I hand him back his water, throwing him a look of indulgence. A look that says, “all that casual sex?”
and he lets me go to take a drink. He empties it and throws it in a nearby trash can, impressed he met
his own bullseye. That juvenile boy inside fist pumping at his ability to dunk a plastic bottle.
“Do you really want me to learn how to beat you up, Jake?” I smile cheekily, watching him with
amusement.
“Carino. Even if you became a pro boxer, I would still put you on your ass. You’re half my weight class.”
He smirks and squeezes my shoulder lightly.
“I don’t even know what that means.” I stop, leaning back to stretch out my limbs and start jogging on
the spot to signal I’m recovered enough to continue. He pulls my hood further forward over my face and
shoves me in front of him playfully, so that I’ll lead.
“It means that you’ll never be able to beat my ass, girly.” He laughs with a huskiness that is a little too
alluring.
“Don’t tempt me,” I warn.
“I like a challenge.”
“Well if beating is what you’re into?” I catch the cheeky glint in his eye and sucker punch him in the ribs
playfully before he can finish his sentence. He pushes me away and tries to trip me deliberately,
catching my wrists so I don’t fall, and he receives a pout and glare. He rights me on my feet with a
laugh and we set off again.
He’s in a childish mood this afternoon … Great! That’s all I need. It’s seriously his worst mode.
We jog on in silence for two blocks before we round a corner and head in a new direction. I take in the
unfamiliar streets and surrounding scenery; Seattle seems lower paced and more relaxed than New
York but it hasn’t got the same buzzing energy and I kind of like it. It’s a welcome break in our hectic
schedule lately.
“What are you thinking about, Miele?” his voice cuts into my thoughts. Jake’s looking at me as we run,
and he has to keep pushing his hood back at the side to see my face, the gesture makes him look
childish and I smile warmly.
“Wondering where I would dump your body if I beat you to death.” It’s a smug retort.
“It’s like that, is it?” he grins.
“Yep.”
I’m not prepared for the sudden lurch at me as he grabs me by the waist and tips me upside down in
mid-air. With his muscles, I’m no more than a gym bag in weight and I squeal in surprise and choke on
the sharp intake of breath. He tips me completely over onto my feet so that I’m still bent double but in a
head lock, my butt facing away from him with my head against his abdomen. I’m squealing and trying
to wrench myself free as he keeps walking, but I’m stumbling backward.
“Jake … Stop it.” I’m laughing stupidly and unable to fight as he has my arms pinned to my sides.
“I can’t. I’m looking for a shady corner so I can administer some much-needed discipline.” He
threatens, but he has a playfulness in his voice. He finally releases me and hauls me back up, pulling
me against him with an arm around my shoulders and drags me onward. My hood falls free, letting the
soft rain cool my heated face while breathless from his antics and disheveled from his manhandling.
“You know how many sexual harassment laws you just broke? I could haul your ass through the
courts.” I point out. Laughing hard as I do so.
“With my reputation, my lawyers would probably just settle.” He smirks and winks and I shake my head
at him and try to pull my clothes back into their rightful place within the confines of his arm and fail
miserably.
“Should stop manhandling the staff then!” I snort, unable to stop giggling as he’s walking fast and
making me stumble to keep up.
“Where are we going?”
“A walk … I’m bored at the hotel,” he says dejectedly.
“Are you ignoring my suggestion?” I ask innocently.
“About manhandling my staff?”
“Yes.”
“Yes … There’s no fun otherwise. You were made for manhandling, Ems.” He throws his playful “I’m the
shit and it means I get away with it” smile and I fight the urge to sucker punch him again. I pull myself
free from his grip and shove his arm off so I can finally adjust my clothes properly. He has them all
twisted around me and my hair is falling in my face. He tugs the hair tie out of my ponytail so that it all
comes tumbling down and I throw him an exasperated look.
“It was coming down anyway.” He offers by way of an explanation and tosses the hair tie in a dumpster
as we pass it.
“Hey,” I sulk. “I don’t have another one with me.”
He shrugs, which only makes me narky with him.
“You’ll just have to leave it loose then, won’t you?” He ruffles my hair, trailing his fingers through the
length and down my back softly.
“Stop acting like a child … Sometimes I seriously can’t understand why I work for you, or that you even
run an empire.” Watching him now, he’s far removed from Mr. Business, or even Mr. Public eye. He’s
adolescent Carrero.
He reaches out a hand, ignoring me and tugs me closer by the hood so I’m within reach of his arm and
puts it back around my shoulders. Only this time it’s loose and casual, and my clothes stay neat and in
place. I don’t bother fighting this time; I’m so used to touchy-feely Carrero by now that I’ve stopped
caring any more. He has very few inhibitions, and he’s been raised by a touchy-feely Italian, family.
Why doesn’t it bother me? It would bother me if it was anyone else.
I guess because Jake is the first man I’ve ever known who touches me without intent. There’s no
threat, or ulterior motive. In the way that a child touches automatically because they want to, and they
don’t see the issue with doing it.
In the way he constantly flirts or makes suggestions of a sexual nature, yet never follows through. It’s
harmless, it’s just how he is. Saying that, however, he’s a constant annoyance at work forever tugging
my hair or prodding me in the side and manhandling me into cupboards. Maybe I should sue him for
sexual harassment; I smile to myself.
Teach him some boundaries, that would show him.
“We need a break, Emma … I’m listless and tense all the time lately … distracted.” His voice is
subdued suddenly. I appraise his expression as he seems distracted, even with his hood still up,
making him look more street thug on the prowl and less Mr. Business. There’s an empty, lost
expression just under the surface.
I couldn’t sue that face.
“You’re the boss … You don’t need anyone’s permission.” We’re walking along an alley with no real
idea of where we’re going, and it’s stopped raining. The sun peeks out between the dull clouds,
threatening a better afternoon.
“Maybe somewhere to relax for a week.” He’s looking around, seemingly lost in thought.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask curiously, there aren’t many places he hasn’t been so his choice is
limited.
“We could be spontaneous,” he answers quickly, and I raise a brow. Surprised at that.
“Could we now?” I emphasize the “we”, making it clear that taking your PA on holiday with you defeats
the purpose of a holiday. Not to mention it being odd.
“You don’t want to come?” he looks at me in the way a child would on finding you’re no longer taking
them to buy candy. And all I can do is shake my head.
“Ummm, why would I come on holiday with you?” I stifle a giggle at his expression.
“Because you work as hard as I do and could use the break too. Because I want you to.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate” I hesitate, somewhat amused that he would even suggest it.
He’s actually being serious?
“Emma, we have literally lived in hotels together for the past few months and you’ve stayed the night in
my apartment more than once … Why is it any different?”
“Because a holiday isn’t work … it’s different!” I’m starting to feel uncomfortable with this direction of
conversation.
Why is he pressing this?
I think of what kind of gossip would fly around the offices if wind got out that we headed off in the sun
for a week together. Not to mention how it would look if the media took pictures of us together, relaxing
on a beach, or a boat, or whatever he chose to do to kick back. I wonder if he ever took Margo on a
break.
I should ask her next time she checks in to see how I’m doing. Ask her if she ever got whisked away for
a romantic time out.
“Don’t overthink things, Emma.” He lets go and pulls my arm, indicating we should jog again. My limbs
are getting heavy, so I follow without hesitation; we should slow the pace to warm “down” anyway. I
guess it also signals the end of conversation, I observe drily as he jogs ahead making it impossible to
talk. I follow him as we round the corner and start heading back in the direction of the hotel trying to
keep up. I get the vibe from him that he’s sulking about this and I stifle the urge to laugh at him.
What the hell? Jake sulks? Actually sulks. Since when? And why? Because I won’t go on holiday with
him? Surely, he can’t be pissed at that?
I keep my eye on the straight, muscular shape of his back as we jog and think rationally about this.
He’s been tenser lately, maybe he’s just stressed. Jake doesn’t sulk. He’s probably just tired and eager
to get back. It’s been non-stop lately with so much in the pipeline and he’s right, we could use a break.
He stays ahead of me at a good pace so that all I can do is jog to keep up as we head back to the hotel
via an unfamiliar route and I can’t help but feel a little miffed at his sudden cool attitude.
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