The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 41

I'm tense as I sit in the office, waiting for Jake. He hasn't called or texted me all weekend, and I've been too afraid to contact him. Apart from after our time on his boat, we've never gone this long without contact, and it has me overly touchy and emotional. Already I've snapped at two receptionists for the most minor things when coming through the floor to the office. My nerves are eating away at me.

I recheck my watch.

When Rosalie takes up residence in her office area outside of mine, I realize it's after nine, and Jake still hasn't shown up; he's rarely late. I'm tense and on edge, and I've no idea what we'll even say to each other. All I've thought about all weekend is what we have done. How it felt to have him kiss and touch me that way, what it felt like to let Jake have sex with me. It brought me to tears over and over.

Despite everything that I thought when it first happened, I can't deny that the memory is bittersweet. I felt alive, cherished, sexy, and wanton, all in one go, and his touch is the only touch I can ever trust, the only touch I ever want to feel.

Sarah has gotten to me. We had another long talk the following day, turning my way of thinking and showing me that I hadn't anything to lose and everything to gain. I realized that my parents set me up for feelings of insecurity and worthlessness in my mind, fear of rejection, and a warped version of life. Sarah convinced me that it is only in my head that I am not loveable, that only I am convinced I am not worthwhile enough to be loved by Jake.

I've lingered over the memory of sex with Jake so many times; I see it every time I close my eyes, remembering how he feels, smells, and kisses, and I want him to come in so we can talk properly. I want to run into his arms and have him take all this pain away. I've already resigned to the fact that I need to be honest with him about my past - as much of it as I can bear. I need to tell him that I'm scared about how I feel about him because I don't know where it will lead, about the chaos in my head when I seem cold and distant. I need him to understand me truly.

I know one thing for sure: I love him hopelessly after all this. And I need to tell him that.

It's expanding inside me so quickly now that I can't deny it; I'll self-implode. Despite how he feels about me and his obsession with casual sex and a stream of women, I need to tell him how I really feel. No matter the outcome. No matter his response. Sarah was right about that; I need to take a chance, be brave, and allow him to tell me if there is hope.

***

Jake walks in with a man in tow, and I take a sharp breath at his mere appearance; he's in a dark gray shirt left open at the collar, a dark jacket with matching pants, and his shades. His face has a little more stubble than usual, but he looks flawless in every way, a seductive, calm, confident heartthrob, and it causes my heart to constrict painfully. His eyes are concealed with Ray-Bans as they walk by me through the office.

I long to reach out and touch him as he passes. He keeps his distance, throwing me a tight smile and saying nothing, just heads with his friend into his office and shuts the door. I feel sick. I want to be alone with him to talk, a chance to explain, apologize, and win back my Jake in any small way that I can.

I want to know what's happening with Marissa. How he feels about it, and what the future holds for her and him.

I sit at my desk and fidget with everything within reach, but I don't care. I don't have the strength to be PA Emma anymore. I'm listless, tense, and emotional, and I've fallen to pieces so many times in the past two days that I could cry right in front of everyone, and it wouldn't matter. I need him.

My hair falls forward into my face so many times as I shift about that I start regretting this haircut.

Why did I ever change it?

I smile sadly as I ponder it; my hair is just another sign that I had been letting go, taking away a piece of my armor, oblivious to the fact at the time. It was another small change pushed on me by Jake's looming presence. I remove my fingers from my hair. I'd been tangling them absent-mindedly in my locks, straightening my back to pull myself together. This is sheer agony; my nerves are everywhere, and my mind is anywhere but work.

Finally, his visitor leaves, waving me a passing goodbye with a friendly smile. I sit with bated breath, wondering if I should walk in and try to talk to him, but my courage fails me. I don't have to ponder it for long as my switchboard lights up, and he asks me to come into his office.

I hold my breath, my nerves reeling as I get up, palms sweaty, stomach fluttering, and slowly make my way in, pushing the heavy door behind me once I'm inside, unable to take my eyes off him. He has taken off his shades and jacket; he's too good to be real. But he's avoiding looking at me. He's looking at his laptop, concentrating, and typing.

I crave for him to glance at me and smile in his usual way, Hollywood handsome, but he doesn't. He finally looks up darkly and indicates I should take a seat, all Mr. Business Carrero, devoid of all friendliness, acting ultra-cool toward me.

Something doesn't feel right, and my inner fears start churning low down. I can sense the tension already. I do as I'm told, still unable to tear my eyes from him, my body trembling, waiting for some sign of how this will play out.

"Emma, this isn't easy for me to say." He gazes at me for a long moment; darkness is in his eyes, but his face is closed off, giving nothing away. He shifts in his seat, so he's sitting taller and closes his laptop slowly, watching me as intently as I'm watching him. I hold my breath, my nerves peaking. "We can't work together anymore; too much has happened for this to work." He sounds so cold and unaffected by the words he's stabbed me with.

I gasp sharply as though I've been struck, shaking my head impulsively as I take in what he's just said. I never saw this coming, and my insides drop with the gravity of how bad this is.

"What?" I blurt out, dazed, my voice detached from my reeling mind, my body frozen to the spot.

"I've arranged for you to go to our headquarters across town, Carrero Tower, to work on my father's floor, Emma. It's for the best." He looks away and turns his chair to the office windows, gazing over New York as if to dismiss me. His body language is entirely unreadable, straight, and solid, physically closing me out.

I can't formulate a response, gasping like I'm drowning. I can't breathe. I try to speak, but only a sob is forced out. Without any warning, I crumble, falling forward into my hands; I lose control, crying softly, unable to stop anything anymore, just a shadow of the person I have played for so long.

Jake can't do this to me, to us. He can't break me this way. Not him! Not after everything. He's sending me away, and it's ripping me apart inside.

"Emma, don't, please." His voice cracks and washes over me closely as his arms come around me, pulling me from my chair. I can't look up at him. I can only let him guide and crush me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me so tightly that I can barely breathe. "Not now, Emma, not like this," he croaks breathily. I don't understand what he means; all I can do is sag against him and let everything flow out of me, all the anguish, heartache, and pain of the last few days while basking in his feel.

I try and regain control of myself, my sobs finally turning to soft tears as I calm down. Unable to think of any words to fix this, I take deep breaths and try so hard to be calm again, ashamed of him seeing me so weak.

With immense effort, I finally accomplish a stable state. Still held tightly in his arms, surrounded by his strength and intoxicating scent. I'm taking solace from the cause of my pain, the man who's a haven to me, but how can he be when he's told me I'm to be sent away from here, that I'm done working for him? He's not my haven anymore; he's my destroyer and the cause of my desperate agony.

"I'm calm," I finally mutter, numb and empty. Lifting my hand to wipe my face, my makeup smears across its back, but I don't care. I want him to see how broken I am over this. I have nowhere to hide now.

The warmth of his breath on top of my scalp moves away; he'd been resting his face in my hair the whole time as I was breathing him in, painfully familiar.

"Emma, this … us … it's toxic. We just fight and feel angry with each other all the time." He sounds defeated while my head screams at me to say it, to open up and tell him … tell him how I've behaved. How I've reacted and held back is all in the past …tell him that I want him to see the real me. I want him to get through my walls, finally. I want to show him the constant inner chaos of my fucked-up mind… But I can't.

Old Emma still controls my mouth, and she's mortally wounded. Old Emma is recoiling in fear of rejection because he is already hurting me and pushing me away.

He pulls away from me, leaving me vulnerable, and sets me back down on the chair behind me. The look on his face stills every word I have brimming in my mind that I want to say, so cold, as though he's shut a door and trying to gain distance. I know that look. It's my look. Nothing I say will make a difference now. His mind is made up.

"We don't work anymore." He turns and walks to the windows and stares out, his body tense as he places a palm against the glass, his focus fixated outside silently for what seems like an eternity. That powerful body outlined against the skyline tortures me.

"We can talk about this, Jake," I finally manage, my voice broken and childlike. I want to get up and walk to him, throw myself back in his arms and beg.

Tell him, Emma. Tell him you love him.

"No. There's nothing to say." The iciness in his tone kills my voice completely, shutting down the words I long to let out, a scolding so harsh it silences them. "It's done, Emma. It's arranged. Clear out your things today. Take the rest of the day off, then report to the HQ offices first thing tomorrow. You'll work for my father from now on." His tone is cruel; my Jake is gone, and only the version which left me on the boat remains, ripping my heart to shreds. I shake my head, a new wave of tears building up inside me. The panic, hysteria, and chest-crushing pain return tenfold.

"Jake …" I can barely talk through the crippling suffocation.

When will this ever end? It hurts so much.

I'm like a bottomless sea of tears that I can never empty. His shoulders sag, and he moves closer to the window, stiffening, his breath forming a small steamed area in front of him.

"Don't make this harder on both of us. Just go," he utters so softly and surely that my breath catches in my throat, stilling my tears as that numb barrier sweeps over me.

I really have lost him.

There's so much I want to say, but I can't. He's closed the door on me. It's ironic; after months of me refusing to open my heart and his constantly being wide open, it's now shut in my face and locked tight. I'm too late.

I wait a moment, hoping he'll look at me, but he remains, pensively staring over New York, refusing to move. He wants me to go; it's in every tiny tense cell of his body. I can practically taste it, yet I'm frozen to the spot. My head is reeling, and I'm desperate to say so much, but my mouth stays shut. I've lost everything that mattered to me. I lost Jake. He's all that matters to me.

I stand slowly, limbs shaking, my self-preservation kicking in as I forcefully steady myself and turn deliberately. Concentrating so hard on not crumbling, I walk slowly, each step agonizing as I pray he stops me, but he doesn't. When I finally open the door, I pause, inhale heavily, and take a final turn to look at him again. He hasn't moved. His stiff posture is still the same, still emanating hostility.

"Will I see you again?" It's an impulsive question, my voice filled with fear and longing.

"I don't think so, Emma. What's done is done. It's better this way." His tone is lifeless, empty. It rips the last shred of my soul out and lets it loose on the wind, leaving a space full of fire and hurt. I can't bear to look at his strong, tall body anymore. Held tautly against the New York skyline, this will be my last memory of him, and it's unbearable. I turn and pull the door closed behind me, walk through to my own office, and shut the door, which always stands open. Then, concealed from everyone, I sit at my desk and break down within the circle of my arms.