Felicity makes a beeline for his room with her overnight bag, eyeing us weirdly, but he makes no
attempt to follow. As she disappears his expression changes back to full blown frown mode.
“Who was it?” serious, no-nonsense boss tone.
Ughhhh!
I should have known better … He’s hard to palm off even on a good day.
God dammit, Jake.
I turn away breezily, I know he won’t let up … he’ll cancel dinner and stay here if I say nothing. There’s
no point being evasive when he has that look on his face, so I resign myself to caving.
“My sperm donor.” I wave an airy hand as though I’m saying something non-important, but I can
already feel the tension in my face. I’m glad I’m looking toward the open door of my room away from
him and pull out my cell to cradle in the charging dock on the table beside it.
“Your father?” he sounds surprised.
You and me both.
“Yep.” I look around quickly for a distraction, so I don’t need to turn and look at him. I spot his personal
tablet on the table nearby and lift it to scroll iTunes, to turn on music. It’s the best I can muster when
he’s moved so close.
“You’ve never mentioned a father.” His tone is serious and gentle, body a little too close for comfort.
“I don’t have need to. There’s nothing to mention … I don’t know him.”
“So, why is he calling? It didn’t sound like nothing, Emma. You definitely didn’t sound happy.” He’s
moved closer to me, invaded by his body heat emanating against my spine. So close he is touching
me.
“I got a shock okay … I’ve met him once in my life and it was brief. I don’t know why he’s calling.” I lie.
I have a good idea why he’s calling now, it’s no surprise. He did this once before, a brief meeting at
fourteen when he thought my mother had struck gold. A simple picture in the paper about the “feed the
homeless” charity she runs but he’d been disappointed to find that she was as penniless as the charity
itself. Sadly sure, that she would be swathed in dollars, and able to help him out with a few hundred to
tide him by. Here he is now, after I have been photographed more than a dozen times in the presence
of a rich Carrero … New York’s royalty.
Figures. He thinks I’m loaded and dating Prince Carrero.
“Talk to me, Emma.” He’s standing so close to me that I’m tickled by his breath against my hair. I move
away quickly, tense, and jumpy; I need head space and solitude. Not probing Jake.
“Go. I really am itching to get in that power shower and let my hair down,” I flutter sweetly, moving
further from him to give myself some much-needed distance, and finally managing to look at him. His
look darkens, and he presses his lips together. I know he’s contemplating pushing me further. I know
that look.
He seems to think better of it and the frown on his brow lets up as though the thoughts have floated
away on the breeze. He doesn’t want to argue either.
“Want me to help take your hair down?” he winks and there it is, back in full swing, that cheeky Carrero
grin and amusement in his eye. I inwardly relax.
“I’m pretty sure I could sue you for such suggestions, boss!” I throw with a half-smile.
“It’s only harassment if you don’t like it, Bambino.” He grins as he moves close to me again, fingers
twitching at me as though making threats. I swat him away, he’s not against threats of tickle torture in
times of need. Not that he does it.
I just need them to leave. I hate feeling vulnerable in front of anyone, especially him. I need to be
alone.
“Your ego is never shy, is it?”
He doesn’t answer, just steps forward quickly and shoves me into my room so that I almost lose my
balance and he laughs at my angry scowl. Turns on his heel and walks away.
“Asshole.” I yell after him with a smirk. He turns and blows me a kiss and a wave before walking across
the suite to his own room and I’m relieved. I fooled him well enough; they’ll go to dinner now and he
probably won’t remember anything about it later.
I hope he won’t, I don’t want to talk about this, not with him, not with anyone. I want to ignore it.
I watch him walk into the room with Felicity before I shut my door quickly. Leaning back against it for a
moment to steady my nerves and reel a little from shock, I exhale slowly.
Who the hell did he think he was, calling me after all this time?
I stifle the lump of emotion caught in my throat and shake it off. I won’t succumb to tears over that scum
bag, he deserves none of my tears, nor my time.
* * *
My shower is hot, steamy, and satisfying. I come out flushed and breathless and figure I maybe should
have gone easy on the temperature gauge. My head’s swimming a little, and I’m still feeling fragile.
I haul on my nightdress and robe to try and cool off, pad out into the empty room, and instantly know
that I’m alone. I had been in the shower an hour and they must have left for dinner. It feels good to be
able to chill out and have some alone time though. I mulled over the call enough in the shower and I’m
tired of thinking about it. I’ll have to screen my calls from now on, maybe change my number. I’ll need
to call my mother; I have an inkling that she was behind him getting it and it pisses me off immensely.
Always a sucker for a goddamn sob story. She needs to get a grip.
I have been in the social pages a lot over the last few weeks on Jake’s arm at various functions. I
guess he figures I’ve hit a goldmine and wants to see what he can get out of me. I push the bile down
in my throat bitterly as I think about the fact that all I am to him is a meal ticket. Heart aching with the
reality of it.
He’s a prick. A money grabbing asshole.
He’s never wanted any part of my life, except when he thought my mother could throw some cash his
way and now, here he is again. Sleazing his way out of his dark hole once more.
I’m not my mother, I’m not some sap who can be pulled around by a garbled confession, asking to get
back in my life.
I pace to the bar in the corner and slam my hands on the counter, that old familiar rage in me creeping
out, teen Emma’s rage. I hate him for that, hate him for making that part of me resurface. A part of me I
try so hard to quell.
I reach out to the crystal decanters and pour myself a large brandy. I’m not one for hard liquor but I
need to quell all these emotions funneling up my throat. I need to get back in control. Relax a little.
* * *
I don’t know how many brandies I drink, but the hotel floor gets really comfy and plush. It feels a little
warm and I’m enjoying the soothing music coming from the surround sound. Jake’s playlist is on
repeat, he has an eclectic taste in music, but I like it; every song makes me think of him and I wish he
was here on the floor beside me, enjoying this feeling.
If I don’t move my head doesn’t swim too much but it feels kind of nice, like lying on a Lilo on the sea
and drifting away into oblivion. I like the way my hair fans out and I can stroke its silkiness, mingled with
fluffy floor, heightening my woozy senses.
I never realized how soft my hair was before now, I should leave it loose more often.
The ceiling looks amazing from down here too, smooth like whipped cream that’s been spread out over
an expensive cake.
I am distracted by the distant noise above my head and feet come into view as I tilt back to see, upside
down. Tall black stilettos on gazelle like legs, followed by black tailored pants over expensive shoes.
Even his shoes and legs are screwable!
They have returned!
I giggle naughtily at being caught in such a compromising way. I wonder what they will make of drunk
Emma laying sprawled on the floor. I find it highly amusing in my current state, and really have no cares
about it at all.
It’s semi-dark with only the lights on dim and I can see they’re walking toward me, maybe they can’t
see me. I chuckle again with mischief and pretend to be invisible.
If I close my eyes, I’m sure they will go right on by, maybe they might even walk over me.
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