The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 5

Less than twenty minutes later, I'm in the back of a large SUV with tinted windows and sitting mere inches away from him. My briefcase is on my lap, and I have a pen in one hand. I'm preoccupied, mulling over the weirdness of this request.

"That habit is at odds with how you present yourself, you know."

I look up at his remark questioningly. He is regarding me, half-smirking.

What the hell is he talking about?

I then realize I have a strand of hair between my fingers, absent-mindedly twisting it. I drop it and still my hands on my lap, internally cursing him out.

For God's sake.

It's the being unprepared that has me on edge.

Nice move, Emma.

I scowl inside at teen Emma, always peeking at me from the recesses of my mind, and I smile tightly at Jake in response.

"Nervous habit?" he presses further, looking smugger.

"I don't get nervous, Mr. Carrero," I respond drily.

Because I've spent many years perfecting the art of hiding it, but for some reason, you bring it out in me when I'm not focusing.

"Do I make you nervous?" he smiles. He's leaning back in his seat comfortably, an arm on the window ledge, looking effortlessly casual. Always annoyingly at ease. "I would not say that, Mr. Carrero." What would I say?

Because he does make me nervous if I'm being honest. I don't know how to act around him sometimes.

"Do I intimidate you?" His tone is steady and quizzical with a hint of playfulness, and it's already tiring me.

Are we really doing this?

"I just don't know you well enough to feel at ease around you yet," I answer, impressed with my diplomatic response under the pressure of his gaze.

"I don't think any woman has ever told me I'm intimidating before." His eyes twinkle mischievously, his focus on me intense.

"I don't believe I said that," I sigh.

"You didn't say 'no.'"

"If that's how you perceived what I said." I smile tightly, but he laughs, which only grates on me further. He's infuriating.

"I've never met a woman who acts as you do around me!" he jests, pushing a foot against the door so he can stretch out some more. I throw him a calm yet questioning glance.

What's that supposed to mean? Because I don't throw myself at you, begging to be mauled?

"Women usually flirt … making their intentions clear. Or just quiz the crap out of me," he shrugs, unphased by his statement and oblivious to how much of an ass it makes him appear.

"Women openly tell you they want to sleep with you, Mr. Carrero?" I ask pointedly. I had already assumed this was the case; the fact he expects it is a little repulsive. The fact he expected it of me makes me mad.

"Something like that." He grins at my honesty, still watching me closely, his body turned toward me slightly.

"That must be nice." I look out at the passing scenery, utterly uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, finding him highly inappropriate and praying to get to Sunnyside quickly.

Only one more block to my apartment, I can get a reprieve from this crap. Why did I have to live so far?

"It gets old. I like being intimidating; that's one I haven't heard yet," he laughs at me again, and I try to ignore it, hating that his laugh is still nice despite his flaws.

I cast him a shady look.

Having women fall at your feet daily and tell you how gorgeous you are must be dull. Must be so hard to have been born with a silver spoon in your mouth and no real problems in life except how sexy your outfit is that day.

"In what way?" he says in afterthought, turning his gaze back on me.

"In what way, what?" I am tense. I hate feeling this way. I observe my fingers, ensuring they stay steady on my lap, willing him to leave me alone.

"In what way do I intimidate you?" He's finding this highly amusing, judging by the expression plastered over his smug face and the tone in his voice, which screams 'tease.'

"Is this necessary?" I bristle tightly, sitting upright and showing no hint of my inner feelings.

"What? Wanting to get to know my PA a little better? I think so."

Sure, if that's what we call this ego fluffing.

"Probing," I say evenly.

"I don't think wanting to know why I make you so uncomfortable is probing. We'll spend the next few hours together; I think it's necessary. It's a novelty for me." He looks smug without smiling. So talented.

"I never said I was uncomfortable; you've summarized what I said and concluded what you're now pursuing. I merely said I don't know you well." He's exasperating me now, and getting pissed at your boss is never a good career move. I try to keep my tone steady and unemotional, but I hear the note of dry agitation in my voice.

"My apologies," he laughs in that disarming way he has, and I sigh angrily. He knows how to get under my skin and seems to enjoy it.

"Are you always this defensive?" he asks, still pushing. For the love of God.

I need to muster all my strength to remain impassive.

"Are you always so informal with staff?" I retort defensively, gripping my jacket hem to try and keep my temper low and not show him how much he's annoying me now.

"Emma, my staff are people I respect, whose skills benefit me. I don't see a need for them to act like a stuffed shirt because I employ them. I'm not my father." I hate how he's studying me; I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, and I continue to ignore it and act cold.

"You're not like him. I met him; you're nothing like him."

In that, he knows how to behave. He understands the boundaries between boss and employee.

"Good. I don't aim to be." He shifts in his seat. "We don't exactly see eye to eye on most things."

I give him a cool look and note that he seems less relaxed; maybe talking about his father makes him uptight. I can relate to that, not that I would call a sperm donor a father, the absent sperm donor father of my childhood.

"You're not curious?" He glances at me quizzically, green eyes boring into the side of my face and making me uncomfortable.

"Curious about what?"

"Why I don't get along with him? Most women pry … they want the juicy details." A hint of a smile is in his voice. At the gross generalization of my sex, I curb the urge to eye-roll at him.

"No. It's not my business," I answer tightly. I'm not like most women, and I wish he would shut up. It's a relief when we pull up in front of my building, and I glimpse my chance to escape for a few minutes.

"This is me," I say, pointing at the block of attractive brown apartments rising above us. He regards me for a second and then gestures I should go; I almost exhale with thanks.

"I'll wait here. Go get changed. Something feminine and soft. Something you wouldn't normally wear." He gives me an odd look, hiding his amusement, and I have the sudden urge to throat-punch him.

Something feminine? Really? I'm pretty sure any clothes made predominantly for women are considered feminine!

Once in my apartment, I go straight to Sarah's room. She's still sound asleep in bed, so I quietly pull two dresses from the back of her closet with a grimace. This doesn't sit well with me, but I pick the floaty floral number my mother would approve of. It's not as short as the other one, but I know Sarah has shoes that match the floaty dress. I go to my room to not disturb her and change quickly, despairing at my reflection with a curse, and in less than ten minutes, return to the SUV, looking like some floaty hippy girl in love.

"Better," he says, his eyes appraising me quickly as I slide in. I ignore it. Dressed like this, I feel exposed; I need my armor. I need my tailoring and hair up to keep the PA persona with me. Dressed like this, I'm like teen Emma, and it scares me and takes away my defenses. I don't like to be unprepared.

The car moves off again, and I sit back, trying to relax. It's hard to do when every one of my nerve endings is on high alert. My legs are exposed in this floaty dress, and I pull them in tightly against the seat, tugging the hem toward my knees sharply.

"Why all the secrecy?" I ask in an attempt to interrupt the way he's watching me. If I didn't know better, I would think he was checking out my legs. His gaze has certainly covertly swept the length of me twice since I returned.

"His father, much like mine, owns a majority share of his business. Family money. If either of our fathers gets wind of what we're meeting about, they will oppose this before I can get things in place. Once I maneuver this a certain way, they cannot refuse." Thankfully, he sits back, turning to stare ahead instead of at me. Finally, I'm no longer pinned down by those green eyes.

"So, you're going behind your father's back?" I blanche, blinking at him as though I have no real sense of this.

"For now. He would refuse even to consider it," he shrugs, pushing at something with the toe of his boot on the door, an odd mannerism for who he is.

"Why?"

Abandoning whatever he was kicking, he moves closer to me, leaning in almost conspiratorially. "Hunter and my father have a history. They've let their rift cloud what's good for business."

"And you think a merger with someone your father hates is a good business move?" I sit back in my seat, trying to keep my distance and not inhale that aftershave or unique Carrero scent now that it's closer. He smells too nice for my liking.

"If I do this right, then yes. We stand to make a lot of money." He shrugs and looks out his window at the passing scenery, moving away again, and I exhale.

"What exactly are you going to be merging?" I relax, glad to have my breathing space back.

"They're primarily shipbuilders. I want to take our experience and build floating hotels and spas bearing the Carrero name. Modern liners with luxury fitness amenities onboard. Super ships."

"Like cruise ships?"

"High-end cruise ships, only a lot bigger and more pamper-based."

"What makes you think they will be a success?" I'm intrigued by his plan.

"The Carrero name. It's what Hunter needs for this venture to be plausible. Their reputation of late has suffered. They've had a few multibillion-dollar disasters. They get our reputation and name, and we get the rights to the designs they have in progress."

"So, this meeting is …?" I'm impressed with his idea and know only too well that the wealthy clients of Carrero would jump at a chance to stay on a floating spa. Carrero is all about luxury.

"To outline my plan, how I will maneuver my father to agree to the terms. He could dissolve the whole thing." He looks serious, a return to boss mode.

"I see. What's expected of me when we get there, Mr. Carrero?" It's best to know my part and be prepared to act accordingly.

"I need you to look adoringly at me if we see any lingering photographers. There may be press hanging around. Daniel's going through a bit of a media scandal. He was caught screwing someone important, and then she dumped him publicly. Then, when we're inside, I need you to keep detailed of what's discussed so I can backtrack later."

"Great." I grimace, wondering what looking adoringly entails. I'm slightly nauseated at the thought.

"You'll just have to follow my lead, Emma, and don't get too insulted if I need to touch you." He throws me a smile, watching for a reaction too closely. My eyes widen, and I almost gasp.

"Touch me?" I cringe at the tone of my voice betraying me. My heart rate cranks up a few notches, and my palms instantly clammy.

I never signed up for touching.

"You're my date, remember? I may need to hold your hand, or it might look weird. When I take women out, they're usually inclined to hang over me." He shrugs again, those piercing eyes returning to the front of the car, giving me respite.

Of course, they do.

This makes me uptight. I want to run away.

Great, now he wants to touch me and cuddle up for the cameras; nowhere did I sign up for this in my employment contract.

"I have your permission?" He glances at me hesitantly, waiting for a response.

"Yes." It's my job. I'm anything but sure, but what harm could it do?

Keep reminding yourself of that, Emma. I'm sure I can tolerate hand-holding for a few minutes, even with him.

"Good."

As the car draws up to a grand hotel, I'm not relishing what's coming, and I'm trying not to over-analyze any of this. Before I know it, his driver is opening my door. I step out as Jake follows behind me. We immediately see the hovering photographers with long-lensed cameras hung around their necks, and their interest is piqued as Jake slides smoothly up behind me, standing up to his full height. Even without touching me, I sense him behind me. My body is suddenly on high alert at his proximity, nerves twisting my insides to mush.

"Ready?" he whispers and loops his fingers in mine as he comes around to lead me toward the doormen. I can't concentrate on anything except the uncomfortable heat of his skin on mine and how his hand practically dwarfs my own. I've never let anyone hold my hand, my mother, maybe once or twice, but she doesn't count. It's not a welcome experience, and I have to steel myself against the urge to recoil and snap my hand away. It's too soft, too hot, too intimate.

Suddenly there's a small flash that startles me.

Crap.

They call out his name from right beside us, but he walks on, ignoring them, and leads me toward our destination, pulling me against the side of his body, his grip tightening, keeping me close. I keep my chin down, watching my feet, and, for the first time, I'm glad my hair is down to shield my face. We walk on, and I allow myself to be led; something disturbingly reassuring about it despite my reservations. I feel safer than I had expected with him.

Tall, uniformed door attendants deny the photographers entry beyond the vast glass doors. Shrilly in the quiet air, a faceless voice from the paparazzi calls out, "Are you here to see Daniel Hunter, Mr. Carrero?" Another one shouts, "Are you consoling your friend over the breakup with pornstar Candy Kane?" I cringe.

Someone of importance, he said. A goddamn porn star! What the hell?

"Jake?" A male voice greets us from inside the lobby, and I'm introduced to Daniel Hunter, another billionaire playboy from a wealthy family. The two men fist bump in such a laddish way and do that whole guy arm-embrace thing where they bump shoulders in a macho manner. I watch in complete disbelief that this man is my boss, acting like a street thug, while his buddy is tugging along a leggy supermodel-looking creature.

Got over his porn star pretty quickly.

Daniel takes in my appearance rather obviously. "She's not your usual type," he smirks, eyes openly undressing me.

Nodding toward the disinterested bimbo, Jake laughs, "She's yours, though." Daniel grins. I instantly dislike him. He's tall and well-built, like Jake, but he has sandy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He's handsome in a classic American way, but his features make him seem shifty. Sleazy maybe.

The other girl looks bored. She stands tall in stilettos and a short playsuit. She has dark hair cascading over fake breasts while picking at her red nails as we move on, following Daniel back into the hotel.

Jake keeps hold of my hand. Casting a glance back at the lenses pointed through the glass entrance, he throws an arm around my shoulders, shielding my face from view, and I inwardly freeze. My lungs contract and refuse to function.

"Try to relax; you're tense." He smiles down at me, close enough that most observers would assume he kissed me lightly, and I know he's trying to give this impression. I hold my breath, suddenly assaulted with how good he smells and good he feels so close to me. It's unexpectedly sensual, and the intimacy sends me into all-out-panic mode.

I react without thinking, lifting a defensive hand to his chest as my heart pounds crazily, ready to push him. I'm overwhelmed and scared. I don't like the proximity; instinct is taking over. He grasps my fingers with his free hand and gently holds them, shielding my reaction and making it look like something else.

I focus on my breathing, trying to block out the creeping fear running over me.

Don't fall apart. Hold your shit together, Emma. It's only pretend, and he's barely touching you.

"I have a suite." Daniel winks at us, implying something is going on, and I almost pass out. "I figured I would have a use for it afterward," he says, throwing a glance toward the leggy, bored supermodel who looks as excited for that as she is about being here. I grimace and flush at his insinuation.

Jake releases me when we're in the confines of the elevator and throws me a smile as if in praise, but I don't respond. Too busy trying to calm my pounding heart rate and get my breathing to normalize.

We get to the desired floor and follow Daniel; he already has his key card in his hand.

"I took the liberty of ordering breakfast; I know you like to eat, Jakey-boy." He grins Jake's way and gets a smile in return.

"I'm starving, and I'm sure Emma needs to eat too."

I nod shyly, shell-shocked and quiet while recovering. I hadn't had time to eat this morning, but I'm unsure how he could even know that.

Finally, in the hotel room, I feel stupidly disconcerted. This has knocked me for six. Jake's hands on me have left permanent heat where he laid them, a lasting sensation as though they are still on me. I give myself an internal slap and pull myself together as best I can.

I need to stop overthinking this.