Chapter 3-2
1976 Words
“Very good, Mr … Jake.” I throw him a tight smile and catch the flicker of amusement in his eye; aware now that he knows how much I dislike the informality.
Very good, Carrero … Here for your f*****g amusement.
I walk toward the heavy door, mood ruined by his smug face and bubbling a tad hotly inside my stomach.
“Wait. Can you book a table for two tonight, at Manhattan Penthouse at nine, in my name?” he adds quickly, and I turn back to nod that I have heard him. Blank faced and no reaction.
Wonder which playmate is being wined and dined tonight?
I’ve got used to the special date entries on his schedule and the list of current playmates gracing his bed. I’m sure he, long ago, ran out of headboard space to keep a tally of notches for his conquests and it’s just another reason I will never warm to him. He’s a slut.
“Yes, sir.” I pull the door closed behind me and scowl through the closed dense wood. The urge to stick my fingers up with venom surprises me. I guess I’ll have to get used to the reactions he pulls out of me. Work harder to remain impassive. Seems he has an ability to piss me off without effort or without real reason and I don’t even want to analyze it.
Twenty minutes later, Margo returns, and I am free just as the AC finally breathes a fresh coolness over us from the ceiling, like a wave of relief. I’m sticky, hot, and flushed, and I need a change of clothes.
I head to the bathroom for a quick freshen up and gaze at the badly lit mirror on the wall, to see I’m glowing red. My cheeks are flushed, there’s high color across the nape of my neck, and I have a dewy complexion where my make-up has sweated. My hair is no longer slick and smooth in its bun but is weaving its way loose, despite the products I use to keep it sleek. I have natural waves which I straighten to get my hair this smooth and manicured. I’m in disarray.
Dammit. I can’t continue with my day looking like this.
I look like I’ve done a workout in my work clothes, and I’m melting away. Looking like a panda with the way my eyeliner has collected under my lower lashes and my normally precision lipstick is smudged and damp. I blot my face and release my hair in an effort to minimize the damage. The humidity and heat have caused it to pull back into waves and it’s covered in bumps and creases made by the hair ties. Without my straighteners it will never look right unless I wash it. The company has showers on the fourth floor within the company gym, maybe I should sacrifice lunch and get a quick shower to cool off. Sweating like I’ve been in the tropics.
I check my watch and work out how much time I have and decide to go for it. I have a forty-five-minute lunch break and I can shower in less than half that time. Luckily, I keep a change of clothes in the office, a suggestion from Margo, in case I’m ever asked on an overnight trip at short notice. I know I have toiletries in the bag too.
I go back and retrieve the bag, with my hair held in a loose ponytail, glad that Margo is focused on her laptop while taking a call and doesn’t see me. Mona, the outer receptionist, throws me a funny look but says nothing.
I head down in the elevator with my bag and enter the floor that has the employee fitness facilities and shower block. I work for a company that’s invested in hotel, fitness, and spas, and these facilities are standard in Carrero buildings free for all employees. Another perk of this job, among the many.
When I emerge I look brighter and neater. Make-up residue gone, fresh clothes, and hair falling into long, natural waves in its blow-dried state. Unfortunately, there was nothing to straighten my hair within the women’s locker room, but I’m cooler. Make-up back in place, clothes a little less stifling, and a little fresher from being steamed and deodorized. Having my hair down bothers me, it’s part of my uniform, part of my defense; being up and neat helps me feel more in control. Part of the image I present.
Having it down like this makes me nervous. I know how often I tug at my hair and twist it when I’m home on weekends; another nervous old Emma habit that I’ve found no control over. Anxiety related and childish. There’s nothing for it; tying it up without my products and straighteners will look messy. I’ve got to cope with it for half a day. Even I can get through that. I assure myself as I head to the cafeteria for lunch, ignoring people looking at me as if they don’t recognize me and it makes me uneasy.
*
Back at my desk after lunch, the switchboard is flashing like mad and I Margo and Jake’s lines are busy. Nina has a few calls on hold, so I buzz her to tell her to put one through to me too. I sit down to deal with the first call and catch sight of Margo waving through to me, smiling widely. She points at her head, then mine, indicating my hair and gives me a thumbs up, which makes me grimace. I don’t think I’ve worn it any other way than up during my five years working here. I feel like I’m not dressed properly, and it bothers me far more than it should. I focus on the call.
Half an hour later, I’m lost in thought, absorbed in a financial spreadsheet Jake needs by this evening. I’ve already plowed through a mountain of work today, making light work of it and not conscious of eyes on me until I hear the movement of feet shifting on wooden floor. Looking up absentmindedly, more from reaction than any actual realization, I see Jake Carrero is standing staring at me. Six feet from my desk! I jump with fright and my face flushes with heat and fright.
Crap.
“Sorry Mr. Ca … Jake … I didn’t see you there … Is there something I can do for you?” my voice is all over the place in my floundering panic. Heart thundering through my chest at a rate of knots as I dissolve into bumbling incompetence.
How did I not realize that my boss is hovering by my desk?
I’m supposed to be constantly aware and attentive to his every demand; this is such a faux pas on my part. I’m on my feet trying to plaster on my most friendly and efficient smile. I’m breathless. It’s the fright he gave me; I’m flustered and trying to recover quickly. Body trembling with the shock I gave myself noticing his presence.
“Emma …” He too seems at a loss for words, looking at me peculiarly. An uneasiness to his expression.
“I was coming to give you these … You look different!” His face is unreadable. I can’t even say what it is … I remember my hair’s down and flush because I’m not prepared; overwhelmingly vulnerable and I falter.
“It won’t happen again. I took a shower at lunch, because of the heat from earlier.” I need to reel myself in and claw back cool and controlled Emma. I’m babbling. I try a steadying breath to stop myself looking like a complete i***t.
“You look …” his green eyes are piercing through me and it’s sheer agony. All my little insecurities peeking up in one fell swoop.
“Untidy? It’s not how I would normally come to work.” I’m rambling, and I’m fidgeting like crazy, unable to just regain control.
Fuck, f**k, f**k.
This is not me!
Don’t fall to pieces, Emma, not now … Please. Get a grip and pull yourself together.
I know it’s because he startled me; because I feel undressed, and I’m at a loss because I am out of my comfort zone, and he’s acting … strange. My breathing is labored and I’m trying to steady it without making it too obvious and doing a terrible job.
“I was going to say …” he clears his throat trailing off verbally and looks down at the papers, changing his direction of conversation probably because I’m making him uneasy.
Great job!
“So, here, I need these copied, emailed, filed … I’m sure you know the drill.” He glances up and away again, as though he isn’t comfortable making eye contact right now.
I do, yes. I do, of course I do. I don’t need direction. I need a focus.
I reach out taking them from him in haste, stopping myself from grabbing like a mad woman.
“Yes, sir.”
“Emma … You look nice,” he injects softly, glancing at me only to make the remark and then back at his cell, which is now in his hand. I ignore the strange look of apprehension on his face and the tingles inside me ignite with ferocity. Shifting nervously, I try to steady my hands on the folder. This escalated quickly and I’m so angry with myself. I’ve literally just lost my cool and capable persona in milliseconds all because of my stupid hair. I plaster on my cool expression and smile tightly to reel it all under wraps.
“Thank you, Mr. Carrero.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize I didn’t call him Jake and it’s yet another reason to silently groan.
Try and regain composure. Years of control, Emma, and you go to mush in seconds.
I’m beyond livid with myself.
Margo appears a moment later carrying a briefcase and a jacket. I’m grateful for her sudden appearance and instant calming abilities. I glance at the wall clock noting it’s not even 2.00 p.m. and click on why they seem to be going out. I forgot they had a meeting across town at the second Carrero building and are leaving me to man the office. Carrero Tower HQ with Senior; something to do with quarterly finances.
King Carrero in his ivory tower.
He prefers to lord his empire in a separate building from Jake, several blocks away. I wonder if the coolness between them is why.
“Emma, divert any important calls and email me if you need anything. I’ve left you a pile of folders here.” She taps a small mountain she has placed on the desk, oblivious to my making a complete fool of myself.
“Work through and leave by four thirty.” She smiles, her hand coming and hooking a stray tendril of my hair and catches me by surprise.
“I like this, it’s softer. You look so much prettier, more carefree and younger.” She smiles again, eyes alive with genuine affection.
I try to smile and force back the grimace that rises within, uncomfortable with the attention this slight change is getting me and fully aware it will never happen again. Not entirely comfortable with the way Jake is still looking at me as she fiddles with my hair and I smooth it out of her grasp gently. Nodding with a vague expression to avoid comment.
I sigh with relief when they utter goodbyes, turn, and leave. Thank god, it’s over.
For god’s sake.
I haul over the folders to the front of my desk and throw my hair back over my shoulder angrily.
I’m angry at myself, I’m angry that Jake made me lose my cool without even meaning to. I’m angry that for a split-second old Emma resurfaced, teenage Emma. Stupid, i***t, nervous, fidgeting Emma, raised her dumb head. I just made a complete i***t of myself.
I’ve spent years pushing her into the background and trying to replace her with the more capable and confident me. I don’t need her presence or her anxiety and insecurities near me. She’s a broken little girl who held me back, and the last thing I need is to see her again.
- Writer
