I pick up my fork, starting to eat again now that my temper has improved along with my appetite.
Feeling light and merry now, and ravenous once more.
“I like you when you’re like this.” He nods over at me, a happy expression on his face, eyes almost
twinkling.
“Like what?” I look up innocently, the steak is so tender that I’m now savoring every mouthful. Appetite
fully restored.
“More relaxed. PA mode on hiatus. When you forget to play cool.” It sobers me slightly, he has a way of
making me forget myself when we are kicking back and much like now, it startles me. I don’t like letting
that mask drop, I don’t like people seeing too deeply. Especially not him.
“It’s hard to focus when you ply me with alcohol,” I return a little too quickly, trying to reel in my
controlled facade once again, pushing the glass away from my plate.
That’s enough wine.
“Maybe that’s why I do it.” He smiles softly, but it makes me suddenly uncomfortable. I ram food into my
mouth and stare across the restaurant, looking for a diverting topic.
I gesture toward the far window with my fork, and he turns to look at what I’m pointing at spotting the
movie star too, he looks back at me shrugging.
“He’s an asshole … I’ve met him. He’s a bit of a diva, and I mean look at him; he’s wearing a god-damn
flower brooch … If that doesn’t scream closet gay, then I don’t know what does.” He shrugs
nonchalantly, but for some reason this makes me laugh unexpectedly and causes me to choke on my
half-chewed steak. I erupt into a coughing fit which has me grabbing for my wine, in an effort to
dislodge the lump in my throat before I die.
“Jesus, Emma, don’t have a coronary over seeing some asshole Hollywood big shot.” He’s laughing at
me now and I throw him a pained look. I gasp for air, thumping my chest to push my steak down and
inhaling heavily.
“Fuck you.” I manage weakly, with a smile.
“Swearing at your boss is good grounds for dismissal … gross misconduct.” He jokes and tops up my
glass again with a wink, highlighting the fact I just drank it all without meaning to.
“So, fire me.” I throw back, slugging down my red wine and finally clearing the food that is still caught in
my throat and intent on half killing me. Not caring about intake while choking.
“Can’t fire my future wife!” he acts shocked and grasps his chest in a mock horror response before he
chucks his fork down on his plate, also finished with his food. I ignore the wife comment, another
frequent joke he makes.
“Dessert?” He gestures at me with a questioning brow. I shake my head; I’ve drunk too much wine,
feeling a little tipsy now and I need to get out of here. I need coffee.
“Back to the grind, Bella.” He offers me his hand as I get up, chucking my napkin on the empty plate. I
take it without hesitation and let him pull me with him, then immediately wonder when this stopped
being weird. When we started holding hands casually.
How many times have I let Jake touch me without repulsion coursing through me? Or questioning it?
I walk behind him contemplating this fact, staring at our loosely held fingers. It’s become something as
familiar as being around him now. Maybe it is just the nature of our relationship … Platonic and safe.
We are real friends.
The jokes about sex, the best friend comments, and wife vibes are frequent, but I know it is all play.
Jake is never anything but a complete gentleman, well, minus the man handling, but even that is not so
bad. I’ve never had a platonic relationship with men of any age, and it makes me feel slightly strange
now that I’m examining it.
* * *
The afternoon is chaotic. For the first time, I’m glad of my assistant, Rosalie’s, lingering presence; it
feels like I don’t get a second to think.
Jake’s in his office with just as much going on as me; I’ve walked in there a dozen times with files and
notes and each time he seems to be shedding clothes. He’s now sitting with his shirt pulled out,
unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves rolled up. His normally styled hair is ruffled, messy, and his tie
and jacket are strewn across his couch. His shoes are lying in the middle of the floor, a sure sign he’s
stressed.
I pick up his tie and jacket and hang them neatly on the hooks behind his door, shuffling his shoes to
under the edge of his desk with the toes of my stilettos. I move all the papers from the left side he’s
been through and pile them neatly into an open box file, before laying out some stapled contracts he
needs to sign to send down to legal. He smiles up at me briefly, leaning back so I can move the papers
in front of him, before setting to sign them while propping his cell to his ear.
I move around in companionable silence, straightening and removing things from his workspace so he
can take the new ones. Noting he’s done with the Hunter briefs; I scoop them up to take them. We
have gelled this way for a while now, anticipating each other’s movements silently, and wordlessly
working around one another. It’s something that just happened organically over the weeks.
“Emma?” he pauses on the cell, throwing me a soft look.
“Yes?”
“Organize a flight to Seattle for tomorrow, early as you can. We’ll need hotel rooms for the next five
days and a car.” He moves his cell into his neck some more and keeps signing papers.
“Yes, Mr. Carrero.” I always use his title when we’re in front of company, or he’s on the phone.
Another trip!
I sigh. We haven’t been back from London that long, and Jake was right; hotels no longer did it for me,
even five-star suites. It’s just another few days getting tired from jet-lag and a week of grueling work
with men in suits who look at me like I am worthless. We have taken so many trips already that it feels
like second nature to me now. The novelty has well and truly worn off. Margo was right.
* * *
It’s been two hours watching him through the glass panels in the boardroom as I sit in a temporary
office. So far, I’ve been in there several times with files, coffee, and whatever else he asks of me. I’m
not needed right now, so I’m sitting in the next room waiting for the next command via text.
I’m as fed up as he looks. My laptop is keeping my focus; if this meeting runs over any longer then it’s
going to be a late night and we have flights to catch in the morning. I have an hour on the subway to
get home to Sunnyside as it is after this so I can pack.
I watch him lift his cell from the table in front of him and start touching the screen with a hint of
amusement on his face, I wonder what he’s up to. A second later my own cell buzzes and I pick it up,
seeing the email notification from Jake.
Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift.
Frowning, confused, I open the email and find he has gifted me a song.
Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift.
“Rescue Me” by The Raffetillies.
I stifle a giggle and shake my head, looking up through the glass and catching his quick eyebrow raise
before he turns his attention back to the meeting at hand. Biting my lip, I scroll iTunes for a suitable title
and purchase a gift in return. I send it to him and wait to see if he will read it.
“Cry Baby” by Melanie Martinez.
I wait, watching for his reaction and hold my breath while smirking as he pulls his cell over and slides
the screen. A couple of presses, then he lets out a laugh and tries to cover with a cough. I catch a
couple of the stuffed shirts look up disapprovingly, but they say nothing, and the meeting continues.
Jake throws me a wink with a small shake of his head. Very amused.
Back at you, Carrero. Not so funny now, are you?
I smile to myself, satisfied with our little joke.
* * *
Finally, the men all shuffle out of the boardroom as I stand dutifully by, politely saying farewells like a
good little PA.
Thank god.
Jake emerges with a smile on his face and immediately pulls me to one side.
“Effective form of communication … Music.” He grins at me, looking as gorgeous as he always does, if
not a little tired with dark shadows under his eyes.
“I can see this being abused by you, now you’ve found something else that you think is clever and
amusing.” I smile with a slight groan at the twinkle in his eye and can already predict this will become
frequent.
“Say it with song titles … They do say music can speak volumes.” He winks, resting his arm on the
door jamb over my head, so he’s leaning into me extremely close and smelling a little too divine. Citrus
and jake – a perfect combo. I’m aware of the odd glances a couple of passing assistants throw our way
and try to press myself back a little, to make it look less intimate.
“Hmmm.” I look down at the time and point out that we should head home, uncomfortable with the
attention he’s drawing. After all we have a flight to Seattle to get on tomorrow and I don’t want to fuel
gossip.
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