Chapter 94

“Emma? Mr. Carrero wants to see you.” A small childish voice comes up behind me, causing me to flinch and drop my duster. My heart hits a sudden stop as I inhale heavily pushing back my hair which is stuck to my face from the exertion of my enthusiastic cleaning, my eyes widening in disbelief.

What? Jake? He’s here?

My brain reels a moment with a lurch of possibility before sense smacks me in the chest sharply, kickstarting rapid heartbeats.

No. Giovanni! Of course!

I feel like an idiot. I throw a tight smile her way before turning smoothly to acknowledge the girl, pushing down signs of my overreaction and trying to calm my crazy thudding pulse rate. It’s one of the small receptionists, all blonde hair, and big boobs—like most of Senior’s staff. He’s sickeningly singular about the women in his employ, finding those whose looks are less like the woman he’s married to and more like the “bunnies” of the Hugh Heffner world.

“Okay, where is he?” My voice is even, despite my irritation and internal mental breakdown and a familiar wave of control moves across me unexpectedly.

“In his office, you’d better go right away, he’s in a bad mood.” The tone in her voice betrays her fear of Senior Carrero, but I ignore it. He doesn’t scare me in the slightest. His attitude toward his employee’s grates on my nerves at the best of times; I’m used to that familial Carrero glare and its wily ways. Jake hadn’t been against using that glare when bad moods struck, impossible scenarios or general mess ups. I think, somehow, coming here, I’ve lost all unease around Giovanni Carrero. My heart being ripped out by a man who shares his name has made me immune to the effects any Carrero could’ve tried to pull on me.

I push memories of Jake aside harshly swallowing that lump in my throat that hits me whenever my brain focuses on him. I can’t think about him right now.

Ever!

If I do, I’ll just dwell on how much I miss him and how much I think about the night we had sex … repeatedly. I’ll torture myself into insanity, and I can’t afford to do that. Mentally, I am only just starting to see glimpses of the old me and don’t want to scare her back into submission already.

I follow the girl silently from the room and head toward the long hall leading to King Carrero’s domain with my chin in the air once more, showing pride and defiance that I don’t feel. I am not going to be intimidated by this man. No matter how badly he thinks I am doing at my job.

Senior visibly bristles as I enter his office, for once he’s alone, and sat in his leather throne behind his oversized, polished walnut desk. The sun is blazing in from the wall of glass behind him and the breath-taking New York scenery pulls my eyes to the city for a second. He looks like a formidable billionaire framed by his kingdom; small and tanned with highlighted brown hair and dark evil eyes veiling that shrewd brain.

He watches my every movement as I stroll nearer his desk, knowing that he would never ask me to sit, so I don’t even try.

“You asked me to come see you?” I start tonelessly, my body rigid under his scrutiny. My nerves swirling uncontrollably low down in my belly despite my demeanor. There is no love between us, I am merely another irritation to his life and another faceless employee.

“Yes, Miss. Anderson, I did … My son sent you to me as a PA, yet I’ve no need for more assistance. Your performance has left me with a sour taste in my mouth and I think we need to have a little chat.” He doesn’t even have the grace to continue looking at me while saying it, his eyes on his laptop as he types as though I no longer interest him.

He’s not one to mince his words and I stare at him blankly, unsurprised. I’ve expected this moment for a while, amazed it’s taken three weeks for us to have this conversation.

“My son obviously saw something in you, so I’m not ready to dismiss you just yet … In fact, he insisted you stay in this company, indefinitely.” His unexpected confession causes a sharp knife-like pain in my chest, a slight confused expression warms my face. When he glances up, his uninterested gaze sweeps my features with a deadpan look, betraying nothing.

Jake asked his father to keep me employed? No matter what? Despite sending me away … But why?

Raw painful emotion tugs at my throat like a large ball wedged mercilessly but I push it down harshly, almost unable to swallow. I’m not ready to dissect Jake’s reasons yet, if ever. It’s too hard.

Senior never says anything lightly, always direct and to the point, not wasting his breath on small talk. I know he’s not embellishing. If he thinks I am a drain on company finances, excess to requirements, then I’d be gone already.

“So, what’s to be done with me?” I respond drily, less confident at the turn of this conversation. Grasping my hands together as they start to tremble, I lay them across my waist to regain my posture, trying to appear business-like, despite the pounding thuds in my chest.

Right now, I wouldn’t care if he sent me to Timbuktu if it meant I didn’t get fired.

“You’re going back to Executive House, floor thirty-two … Public relations, organizing events and the like …” he waves his hand around, uninterested “… Jacob told me you excel at planning and juggling a high workload, so I hope you finally prove it to me.” His harsh penetrative gaze rests on me coldly, assessing me, but I steel myself against his stare.

The thought of going back to that building surges through me like fire, igniting my fear manically, but I remain impassive under his scrutiny while my blood freezes in my veins and my lungs turn to ash.

“I don’t know what happened with my son, Miss. Anderson, but I am pleased with your discretion on this transference. There has been no real gossip as such, but I do want to point this out … You’re still employed under duress of my son, he was very clear on this, and as you know, my relationship with Jacob is somewhat strained; so this …” he waves his hand to me then back to himself dismissively, “… is the compromise I made to keep him happy. If I hadn’t made such promises to Jacob, I would’ve fired you in under a week.” He visually releases his grip on me as an end to our discussion and he goes back to tapping away on his laptop.

I lower my lashes and swallow, involuntarily, face hot with shame and body weakening with cold anxiety. I suppose I should be grateful for this, despite my inner organs trying to shrivel up and hide. I still have a job.

What the hell has happened to me?

My job was my universe. The one thing I excelled at and pushed through. My life consumed with work, got me to where I was because of it. Yet here I am, saved from unemployment because Jake felt guilty enough to ensure I kept my job.

The thought is sobering, and Giovanni’s revelation is a surprise. Jake and he were always so formal, distant, and cold, it makes me wonder at his willingness to please his son.

There may be more to their relationship than either Jake or I realize. Maybe Senior loves his son more than he shows.

“Jake didn’t need me anymore … That’s all there is to say.” I point out blandly, avoiding the eyes that have once again come to rest on my face at the utterance of words. In a way, it’s the truth. He doesn’t need me … not in the way I need him, so, there was no reason to keep me any longer.

“Right …” His voice is drenched in sarcasm. I glance up and for a moment I catch a hint of challenge in his eye, maybe even a slight thawing of his normally cruel tight mouth. He’s almost as unreadable as his son. “Pack up whatever you brought here; you’re going there today. Wilma Munro is expecting you.” He moves his focus back to his screen; a clear move to signal my dismissal. He’s issued his demands and now wants me to remove myself from his presence.

“Yes, sir.” I nod briefly and turn on my heel, needing no more direction. I walk out briskly, glad to escape, my steps seemingly confident despite my insides turning to mush. I can barely breathe with the weight caving in on me.

I’m not sure how to feel right now.

I’m going back! Back to Jake’s building, back to being only floors below him and I don’t know how to navigate it, or how to process it.

Chance sightings … chance meetings. I don’t know if I can handle it. I don’t think my heart can handle it.

Waves of nausea return bitterly, my hands tremble at the thought of possibly seeing him again and a sickening dread almost consumes me. This has to be the worst decision ever made in the history of mankind and somehow, I feel like it’s going to be my complete undoing.