It’s been twelve weeks since I met Jake Carrero and I’m no longer unsure around my over-familiar
boss. In such a brief time, the forced proximity and grueling demands has carved out an amicable
relationship that doesn’t completely offend me. I find him tolerable, sometimes even amusing. I’d go as
far as saying companionable. I maybe even like him a little more than I ever imagined I could.
The full force of my job requirements came upon me in a tidal wave after the Hunter breakfast. Margo
decided to throw me in the deep end as it was the only way to test my resolve and she had slowly been
receding from the picture, until now. Now she is completely absent.
I run after him to meetings, carrying files and folders, a wealth of information always at my fingertips.
Awaiting his commands, always up to speed with every detail he’s dealing with, always involved. He’s
an exhausting workaholic with a very hand on approach, yet I’ve never been happier or more
challenged. I’m content.
Trips are frequent and tiring and I spend my days in an endless flurry of typing, answering phones,
having orders tossed at me and dealing with a hundred people via my iPad, iPhone, and laptop; all of
which he thrust at me rather ceremoniously after the Hunter meeting.
I’m excelling at the control and efficiency and I’m starting to take it all in my stride. Despite acting like
he’s Mr. Cool and laid back and takes nothing seriously, I was pleasantly surprised to find Jake is
deeply embroiled in his father’s business. Surprised to find Mr. Carrero does in fact possess a very
shrewd business brain and high IQ that contradicts how he presents himself. I guess that’s a part of his
allure; he’s smart, sharp, and attentive, but wrapped up in casual charm and sexiness normally
associated with dumb underwear models.
I’ve been privy to so many contracts and papers in such a short time that my head reels every night
when I go to bed. I’ve lost the ability to switch off and I now lie awake, restless with things I need to get
done the next day. Eager to go back to work. I’ve found so much more enjoyment in submerging myself
in my new role than I ever found on the tenth floor.
Jake was right about identifying my skills; he pounced on them and uses them to full capacity every
single day. He’s never boring to be around, that’s for sure.
My wardrobe has expanded hugely thanks to the skill of Donna Moore and I can’t say it’s unpleasant.
Her taste is impeccable, and she has chosen things I would have bought for myself. Margo was right,
it’s a perk that I am enjoying. I look forward to her frequent visits, laden with bags of clothes that Jake
has assured her I need.
“Emma?” Jake’s voice cuts through my thoughts as I run through my schedule on the iPad in my hand,
engrossed in shifting appointments to fit in an impromptu trip and emailing the changes to Rosalie to
organize. She’s my new assistant, replacing me in my old position now Margo has retired. He’s just
arrived back from an early lunch with one of his brainless bimbos and only walked in.
“Jake?” I answer without looking up, aware of his body heat close behind me. I am always aware of his
proximity.
“I need the Hunter file.” His voice runs over me smoothly.
“Already on your desk” I smile graciously, pulling down the back of my tailored jacket, a gray woolen
Dior courtesy of Donna; standing in the middle of my office which is right outside his. I walked out from
placing those exact files on his desk when my email beeped.
“Thanks, did you call and arrange my dinner booking with Clare?” His girl of the moment, yet not the
lunch date; some Hollywood actress turned country singer with endless legs and oversized boobs. I
dislike all his girls, and the frequency in which he replaces them.
“Yes. You’re in at eight at the Plaza, where she’s staying. I’ve arranged for the car to collect you.” I
respond drily, trying to keep the disdain from my voice.
“Good girl.” He pats my back childishly and I give him an indulgent look … hating the term.
“Good girl?” Like I’m some sort of puppy. Next, he’ll be giving me a biscuit.
“Emma?”
“Mmm-hmmm?” I look back down distractedly as an email reply from Rosalie pings to the top right
corner of my tablet. She’s down at accounting and not at her desk, ten feet away.
“Fuck!” Jake breathes right behind my head; his breath moves my hair and it sends goosebumps over
my skin from the contact.
“What?” I look up in surprise at him, craning round to see his face behind me. He’s glaring past me
toward the wall of glass in the outer hallway as a group of suited men and women make their way
toward us from the elevators. They haven’t seen us yet, as their view is impaired from the angle. Jake
swipes me around the waist and halls me backward, causing me to almost drop my iPad. Pulled into
his office, he shuts the door as I squeal in surprise at being man handled in such a Neanderthal way
and make a protest.
“Jake!”
“Shhhh.” He covers my mouth with his hand, still caught in his arm, he pulls me backward lifting my feet
from the floor. My arms flail with the sudden kidnapping, and I grip my iPad tighter, struggling weakly.
I hate when he does stuff like this! He has no concept of personal space or how inappropriate it is to
manhandle your PA. He manhandles me way more than I ever thought possible. This is often a daily
occurrence in some way or another and he sees nothing wrong with it.
“Just be quiet and do as you’re told!” He drops me from his embrace, grabs my free hand hauling me
toward the rarely used door of his office into his second room with apology. It’s a changing room come
office that I’ve never actually understood. He stores clothes, art, and random crap in here, including the
couches which used to grace the office floor.
He latches the door behind us and sits on one of the cream couches, leaving me heaving in the middle
of the floor like a crazy person. Struggling to calm my thudding heart rate.
“Jake are you having some sort of mental breakdown?” I snap, looking around the room he has us
caught in while I steady my breath. I run my hands down my skirt, trying to un-wrinkle my clothes now
I’ve been unceremoniously released to regain my demeanor.
“It’s my father … I don’t want to see him.” He shrugs at me as though it’s all the explanation I need.
I know that several heated calls have taken place in the last few days when the Hunter merger become
public. I learned quickly how strained the father-son relationship is and it’s not the first time we have
evaded Carrero senior. He either evades him or insists on antagonizing him in heated rows. Usually
public fights. They have a deep-rooted conflict I’ve never pressed him about.
“Why didn’t you leave me out there to tell them you’re not here then?” I snap and keep my voice low. I
hate when he grabs me, yet it’s something he does frequently when he wants me to move in a hurry or
get out of his way.
Wouldn’t kill you to just ask me to move!
“Because wherever you are, is where I usually am. He knows that!” I can’t argue with that logic. Jake
seems to require my presence a lot more than I ever saw him with Margo.
His cell starts to ring in his pocket, and he pulls it out, sighs and slides it back down onto the couch,
silencing it. I sigh at his hopelessness, my temper dissipating and push my cool facade back into place
as I take in the dejected look on his face.
So boyish at times.
He stretches his hands behind his head in that casual way he has, closes his eyes as I watch,
bemused, but still irritated.
My boss, the man-child.
Sometimes endearing, but generally a huge irritation to my day.
“If we hide out here for ten minutes, he will fuck off.” He says with closed eyes, hands tucked behind
his head and mimicking sleep.
“Jake.” I warn lightly; he rarely swears at work. He opens one eye and smiles at me, sliding to his left
and turns, lifts his feet onto the couch and slides down to get comfy. A move into a laid down position.
Yes, this is the CEO of this empire!
“Power nap until he leaves my floor?” He winks; even through tailored suits, I can still make out the
strong lines of his body and glance away to steady my focus on the rail of clothes in here. Distraction
always works. Mostly.
When was the last time he used any of the suits hung in here? Focus on the suits!
I’m pretty sure the black Armani is the one he had sent in for the banquet we never attended. I should
have it returned, I think to myself, and make a note on the iPad.
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