkly, and I can tell he’s raging mad; his eyes have turned the darkest green I’ve ever seen, almost terrifying. Maybe he does care, after all.
Is this as close to jealousy as I’ll ever get with him?
“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” I smile sweetly.
“Not anymore. Drink your champagne and shut up.”
I clamp shut at his rude response, inwardly surprised but with a whole lot of satisfaction that I riled him.
Charming! Loss of Carrero charm in one fell swoop. Seems I’ve more power than I realized, huffy and seething.
Well, I feel better, at least. A little check on my imaginary clipboard.
One to zero to me, Mr. Casanova, who fucks women like it’s going out of fashion. I guess we were fighting after all, and it looks like I won.
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