Crap.
I’m to do this while being stripped of all that makes me comfortable and confident.
“I see.” My insides turn icy cold and my face numbs.
“All you need to do is smile and look adoringly at me until we get into the suite where Daniel is staying.”
Jake shrugs with one shoulder. He really sees no issue at all.
Yes, I’m sure that’s going to be easy.
“When are you leaving?” Margo presses, turning his hazy green eyes away from the scrutinizing he is
doing over me.
“Now, if she needs to go home first … Where do you stay, Emma?” his eyes are back on mine, once
again making me uneasy as he scans my attire.
I tell him where in West Sunnyside and he nods before moving off to call his driver. I hear him telling
him to meet us at the rear of the underground parking garage as I try to pull myself back together.
“Take a notepad and pen in a handbag, anything else will look odd … It’s a preliminary meeting to
thrash out the proposal, so take notes.” Margo soothes my nerves with a warm smile. Bringing my
attention to her.
“Yes, Margo.” I answer blankly, head reeling with all of this and feeling overwhelmed suddenly.
“Emma?” She halts me with a gentle hand on my arm.
“Yes?” I pause at her sudden intense look.
“Try to relax around Jake … He’s actually very easy to hang out with.” She grins, but it does nothing to
remove the tension building up inside of me.
I don’t want to hang out, I want to do my job.
* * *
Less than twenty minutes later, I’m in the back of a large SUV with tinted windows and I’m sitting mere
inches away from him. My briefcase on my lap and 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. The way he is regarding me, and half-smirking my way.
What the hell is he talking about?
I 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, it has me on edge.
Nice move, Emma.
I scowl at teen Emma, always peeking at me from the recesses of my mind and smile tightly 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 and 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 and looks 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, a hint of playful 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 actually said that,” I say. Sighing.
“You didn’t say no.”
“If that’s how you perceived what I said.” I smile tightly, but he laughs that only further grates on me.
He’s infuriating.
“I’ve never met a woman who acts like you do around me!” he jests, pushing a foot against the door so
he can lounge some more, and I throw him a cool yet questioning glance.
What’s that supposed to mean? Because I don’t throw myself at you, begging to be mauled?
“Women usually flirt … Make their intentions clear, or just quiz the crap out of me.” He shrugs, un-
phased by the statement he made and oblivious to how much of an ass it makes him appear.
“Women openly tell you they want to bed you, Mr. Carrero?” I ask pointedly. I 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, watching me closely still, his body turned toward me
slightly.
“That must be nice.” I look out at the passing scenery, completely uncomfortable with the direction of
this conversation, finding him highly inappropriate and praying to just get to Sunnyside quickly.
Only one more block to my apartment and 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 to listen to, despite his flaws.
I cast him a shady look.
Must be so boring having women fall at your feet every day and tell you how gorgeous you are. 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 once more.
“What way what?” I am tense. I hate feeling this way and watch my fingers carefully, making sure 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’re going to 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 even hear the
note of dry agitation in my own 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 … People whose skills benefit me. I don’t see a need to act like a
stuffed shirt because I employ them. I’m not my father.” I hate the way he’s studying me; I can feel his
eyes on the side of my face, and I continue to ignore it. Continue to 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 he seems a little less relaxed at that word again. Maybe talking about
his father makes him uptight. I can relate to that, not that I would call the sperm donor a father, the
absent sperm donor of my childhood.
“You’re not curious?” he glances at me quizzically, green eyes once again boring into the side of my
face and making me uncomfortable.
“Curious about what?”
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