The Carrero Influence
~ The Dance ~
Jake shifted in his seat for the millionth time and tried once more to get his brain to focus on the laptop
on the highly polished walnut surface. He just couldn’t keep himself on track lately.
The sound of a female clearing her throat startled him to look up and the impatient stance of Margo
waving a piece of paper with a raised eyebrow suggested she had been talking to him while he was
zoned out.
“Sorry. What?” He frowned and sighed heavily, pushing himself back into his molded leather chair and
rolled up his shirt sleeves in agitation.
“For God’s sake, Jacob. I’ve been here for three minutes talking at you. You need to just bloody well
call her.” Margo’s stern tone did nothing to help his current mood, and he just shifted forward again to
try to ignore that intent, chastising glare. He went to his laptop, ducking his head in an attempt to dodge
her blue eyes and typed something aimlessly.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. And less of the Jacob.” He shrugged with one shoulder and
pushed images of Emma from his head for the millionth time. He wondered if maybe he should remind
Margo that personal relationship aside, he was still her boss.
Damn Emma for always being inside his head.
“Sure! Because moping around like a love-sick kid for weeks on end after impulsively firing the best
assistant you ever had means nothing. Look … you may not want to spell things out to me, but it is
pretty obvious you crossed the line with her, problem being that for some stupid reason you then let her
go, or should I say pushed her away.” Margo moved toward him and perched her tight-skirted ass on
his desk the way Emma used to do anytime they had time in here.
He shook his head to dislodge it from his mind’s eye and instead went back to typing pointless words
on a ruined document.
“Stop that.” Margo covered his hand with hers and stopped him from continuing. He yanked his hands
free, agitated, pushing back his chair and getting up to walk up and down the length of his windows,
finding no peace in the skyline out there for once.
“I didn’t just let her go, it was never going to be anything more for her, so I stopped myself from
crossing that line again. Why are we even talking about this? Is there something I can actually help you
with?” He stomped back to his seat, not sure what the hell he was even doing and slumped back down,
creasing his shirt and not giving a damn. Running his fingers through his cropped hair and frowning
once more at the stupid document on screen.
“You can figure out what you’re doing with these then. Deal with it yourself. I do not happen to like
dealing with the Giovanni stubbornness in you, short-sighted and pig-headed to boot!” She threw the
paper she had been waving around in her hand on top of his laptop keyboard distastefully. Taking them
idly he noticed tickets stapled to the top corner with Emma’s name printed on. He looked up at her
quizzically with a frown.
“What are they?” He genuinely had no clue.
“Tickets to that bloody dance you wanted all the staff to attend. I suggest she gets them and decides for
herself if she wants to see you.” Margo didn’t wait for a response, she was turning on her heel and
moodily trotting out on stilettos that made an echoing clip-clop at speed. She was still pissed at him,
had been since she came back and found out what he had done concerning Emma.
“Margo? What the hell?” It was futile, she was waving him away and playing deaf. She kicked his outer
door shut to emphasize that she was still seriously furious with him. He had endured weeks of her
snippy attitude and stern chastising already, he had no clue why he hadn’t fired her ass for it. Probably
because deep down he knew he deserved it, he had behaved like an asshole and Margo was only
thinking about Emma and how this must hurt her. All he had thought about since her departure was
how much this must be hurting her.
He lifted the tickets again and read over the name printed clearly in gold foiling, a thumb tracing her
first name slowly as that familiar ache in his heart panged to the forefront. Without hesitation, he hit his
intercom buzzer to Margo’s desk.
“Send them to her as soon as you can.” He let it go without expecting a response, chucked them back
to the outer part of his desk and sank back covering his face with the back of his hands and sighing. He
had no idea if she would even go to the dance but part of him wanted it to be her choice if she did. He
wanted to see her, yet he didn’t, because it would hurt either way.
The door to his office opened almost instantly, the clip-clop of heels, the swish of fabric and waft of
Margo’s perfume, by the time he moved his hands she was retreating to her own part of the office
carrying the sheet of paper and still freezing him out. He rolled his eyes and thought better of trying to
chastise her about this ongoing behavior. Margo was like a second mother to him and his own mother
would probably be acting the same way right about now. He had better get used to her angry standoff
because he knew she wasn’t going to let up on him anytime soon.
* * *
Jake pulled at the collar off his tux repeatedly, trying to stop the choking sensation of wearing a bow tie
and ignored the glances his way. He had been here only minutes and already showing up single was
attracting way too much attention, probably because he had never come to an event dateless.
He could feel the judgmental and surprised looks from the array of rich and minor celebrities in the
ballroom, less than an hour after opening and he already hated it here.
“Hola!” Leila butted into his thoughts and slid an arm through his confidently. “Looking as suave as
always my lovely.” She grinned up at him with that cheeky youthful face he adored like a sister and just
yanked at his collar once more, stifling in this crowded ballroom and hating having to dress up in this
monkey suit. She pulled his hand away and started to fix his crooked bow tie for him, slapping his hand
down when he tried again to get at his top button.
“You look nice, classy dress.” His eyes swept the long black glittering ball gown with the peak of pink at
the neckline while she fussed over him, typically Leila.
“You brush up pretty well for a skinny tomboy.”
He was relieved to be released when she had done fluffing him over.
“Shut up, loser.” Leila nipped his bicep with her overly long manicured nails, arm slid back into place
inside his and threw him a suddenly serious look. “She’s coming you know? She texted me, I don’t
think she knows that I know.”
Jake swallowed hard, an impulsive response he had no control over, frowning as the stomach-lurching
sensations hit him again. This had been happening all day.
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