92
I catch Jake glaring at me across the table and stop twisting my hair for the fiftieth time; he’s been touchy this entire trip. Who would have thought a week’s worth of screwing leggy bimbos would actually make him more goddamn sulky?
I thought sex was meant to put men in a great mood. It must have been awful sex.
I look him up and down, trying to appraise that possibility.
I wonder if women can make sex shitty even if a ‘sexpert is bedding them.’ if I'm being honest, I’m sure he couldn’t do lousy sex. He has more stamina than most humans I know, and he’s a naturally attentive man. Even though I don’t have carnal knowledge of his bed-hopping habits, I am sure his confidence is an excellent hint that he doesn’t have complaints in the bedroom.
He’s barking orders at his cell, and I’m glad it’s not me on the receiving end. A bear with a sore head certainly describes his mood these past forty-eight hours. The lawyers in the next room are moaning and whining over his absence, and I’m sitting here waiting with pen in hand for the notes he wants me to take.
It’s well past lunchtime, and I’m hungry. We haven’t stopped
to eat yet, and my hair is sticking to my face in this oppressive heat. I regret not being able to tie it up and keep blowing it away.
We’re back in Vegas, same business, second time around, and I wasn’t prepared for the soaring temperatures. I move in my jacket uncomfortably and catch another glare.
God’s sake!
He’s been all over me these past two days, tugging my hands out of my hair, slapping my fingers when I play with my pen, and now I’m getting the eye assault for moving in my chair.
What’s eating Grouchy?
I’m the model of professionalism ninety-nine percent of the time; he can’t be pissed over the one percent which fidgets under duress, especially when he’s the cause of it.
“Emma?” he barks and snaps up my attention.
“What?” I sound equally snarky; he’s been a bastard since the flight, so he can have some snark back at him. He glowers at my tone of voice.
“I need those memos re-sent to Walters in New York; the idiot’s lost them on the system.” He’s still glaring like that’s my fault.
Great!
I sigh heavily and pull out my tablet, but he kicks my foot under the table, making me jump.
“Ouch!” I react more from the fright than any actual pain; he didn’t hurt me but still… jerk!
He’s glaring again, and I bite my lip to curb a cuss word. What the actual hell?
“What was that for?” I snap angrily.
“Stop pouting and rolling your fucking eyes when I tell you to do something,” he snaps angrily and slumps back to his call, growling at the world in general.
Wow. Jake has a whole new level of pissed-off, it seems.
Fuck off!
This is how the last forty-eight hours have been; my once charming boss is now an asshole, irritating-as-shit, dickhead of a boss who’s been riding my back about everything. He’s made me re-do a million menial tasks that my assistant could have dealt with, and he’s snarked at me incessantly. If anyone has a PMS issue, it is him, not me. I have the urge to throw a tampon at him.
For the love of God.
Even for Jake, the moodiness of the last two days has been entirely out of character.
“I’m pretty sure kicking me breaks all sorts of employment rules,” I hiss, throwing a warning look frostily.
“I’m sure rolling your eyes and scowling at the boss will get your resumé chucked at you.”
He’s also not been in any flirty or fun jokey moods. If there weren’t a room of stuffed shirts five feet away through a glass door right now, I would have chucked my pen at him square in the face. And I would have enjoyed it!
I resist the urge to stick my finger up at him. Instead, I give him a sickly-sweet smile and mouth, “Whatever you command!” Once again, he’s back, giving someone else a hard time on the cell; my own vibrates, and I haul it out.
“Emma Anderson.”
“Emma, it’s Rosalie. I need your help with some of Mr.
Carrero’s requests.”
She’s been getting it, too, has she? What the hell is with him? “Go ahead.”
“It’s just some of the documents he’s sent down. I’m not sure what I’m meant to do with them.” She sounds nervous. I ask her to go through what she has and tell her they’ve to be printed and filed. I go through her concerns about some other matters and sign off. I like Rosalie; she’s a sweetie, although she lacks initiative and confidence. If Jake has been bitching at that little cloud of sweetness, he really is in the foulest mood. Asshole bully.
I wonder why he sent them to her directly and never went through me; I usually do all of that so I can instruct her properly.
I guess because he can barely talk to me without fucking moaning lately.
“Emma, here.” He slides his cell at me across the desk sharply. “Stay here and take any calls. I need to wrap this up.” He gives me a dark look devoid of any pleasantries.
Jerk.
“Yes, Mr. Carrero.” I watch him stalk into the boardroom and shut the door noisily. He’s in his aggressive boss mode; he will probably bark at all the suits and have this meeting finished pronto. I shake my head at his back and concentrate on not sticking my tongue out. He is trying my very last nerve, and it’s taking all my willpower not to tell him to go shove his job up his butt.
His cell immediately vibrates, and I swipe it open. I cringe at the name which appears on the screen, and my insides die a little.
Marissa Hartley.
Jesus Christ!
That was not expected. I glance over at him through the glass door, trying to figure out if I should ignore it. I decide against it and then answer, my nosiness getting the better of me, and I would rather not get yelled at for ignoring his calls.
“Mr. Carrero’s cell, Emma Anderson speaking,” I answer icily.
“Oh! Emma?” She sounds shocked to find me on the other end.
I don’t know why? I’m his assistant, after all; I sometimes do man his cell for him. Bimbo!
“Marissa?” I try and sound friendly, but I just sound pissed. Oh well. What a shame.
“Ummm, I need to talk to Jake. Is he there?”
Would I be answering his phone if he was? I mean, really, Marissa, it’s called common sense.
I bristle internally and cross my legs. I can picture her doe-eyed face and have the urge to poke a pen in one of her eyeballs.
I actually hate you!
“He’s in a meeting, Marissa; can I help you?” My clipped tone almost betrays my inner thoughts.
“No, I just need to speak to him urgently,” she whines. Her voice grates on me like nails on a chalkboard; I don’t like the tone either. I glance again at him through the door; he’s in full CEO mode, commanding the room somewhat angrily. I hesitate; his lousy mood is enough to put me off, and I sigh.
“Look, he’s actually in a crucial meeting; all I can do is take a message,” I respond drily; she’s adding to my irritation today.
“Just tell him to call me back as soon as he can,” she snaps at me haughtily, the rich kid attitude toward menial employees. The urge to swear at her is strong, but I bite my tongue and mentally count to ten at speed.
“Is there any other message besides calling you back?” I’m trying to ignore the creep of suspicion sliding up my spine.
Choke on your own tongue, Marissa.
“Just tell him it’s urgent, that we need to talk. Today! As soon as he can!” Venom drips in her voice, intended for me. Seems the feeling is mutual between us.
“Okay, I shall. Bye then,” I retort coolly and end the call before she gets a chance to say another word, smug at hanging up on her.
Bitch!
My fingers hover over the screen with temptation, and yet I waiver.
Don’t do it. Don’t look, Emma.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and I swipe and go to his text inbox; the passcode request comes up, and I falter. I know the codes to his cell; he gave them to me, but I’ve never needed to check his texts before. Most business-related inquiries come as calls.
I punch it in quickly before I change my mind and scan the list of names. Marissa is near the top; he’s been texting her recently.
What am I doing?
I notice a couple of other female names and feel instantly sick.
Why am I doing this?
I hesitate again and click Marissa’s name; the last text is from her to him. I pale as I scan it, knowing how stupid this is, but now I can’t unsee it.
“I still love you, Jake. We can make this work. I’m so glad this happened between us, a new beginning. xxx”
It’s from two days ago, and I feel physically nauseous. I close the screen, my hands shaking, and I slide it back on the desk. My breathing is instantly labored, and my heart is fluttering.
Shit. I shouldn’t have looked; I shouldn’t have pried.
He’s sleeping with Marissa again. The tone suggests she was a past conquest, maybe more.
The thought bothers me so much more than Redhead or any other female I’ve ever known him with. Although that didn’t sound like nothing, that sounded like more than just sex. She told him she still loves him. Jake never does love; he moves on quickly, so it never gets to that point.
How long has he been seeing Marissa for love to be involved? Was that why she was that way on the yacht? Was he seeing her even then, behind Richard’s back? Even while kissing me?
I rub my face and realize my cheeks are flaming. I’m dizzy and sick. I shouldn’t have done that. I need to eat. Maybe it will make me feel less faint. I’m hot and sweating; perhaps I need a glass of water. All I know is that I am out of sorts, and the room is suddenly claustrophobic. I get up from the table, and the swirling dizziness hits me out of nowhere.
Shit.
I reach out to grab the table and miss.
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