Chapter 97

I get into the elevator, smoothing down my skirt, and glance at the narrow mirror by the door, sighing and take my place at the side of a couple of staff in here. I look better, feel better, and more in control. I’ve only been back at Executive House for a few days, but somehow the familiarity of this building, and the people who knew me as Jake’s assistant so treat me with more respect than I received at Carrero Tower, have helped me get back on track.

I’ve barely slept the last few nights. My mother’s appearance has left my mind in a constant cyclone of thoughts and insecurities. I’ve replayed my mother’s words a million times in my head, none of it makes sense to me, the obvious aside, I can’t wrap my brain around her admission.

Ray isn’t the kind of person to up and run off because another guy gave him a taste of his own medicine. He only left years ago because I threatened to involve the police. I’m sure something more must’ve happened after Jake left him lying in the street.

What did Jake do to make sure Ray left for good? I need to ask him, but I know I can’t. Seeing him would be agony and I can’t bring myself to ask him via email. As much as I want to know if he did, I’m too scared to inflict that kind of pain on myself. Seeing him, speaking to him, would kill me all over again. I need distance if I’m going to get over Jake Carrero. I should just forget about Ray and my mother. Forget all of them.

I cast the idea of confronting Jake aside, and get to work, something I’m getting better at doing lately. I flick through the guest list on my iPad to distract my thoughts. A sea of influential guests, business tycoons, minor royalty, A-listers, and a whole host of visiting dignitary. The anniversary dinner is going to be a star studded and spangle bannered event, the talk of New York and I’m a very huge part of it. I sigh, rising pride as I think about how amazing this is going to be, yet it doesn’t dent the huge dark void inside of me.

The elevator chimes as we stop, I move to step out realizing it’s not my floor. We’re only on ninth and I go back to my iPad, scrolling down the list once more, making note of who I need to contact and when. A few men in suits walk in so I shuffle over to one side, eyes down to make more space. Checking the credentials of some suggestions from Wilma; a Hollywood playboy and his wife, a businessman from Europe, both seem possibilities for our invitation only event.

My skin prickles, unexpectedly, instantly aware as a wave of heat soars down my body, alerting me to something. I glance up at the men who have crowded in and only see the backs of navy and black suits, nothing sinister, no one’s even looking at me. Two of the men move back beside me as more people shuffle in and I freeze as my eyes connect with the “something”. My whole world freezes as I inhale sharply.

Jake walks in last, his perfect green eyes catch mine for a millisecond, that handsome face, designer stubble and boyishness. A frown crosses his face and he shifts away quickly almost like our connection electrocuted him. The effect is crushing, my heart instantly accelerates into overdrive and starts pounding in my chest like a painful war drum. I bite down on my lip to try to even out my heartbeat as my limbs turn cold and begin to tremble.

This is another reason why I could never ask him about Ray. That look said it all, he doesn’t want to know me anymore.

He’s wearing a tailored dark blue suit with a white shirt and dark tie. Looking impressively handsome, like the CEO I first met almost a year ago. My breathing shallows and my hands turn to ice, but I’m fixated on his back, unable to remove my gaze from his tall physique. His wide, sculpted shoulders emanate strength, his straight neck outlined by his short, dark hair.

The agony of his proximity is tearing at me. I ache to reach out and brush my fingers against him, the man whose touch was once as normal as breathing. The wave of emotion throws me a curve ball and I have to fight to keep the tears at bay, my body wracked with intense agony. I never knew seeing him would hurt this much.

I’m still in love with him. Four weeks of separation have done nothing to quell the intensity of these feelings.

This is all too much. I knew there was a chance our paths would cross at some point. But I hadn’t expected it to be so soon or for it to feel this awful. I stay stock still, finding it hard to breathe. Trying my hardest to keep my eyes on my iPad, looking like I’m in full control of my faculties as I force myself still.

The elevator stops a few times and one or two men get on, pushing Jake to move closer toward me, where I am trying to pretend he’s not here. His gaze stays on the front of the small space, deliberately ignoring my presence, and never straying my way.

Oh, my god. Please, just acknowledge me … Please.

I stare at my iPad on the verge of breaking down. The doors open again, and a crowd of people move in filling the elevator to full. Jake has no choice but to move closer, so he’s almost beside me. The motion causes me to look up nervously. I catch his eye and he gazes at me for no more than a second, but his eyes are clear and steady, expression blank, before turning to face the door again. Another jolt in my chest, another slice of pain in my frazzled heart. He has no idea of the damage he can inflict with his impassiveness. My heart is pounding, the weight in my chest is suffocating me. I can smell his aftershave, smell his unique scent, so close, yet so far, the tension is almost radiating from every part of my body.

God, I can’t do this. I miss him so much.

I glance up with relief as the elevator chimes at the thirty-second floor and push forward to get out. I have to cross in front of Jake to leave and almost brush against him, my skin surging with electricity and face flushing at the near contact.

“Miss. Anderson,” he utters quietly and politely as I go. His deep husky voice causing me physical pain. I dart a look back quickly, seeing his tight emotionless smile, confusion running through me and then overwhelming sadness. He doesn’t seem surprised or phased to see me. In fact, he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, just bored.

“Mr. Carrero.” I breathe, holding in every ounce of heartbreak. I can’t manage a smile. I can barely manage a normal voice. As soon as I get to the open door I flee, pushing my way free, ignoring the puzzled looks from the men in suits as I dash into the hall to solitude.

I’m hyperventilating by the time I hit my desk, overwhelmed, and ravaged, struggling not to cry with the aftereffects of finally seeing him.

How can he still have this affect over me? How can I be so weak?

My emotions, already taut from the last couple of days are not helping. I’m overreacting and overtired. The chaos of events lately is destroying any hold I have on old Emma’s composure, breaking me down into this sniveling mess I’m trying so hard to overcome.

Wilma throws me an odd look from her desk, through the glass partition. I slump down in my chair, trying to feign a smile, and turn away to conceal my devastation. My head is aching. I’m cold and dizzy and my throat is constricting so much I can’t speak. I’m holding back tears with so much effort it makes my throat ache.

“Emma, dear … Are you okay?” Wilma appears beside me as I rush to claw myself back together, not wanting her to see the mess I’m in.

“Yes, I … Ummm. I’m fine.” I try but my voice betrays me; wobbling and breaking, raw with emotion.

“Emma, what’s happened? You left for lunch fine. Now you’re as white as a sheet. You look so distraught?” She lays a gentle hand on my shoulder and I almost flinch at the alien contact. It’s so unexpected from someone I barely know.

“Nothing.” I stammer. “I just didn’t feel well for a minute.” I lie, expertly, pushing it all back down inside.

At least my mother taught me one thing growing up, how to lie like a pro.

“Do you need to go home?” She takes my arm gently, forcing me to look at her, her expression grim as though I may break into a million pieces. This woman is so motherly and nice, it’s hard to keep my cold composure, it isn’t helping my mental state at all.

Why couldn’t I have had a mother like her instead? A mother who genuinely cared for my wellbeing.

“No … no. Honestly … I just need a moment.” My breathing is shallow with the effort of struggling to calm the erratic beating of my heart,

“Emma, maybe lie down and relax. It’s not like you to get overwhelmed.” She pats my arm and gives me a knowing look. One that says, ‘do as I say. Now!’ I nod, relieved when her expression lightens, and she moves away to leave me to get going. I look around at the other staff sat at their desks typing away or on their phones. No one looks my way and Wilma is hovering over a new girl, showing her some files.

I don’t hesitate. I take my bag and purse and head out as soon as I see her entering her office. I need some head space to fall apart and reel myself in privately. It’s better than trying to hold this all in to self-combust later in the day.