The Carrero Series Bonus Book: Jake's View
Author
L. T. Marshall
Reads
700K
Chapters
32
The First Meeting
Carrero Series Bonus Book: Jake’s View
From The Carrero Effect
Jacob Carrero stood in his room in front of the large mirror over the vanity and warmed hair wax between his fingers, smirking at the familiar black and gold branded product on the wooden surface. His father was still lording over the decision to start a male grooming line with Jake’s face all over the advertising campaign—not that he cared.
He was used to being publicly owned, always on show, and every woman’s idea of a fantasy male. Which guy wouldn’t? Women falling at your feet every day. Hell yeah.
He expertly rubbed it through his hair and spiked it up toward the center and forward in its trademark style. He was never really one for much fussing over his hair.
This kept it sorted, and he never had to care for the rest of the day or mess with it unless he ran his hands through and mussed it up. If he had his way, he would shave it all off, but he had done that in his teens, and he had just looked like a menacing street thug and was met with serious glares from Mamma Carrero.
He caught sight of the girl in the mirror, trying to catch his eye from the bed. She was lounging sexily and letting the bed sheets slide down her naked body to lure him back in.
Jake just frowned at the effort and returned to getting ready for work. He’d had enough playtime these last two weeks, and she was already boring him.
This one was his most recent fuck buddy. Long legs, a little too skinny for his liking, and surprisingly plain-faced after all that muck was wiped off.
Another supermodel obsessed with dinner parties where she only consumed lettuce and had her face in his lap at the click of his fingers. Nothing remarkable, boringly predictable, and zero conversation in that head.
He didn’t know why he kept falling into the trap of dating the same types over and over. “I’m feeling energetic still… if you’re game?” She tried for a husky voice and just irritated him.
Sliding his jacket over his crisp shirt and adjusting the cuffs without looking at her once, he continued with the task of getting ready. Jefferson would be waiting with the car now, and he had to go. Back to reality and back to running his part of the family empire.
“Nora will feed you. See yourself out.” He smirked back at her and felt guilty about the look of sheer disappointment on her face. Just a tad.
He stopped caring the second he lifted his shades, slid them on his head, and made his way out of the door. Nora greeted him in the open-plan lounge, wielding a vacuum and smiling gracefully, his heart warming a little at the maternal, little widow who kept his apartment for him.
He smiled genuinely. “Can you make sure… Umm?” Fuck, what was her name? Trisha? Tracey? Shit, I’ve been sleeping with her for almost a week, and I still can’t remember the damn thing. I’m such an asshole.
“Tiffany?” Nora blinked at him, and he smiled, feeling more uneasy at his mind blank. He knew it made him look like a dickhead, and he didn’t like Nora thinking that way about him.
The woman was like a second mother, and her opinion mattered. “Yeah, her. Could you make sure she gets fed and see that she’s taken home?” He smiled again and headed toward the kitchen, where he grabbed the coffee she had waiting for him in a steel travel mug.
He was running late, and she knew it. Best housekeeper on Earth. She deserved another raise.
“Arrick?” He turned back to her with a raised eyebrow and then dismissed the question as his brother sauntered from the direction of his guest rooms.
“She’s all in a tizzy about my new PA.” Arrick just yawned and ran a hand casually through his sandy hair.
His brother was fairer but had his dad’s dark eyes and sallow skin, while Jake had inherited his mother’s dark hair and green eyes, and he guessed her looks, seeing as he had been voted New York’s hottest bachelor the second year in a row.
He never saw the similarity to his brother, but people always said it was there. “You’re lucky I’m even upright, and how the hell do you look so fucking normal?” Arrick was irritable today; last night had been a hell of a party, and they had hit the booze a little too hard.
Jake was almost immune to hangovers nowadays. Years of hitting it hard had given him a more steel constitution than his baby brother.
He needed to get him worked up to that now he was almost of legal drinking age. He had a reputation to follow, and if he was going to keep up with Jake’s friends, he better get up to speed with alcohol tolerance.
“You ready to shift?” Jake pushed his brother on the shoulder as he passed him to get him moving faster. He was already restless about being away from work for a couple of weeks. He had no idea how much he had missed or what was needed to catch up today.
He wasn’t so sure anymore that snowboarding and base jumping between blowout parties had been such a good idea when he had so much coming up. He didn’t feel any more rested than when he had taken off with his brother and best mate in tow.
Maybe he should have cut the fun a day early and gotten some real sleep. Last night was a late drunken return, and then a lot of sex before his alarm assaulted him way too early. A shower had barely straightened him out.
He shook himself mentally and followed Arrick through the main door to the corridor where his head of security was waiting with his bag. Mathews looked like a George Clooney of sorts with an air of Jason Statham; the man was scarily efficient. Jake took the bag being held out to him.
He wasn’t much of a briefcase kind of guy, so he had a leather messenger bag instead. “Here you go, sir. All the files arrived last night per your request.”
He smiled thanks at the older man and patted his shoulder before taking a mouthful of coffee. A slight stirring of nausea in his stomach at the first nonalcoholic liquid to hit it in forty-eight hours. Not a good idea at all.
Arrick was practically tripping over his own feet and holding his head. Jake swiped off his shades and propped them on his brother’s nose; the poor guy would not be any better hitting the New York sunlight in a few minutes, and he felt guilty about his suffering.
Jake had goaded him into a drinking competition, knowing only too well he would beat him hands down. The baby boy had to learn to man up with the rest of them if he was going to survive in his circle of friends. “Thanks.”
He finally managed after swallowing down probably the worst thing to drink when his guts were fragile. Nora’s coffee was enough to put hairs on a man’s chest. Jesus!
With the bag secured over his shoulder, he hauled out the first file and sauntered into the elevator. “Work already? You have issues,” Arrick mumbled from the corner he was slumped into, and Jake could only shake his head at him and smile.
This was the future competition in his father’s company. He needed to get Arrick toughened up. “My new PA’s company record and résumé. She wants me up to speed with whoever she is before I meet her today. Apparently, she has high hopes that this is the one I’ve been looking for.”
***
Floor sixty-five of the Carrero Corporation—Executive House. Lexington Avenue, Midtown Manhattan.
Walking through the building with a brother who was looking decidedly pale with nausea and his ever-present bodyguard, courtesy of his father, Jake felt that familiar ease move back in. The ease of being back in his own building and in control. This was where he excelled in life.
This right here, a building apart from his father’s, was his domain. All business conducted herein had nothing much to do with Giovanni Carrero, just how he liked it.
Jake ran the sports side of the company while Giovanni lorded over the hotels. The grooming line had come to Jake, seeing as his face was all over it, and he had a million tiny smaller sidelines all being run through Carrero House.
His father had his darker dealings, and sometimes borderline illegal mafia shit, going on, and he wanted no part in the old family ties. He’d convinced Arrick to start taking an interest in his side of things; he wanted him working alongside him rather than being pulled into Carrero Tower with the old man.
The further he could keep Arrick away from the people his father knew, the better. Besides, Arrick had a good business brain, much like Jake’s, and he could be useful in a couple of mergers and acquisitions lined up in the near future.
Jake ignored the constant flow of female swoons and smiles aimed their way. He was not so big-headed he didn’t realize his brother was getting attention now he was getting older.
Not that he cared, Arrick would soon find out how boring the female attention could get. Hell, the guy was obviously a looker. They shared DNA, after all.
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He stifled a yawn in the elevator and shoulder-punched Arrick to wake him up a little. His brother’s obvious fatigue was affecting him a little too much, and he needed to look like he was in control.
Arrick was still almost slumped in a ball, and Jake leaned out and pushed his shades back, slotting them back on top of Arrick’s head carelessly. “Fuck off,” his brother mumbled under his breath, and the security guard glared Jake’s way.
Jake glared right back, aggression prickling instantly to put him in his place. No paid heavy of his father’s was going to try to lord over his relationship with his kid brother. He was sure he could take him, even in here.
The guy was about five-foot-eight max and looked like he could only bench press half of what Jake did. Besides, Jake had years of cage fighting and mixed martial arts training under his belt. He would give it a go even if the guy were ex-military.
With the hot Carrero temper of his, he was sure it wouldn’t take much, just another disapproving look his way. “Get up, dickhead, we’re here.”
He was a little too snippy with Arrick and threw him an apologetic frown. His own hangover was there even if it didn’t have the magnitude of Arrick’s, and he was feeling rougher than normal.
He should have had the sense to kill last night’s plans. He was sure as hell regretting it now. Who was he kidding?
A night of craziness, lots of booze, a blowjob in his car from that feisty redhead, and a night of hot and heavy sex back home with Trisha … Trudy … Fuck!
It was not something he ever bypassed.
Margo swept out into the foyer in a heavy cloud of Chanel No. 9 as soon as the elevator doors opened, like a breath of fresh air, ever-ready with her professional smile and attractive body wrapped in Christian Dior tailoring. She had served him well for years and was the temple of cool and efficiency he was looking for in a new assistant.
He needed a new Margo to replace her, or this would never work in the long run. Previous temporary assistants had either been useless or tried like crazy to fuck him, and he didn’t ever cross work with play.
He knew what he was looking for and hoped she was right with this one. He was in no mood for another repeat of Gloria. That chick had stripped naked in his office and tried to entice him with some oral before being handed her résumé and a swift shove out his door.
He was maybe a loose sex-mad playboy outside these four walls, but inside was a whole other level of play. Jake was serious about business and serious about never crossing that line.
He smiled back at Margo, his right-hand woman, and slid her arm in his affectionately, Arrick humphing and trailing behind with asshole, soldier boy in tow. All sorts of grumbles and complaints were going on behind them.
Arrick would be pointless here today, and Jake wondered if sending him home might be a better idea. “You look particularly suave today, Jake. A little tired, though.”
She smiled at him in that motherly way she used in private moments, fixing his collar over his jacket and tutting at his lack of tie. He rolled his eyes as she shook her head. “You know they make me feel like I’m being slowly choked.”
Jake maneuvered her beside him once more and removed her fiddling hand from his lapel. She was being a little too OCD about his appearance this morning, and he wondered if he looked especially rough. He was feeling uncharacteristically so.
“You want your run-through as we walk in?” Margo smiled at him adoringly, and despite the urge to lay his head on the floor and take a five-minute nap, he nodded instead.
Okay, this crap was seriously starting to catch up on him. Maybe he was getting too old to behave like a rock star.
Twenty-eight wasn’t that old, but today he felt ten years older.
God, he needed sleep.
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