Chapter 4

Within a moment all of them are in his office, past Margo’s inner door, and it’s closed. I take a deep breath of relief and try again to type this document out, meeting with my usual success. Quick and swift skill with a keyboard now that I have no visual distractions.

It seems like an eternity has passed when my switchboard lights up, and the distant voice of Margot interrupts my concentration. I was unaware I’d been semi holding my breath until that second and give myself another stern inner shake.

“Emma, please come into Mr. Carrero’s office. Thank you.” The voice sounds distant and tinny on the remarkably high-tech machine.

“Yes, Mrs. Drake.” I flinch at my use of her full name, knowing she asked me to call her Margo. I mentally scold myself to not repeat the mistake.

I don’t make mistakes. Ever.

I slide up, smoothing down my clothes and putting my jacket back on quickly. Buttoning it up nervously as I walk the small distance to her door which blocks entrance to his.

It takes all my willpower to walk into the office, and all of my acting ability, dredged up from somewhere deep, to pull off the undaunted calm demeanor that I try to present at all times. My stomach-turning somersaults, and my throat drying up. I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble with it today.

“Ah, Emma, here you are.” Margo meets me as I pull open the heavy wooden door and slide in. Suddenly conscious of how short I am, even in my spike heels, next to her swan like body. She stands tall for a woman and I stand at around five feet four.

“Jake, this is Emma Anderson. She’s your new assistant in training. Your new number two.” She smiles fondly at me and gestures me to come to her. I move beside her and get the gentle familiar pat on my shoulder as she tries to put me at ease.

I blink a few times, pausing at the use of the name Jake.

Am I missing something here?

It dawns on me he prefers the name Jake. Brain clicking with memories from my research. He corrected many interviewers and I remember he likes the informality and encourages using his first name; shortened first name.

All my thoughts slip away to nothing and I’m held captive to the floor, unable to speak as the object of my nerves gets out of his seat. This is what I’ve been afraid of! My reaction when faced with someone I find attractive, and it’s completely new to me.

I don’t even notice the others in the room as he effortlessly glides up and toward me. He has the walk of someone who’s never doubted his own confidence or abilities. Someone who knew from early in life that he was devastatingly attractive and has the best kind of reaction from all women. It’s mesmerizing in a way, but also disconcerting.

He towers above me as he approaches, putting him over the six-foot mark easily. Wearing all black; shirt and suit, minus a tie and top buttons open. The overall effect makes me breathless. He’s beyond underwear model hot, he’s like some female fantasy come to life.

Jeeze.

“Miss. Anderson.” He extends an arm, and all I can do is reach out and shake the neatly manicured, yet oddly masculine, hand. I’m painfully aware of the way my heart quickens, and my breath is slightly labored at the tingling sensation of his skin on mine. I immediately feel betrayed by my own body.

I push it down, abhorred that I should react this way. It’s alien to me and has me shifting on my own axis. I don’t like being forced out of my comfort zone and into new experiences.

“Mr Car—” my voice is feeble. I’m so pathetic and obvious.

“Jake! Please,” he cuts in; those green eyes taking me in, leaving me no clue to anything going on behind them.

“Margo informs me she’s happy with you so far and will be training you a little more extensively in time, to step in fully when she retires. I guess that means we should get better acquainted on a first name basis.” He throws me a charming, soft smile, and I’m not immune to the effect. It’s a gesture that hints that he knows exactly what he’s doing with it though.

So, this is how you win over women is it, Carrero? Melting them with seductive smiles. Ughhh.

My insides lurch unexpectedly. His hand is smooth and inhumanely warm in mine, and I’m starting to feel clammy. Anxious Emma peeking her head out, only to be pushed back down with a firm shove.

Be still, Emma … Stay cool. Stop drooling.

“I’m really grateful for the opportunity.” I sound normal enough, only a slight waver in my voice this time and I’m relieved. If anything, my years of poise are saving me from myself right now. Pulling off the pretense.

He subtly looks me over. There’s nothing in it, which surprises me. Just an interested appraisal as he tries to measure me up. I guess he’s used to women going all weak-kneed and pie-eyed at his presence and it interests him that I don’t appear to be. I’m glad he can’t see my internal reactions, as they are behaving disgustingly right about now.

I’m unnerved that this close he’s just as handsome, if not more than his internet pictures, and his ruggedness is intimidating. The sheer power of his shoulders and toned body, straining behind the expensive clothing. I know from photographs he prefers more casual attire than suits and ties most of the time. He’s sexually intimidating and so far out of my league in every way and now, in the flesh, it’s so much more obvious. I swallow hard.

“Can I get you a drink, Emma? You look flushed.” His voice pours over me like honey, and my mouth dries up fully. I’m blushing, heat emanating from my roots and scowl at my inner-adolescent self. He removes his hand and walks away from me to his desk with a confident swagger.

I’m uneasy and try to regain my equilibrium, swallowing several times to get the moisture back into my parched mouth and keep my eyes off his ass. A drink would be good right now, if only to release my throat.

“Thank you.” I catch Margot watching me with a strange look in her eye, and I realize it’s a touch of uncertainty. Mr. Carrero moves off to a bar at the rear of the room, to the side of his desk, with his back to us to fix me a drink.

Shit!

She’s thinking I’m just another receptionist with the hots for Mr. Carrero. Another woman to fall at the hurdle of meeting him.

I try to pull myself together, smooth invisible wrinkles in my clothes and straighten my body up, trying to get back my professional air and grace. I hate that I’ve shown signs of being rattled. I don’t normally break under so little pressure, and I’m not impressed with myself.

I catch her expression warm up, and I relax.

Perhaps I’m overthinking this.

I’m mindful that Mr. Black Suit is standing in a corner by the window, glaring at us; it’s a little intimidating, but also reassuring. Just out of sight to my far left on the long cream Italian leather couch, the younger man is sitting below some huge prints of modern artistry depicting what might be naked women. I blink and look again. Yes, naked women.

Ughhh. Really? Could you be anymore playboy, Carrero?

Arrick is disinterested in what’s going on. He’s playing with his cell, and I think I recognize the Angry Birds music that Sarah loves to irritate me with. An annoying, immature game, although Arrick looks late teens to early twenties so he can be forgiven for a juvenile game, I suppose.

“Here you go,” Jake’s voice cuts into my thoughts, bringing my attention back to him as he hands me a tall glass of something bubbly with ice. I take a sip and give him a grateful smile, expecting flavored water. It’s a cold, clear liquid that tastes sweetly tropical with a hint of unexpected alcohol.

I guess it’s not iced water.

It’s a cocktail and I try not to show my surprise, but a tiny frown hits my brow before I can correct it. Inwardly startled.

Surprising. He did this himself. Booze at work though?

“Thank you, Mr. … Jake.” I correct, and he gives me a soft smile again. I ignore the butterflies in my stomach rising from it, with a minor annoyance.

Stop behaving like a fourteen-year-old!

“So, Emma, Margo tells me you’ve worked here for just over five years?” he sits back to perch on his desk, body relaxed, and eyes fixed on me. Margo standing close by, listening. He is distractingly good-looking, more so when he lazes all casual and charming, and very un-boss like.

“Yes. I’ve worked on various floors, but mainly tenth.” I move to place my glass on the table, so my fingers don’t toy with the rim showing my nervous habits. I’m disappointed to be putting it down, it tasted amazing, but I’m not a fan of alcohol at work, or anytime for that matter. He has skills with making drinks though.