“You want to continue our conversation?” He pushes on, regardless of my “go away” posture. Lays his
hand casually on my bent knee, propping it up at the wrist and rests quite happily there.
“What conversation?” I ask, genuinely confused but stay concealed under my arm, my gut churning like
I may not like this.
“You don’t remember?” The surprise in his voice makes me a little wary. I shake my head and the color
rises in my cheeks; Jake never presses for no reason.
What the hell did I say to him last night?
“I put you to bed.”
Well, that explains why my cell was off.
He turns his off every night, whereas I normally don’t. Just in case I’m needed.
“Thanks.” I mumble. I want to ask him what I said, but I don’t, because I’m scared. I’m scared I might
actually have told him something I didn’t want him to know.
“You talked about your father.” He says matter of factly.
Crap. Like that.
The anger rises in me unexpectedly and it’s too quick to grind back down.
“He’s not my father! … He’s just a donor to my existence, and nothing more.” I snap, jumping to my
feet, his hand falling to the couch, surprising him. The heat rises in my chest; teen Emma’s anger
renewed with a fury and I’m pissed at myself for her appearance once again. I angrily storm to the
kitchenette, I need water and a second to calm down.
And a boss who stops bloody well digging into stuff that has nothing to do with him.
“And Ray?” The question is so precise and unimposing yet has a devastating effect on me. Stomach
lurching to my throat, I falter and drop my water bottle hard on my foot, giving out a shocked yell and
jump back as pain sears through my toes.
“Are you okay?” He leans around, looking at me. His eyes steady on me as I scramble back but my
head reels as I bend down to retrieve the Evian bottle and try to take a deep breath through instant
dizziness.
Control Emma … Control.
I stand back up slowly, and more deliberately, letting it pass.
How does he know about Ray?
“Fine.” I answer stiffly.
“Come here, we need to talk about this.” He watches me intensely, a no-nonsense expression on his
face.
“No.” I close him down and take a gulp of my water, it almost chokes me going down. I want to know
what I told him about Ray, about my father but I also don’t want to know, don’t want to talk about this. I
feel sick, maybe I should tell him I need to throw up and lock myself in my room for an hour, make him
leave me alone. I need to think.
“Don’t you trust me, Emma?” he sounds so hurt, it hurts me too and knocks me sideways in surprise.
“Of course, I trust you.” I turn to him, flashing anger. Incensed at the question.
How could he ask me that?
We’re together almost constantly, I have to trust him, I do trust him. I have never told him otherwise!
I realize it’s the first time I’ve admitted to myself that I actually do, and it startles me a little to really let it
sink in.
I trust Jake! I trust a man! When did that happen? How did that happen?
What’s more amazing is that I trust playboy Casanova Jake Carrero … my heart-throb boss with his
string of women and his hands-on personality.
“Then talk to me, Emma,” he presses further, refusing to give up; his eyes still steady on me. I shake
my head and turn away because I can’t look at him while feeling so shellshocked.
Why can’t he understand that certain things don’t need to be brought up … Talked about?
The past is done, and I’m done with the past; talking about it only makes it linger. Brings it to the
forefront of my mind, where it has no place to be.
“I don’t need to talk about this.” I huff, urging him to drop it.
He’s on his feet and walks toward me and I feel trapped as he approaches. I know if I walk off, he’ll
follow me. He has that determined expression on his face, the one usually reserved for stubborn
clients. He grabs my upper arm gently and pulls me to face him, visually his expression is angry, but his
manner is calm. I try to twist free, but he holds me tighter; I think he knows I’ll walk off if he lets me go.
“You said he beat you and tried to molest you.”
I gasp and withdraw from him, shocked that I even let that much out in my drunken stupor. Heart
flipping over in my chest.
Crap. I don’t want him to know about this. What the fuck, Emma?
I don’t want him looking at me like some sad little victim, incapable of taking care of herself.
Why would I tell him that?
He seems surprised by my reaction and lets me go instantly.
“Please, Jake.” Trembling with the unexpected bite of tears in the back of my eyes, I stalk past him. I
can’t do this; he has no right. I can’t get upset and let him see weak Emma, she doesn’t exist anymore;
I’ve no will to let her come back now.
“I want to know, Emma, you’re my friend.” He follows me, and the anger writhes inside of me once
more. Teen Emma raising her ugly head and losing control like she always did, fiery temper flaring.
“Why? It changes nothing!” I snap a little too aggressively and throw him a hateful glare impulsively.
Shit …
I’m falling apart; I don’t shout at Jake. I don’t shout at anyone like this. I’ve more control than this now,
I’m no longer that hostile teen Emma.
“It affects you.” He’s equally riled, but I don’t care.
Be angry. You started this, Jake. Leave me alone.
“This doesn’t affect my ability to work for you, therefore it’s none of your business.” I snarl through
gritted teeth.
“You are my business; we work together almost every second of almost every day. Our relationship
goes a little deeper than boss and assistant. It depends on trust and honesty to be able to work this
way.” His voice is heated, he reaches for me again and I move out of the way, tense, and prickling. If he
touches me, I may lash out, I need to go to my room. “I trust you with every detail of my life; would be
nice if you did the same.” His voice matches mine, tense and tempered, rage bubbling between us and
it feels like intense static in the air.
“You don’t pay me to burden you with my past.” I snap at him. Evading him still.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out for myself.” He threatens, and I catch the glimpse of darkness move into
his eyes.
“What do you mean?” I falter at his threat. Losing my fire for a second. There’s an edgy tone I don’t
relish, and it stops me in my tracks, causing me to glare at him with uncertainty.
“I’ll have security do a deep background check on you, and pull up old dirt,” he snarls. Caught in his
own anger.
“You wouldn’t?” I scream at him, panic flaring at what he might find out and my heart almost implodes
inside my chest.
How dare he! That crosses the line in so many goddamn ways, and I’m not even sure it’s legal. What
the hell is he doing? What’s he even thinking about? I’m supposed to trust him after he’s just said that
to me?
Rage and hatred shoots through me at a hundred miles an hour and I can’t contain it. I clench my fists
and march away from him, stamping. I need space before I break something over his head. Before
teen Emma and her erratic emotional self bursts forth and ruins my life. I’m reeling but I’m terrified that
he may do as he says.
What if he does? What will he find out?
I pale and fall instantly weak at the thought. I don’t want Jake finding out about my past, about how
damaged I am. My time in a children’s home and why. He would never look at me the same again.
“No. I wouldn’t … I would rather you wanted to tell me.” He’s shouting too. I can’t even begin to start to
calm down, despite his admission but it makes me feel slightly reassured, hysteria holding its breath
despite my seething anger in full roar. A warm tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away furiously. I
don’t cry. I never cry, I hate crying. It’s so weak and vulnerable and makes me feel inadequate and
worthless; I bristle inside and turn on him once again.
“This conversation is fucking over!” The rage in my voice seems to startle him and instead of yelling
more, he looks taken aback, remorseful. Silenced with my hint of psycho.
Too little, too late, Jake. Go away and leave me alone.
I turn and stalk away, stomping hard and pushing things out of my way. Felicity appears from the
bedroom and I cast him back a haughty glare with intent. I think he gets the message. The “go fuck off
and play with your fuck buddy” message and slam my bedroom door, closing out his view of
me.
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