The Carrero Series (1-9)

Chapter 8

“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.

It’s raining by the time I get home and I’m soaked walking from the station through the few blocks to my apartment. Sarah’s out when I get into our third-floor apartment and I take in the coziness of the small rental instantly relaxed. I’m glad to be home, surrounded by our familiar comforts and bright rooms, our feminine haven. I’m tired, it’s been a long day and I want to take a bath and go to bed.

I screw up Sarah’s note, informing me she has made Mac “n” Cheese, from the counter. It’s in the refrigerator for me and I throw the paper in the garbage.

The perks of living with a chef. She works late most nights and I can’t remember the last time we spent more than five minutes in each other’s company. Our lives comprise occasional brief conversations in passing, and notes on the refrigerator which suit me more than when I had to keep her company every evening.

Sarah has been my best friend since forever; we came to New York together five years ago and were lucky to get this place. She’d been accepted to an elite cooking school and I had a temporary admin role in the Carrero corporation, as a receptionist even though I had zero experience and hardly any qualifications. I had been nothing more than a tea and coffee maker back then, eager to do anything to keep me here in this crazy city. My fresh start. My escape from who I didn’t want to be anymore and reminders of it. Sarah was thrilled that I wanted to come with her; un-phased at leaving Chicago to go into the world on our own, but our relationship has changed since then. We’ve drifted apart in so many ways. I guess we don’t need each other like we used to, and the apartment is the only thing holding us together.

I kick off my shoes and head to my bedroom to get changed; haul on workout leggings and a sports bralette and towel dry my hair back to dampness before my short after work exercise regime. I find it helps me unwind from the day’s stress and gets me in the mode for sleep.

There’s a flashing light on the answering machine and press it, a surge of anxiety in my stomach as I hazard a guess at who it will be.

It’s Marcus.

Sarah’s on-off boyfriend—it’s who I expected it to be. They have been off again lately, much to my delight, but this call means he’s back on the scrounge to hooking up again. I delete the message. She will never know he called. Marcus is as sleazy as they come, but Sarah can’t see it; he’s slimy, over-friendly and makes lewd comments and s****l innuendos when he’s around. I think she can do better as he makes my skin crawl, but she tries to tell me that my experiences with men are the reason I can’t warm to them. I know deep down it’s partly the reason I’m this way, but he’s still a creep. I try not to linger on it and switch on my iPad for some workout music.