The Carrero Series 2: The Carrero Influence

Smoothing down my skirt, I enter the elevator and glance at the narrow mirror by the door, sighing as I take my place beside the other staff. I look better and feel better and more in control. I’ve only been back at Executive House for a few days, but somehow the familiarity of this building and the people who knew me as Jake’s assistant and treated me with more respect than I received at Carrero Tower have helped me get back on track.

I’ve barely slept the last few nights. My mother’s appearance has left my mind in a constant cyclone of thoughts and insecurities. I’ve replayed my mother’s words a million times; none makes sense to me. The obvious aside, I can’t wrap my brain around her admission. Ray isn’t the kind to up and run off because another guy gave him a taste of his own medicine. He only left years ago because I threatened to involve the police. Something more must’ve happened after Jake left him lying in the street.

What did Jake do to make sure Ray left for good? I need to ask him, but I know I can’t. Seeing him would be agony, and I can’t bring myself to ask him via email. As much as I want to know if he did something, I’m too scared to inflict that kind of pain on myself. Seeing him and speaking to him would kill me all over again. I need distance if I’m going to get over Jake Carrero. I should forget about Ray and my mother. Forget all of them.

I cast aside the idea of confronting Jake and getting to work, something I’m getting better at doing lately. I flick through the guest list on my iPad to distract my thoughts, a sea of influential guests, business tycoons, minor royals, A-listers, and a whole host of visiting dignitaries. The anniversary dinner will be a star-studded event, the talk of New York, and I’m a huge part of it. I sigh, pride rising as I think about how amazing this will be, but it doesn’t dent the huge dark void inside me.

The elevator chimes as we stop, and I move to step out, then realize it’s not my floor; we’re only on the ninth. I go back to my iPad, scrolling down the list, noting whom I need to contact and when. A few men in suits walk in, so I shuffle over to one side to make more space, eyes down on my screen as I check the credentials of some suggestions from Wilma: a Hollywood playboy and his wife, and a businessman from Europe, both seem possibilities for our invitation-only event.

My skin prickles unexpectedly, and I’m aware of a wave of heat soaring down my body, instantly alerting me to something. I glance up at the men who have crowded in and only see the backs of navy and black suits, nothing sinister. No one’s even looking at me. Two men move back beside me as more people shuffle in, and I freeze as my eyes connect with the ‘something.’ My whole world stops as I inhale sharply.

Jake walks in last, and his perfect green eyes catch mine for a millisecond, that handsome face, designer stubble, and charming boyishness. A frown crosses his face, and he shifts away quickly, almost like our connection electrocuted him. The effect is crushing; my heart instantly accelerates into overdrive and starts pounding in my chest like a painful war drum. I bite down on my lip to try to even out my heartbeat as my limbs turn cold and tremble.

This is another reason I can never ask him about Ray; that look said it all. He doesn’t want to know me anymore.

He’s wearing a tailored dark blue suit with a white shirt and dark tie, looking impressively handsome, like the CEO I first met almost a year ago. My breathing becomes shallow, and my hands turn to ice, but I’m fixated on his back, unable to remove my gaze from his tall physique.

His wide, sculpted shoulders emanate strength, his straight neck outlined by his short, dark hair.

The agony of his proximity is tearing at me. I ache to reach out and brush my fingers against him, the man whose touch was once as normal as breathing. The wave of emotion throws me a curveball, and I have to fight to keep the tears at bay, my body racked with intense agony. I never knew seeing him would hurt this much.

I’m still in love with him. Four weeks of separation have done nothing to quell the intensity of these feelings.

This is all too much. I knew there was a chance our paths would cross at some point. But I hadn’t expected it to be so soon or feel this awful. I stay stock-still, finding it hard to breathe. I’m trying my hardest to keep my eyes on my iPad and look like I’m in full control of my faculties. I force myself to be still.

The elevator stops a few times, and one or two men get on, pushing Jake to move closer toward me as I try to pretend he’s not here. His gaze stays forward, deliberately ignoring my presence in the small space, and never strays my way.

Oh, my God. Please, just acknowledge me. Please.

The doors open again, and a crowd of people fills the elevator. I stare at my iPad, on the verge of breaking down. Jake has no choice but to move even closer to almost beside me. The motion causes me to look up nervously. I catch his eye as he glances at me for no more than a second; his eyes are clear and steady, his expression blank before turning his gaze back to the door again. Giving me another jolt in my chest and another pain in my frazzled heart. He has no idea of the damage he is inflicting with his impassiveness. My heart is pounding; the weight in my chest is suffocating me. I can smell his aftershave, his unique scent, so close, yet so far. The tension is almost radiating from every part of my body.

God, I can’t do this. I miss him so much.

I glance up with relief as the elevator chimes at the thirty-second floor and push forward to get out. I need to cross in front of Jake to leave and almost brush against him, my skin surging with electricity and face flushing at the close contact.

“Miss Anderson,” he utters quietly and politely as I go, his deep husky voice causing me physical pain. I dart a look back quickly and see his tight, emotionless smile as confusion runs through me and then overwhelming sadness. He doesn’t seem surprised or fazed to see me. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, just bored.

“Mr. Carrero,” I breathe, holding in every ounce of heartbreak. I can’t manage a smile; I can barely manage a normal voice. As soon as I get to the open door, I flee, pushing my way free, ignoring the puzzled looks from the men in suits as I dash into the hall to solitude.

I’m hyperventilating by the time I hit my desk, overwhelmed and ravaged, struggling not to cry with the aftereffects of finally seeing him.

How can he still have this effect on me? How can I be so weak? My emotions, already taut from the last couple of days, are not helping. I’m overreacting and overtired. The chaos of events lately is destroying any hold I have on old Emma’s composure, breaking me down into this sniveling mess that I’m trying so hard to overcome.

Through the glass partition, Wilma throws me an odd look from her desk. Trying to fake a smile, I slump down in my chair and turn away to conceal my devastation. My head is aching. I’m cold and dizzy, and my throat is constricting so much that I can’t speak. I’m holding back tears with so much effort it makes my throat ache.

“Emma, dear, are you okay?” Wilma appears beside me as I rush to claw myself back together, not wanting her to see the mess I’m in.

“Yes, I… Ummm, I’m fine,” I try, but my voice betrays me, wobbling and breaking, raw with emotion.

“Emma, what’s happened? You left for lunch fine. Now you’re as white as a sheet. You look so distraught.” She gently rests a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch at the alien contact. It’s so unexpected from someone I barely know.

“Nothing,” I stammer. “I just didn’t feel well for a minute,” I lie expertly, pushing it all back inside.

At least my mother taught me one thing growing up, how to lie like a pro.

“Do you need to go home?” She takes my arm gently, forcing me to look at her, her expression grim as though I may break into a million pieces. This woman is so motherly and nice that it’s hard to keep my cold composure; it isn’t helping my mental state.

Why couldn’t I have had a mother like her instead? A mother who genuinely cared for my well-being.

“No…no. Honestly. I just need a moment.” My breathing is shallow with the effort of struggling to calm the erratic beating of my heart.

“Emma, go lie down and relax. It’s not like you to get overwhelmed.” She pats my arm and gives me a knowing look that says, ‘Do as I say. Now!’ I nod, relieved when her expression lightens, and she moves away so I can get going. I look around at the other staff typing away or on their phones at their desks. No one looks my way, and Wilma is hovering over a new girl, showing her some files.

I don’t hesitate. I take my bag and purse and head out as soon as I see her entering her office. I need some headspace so I can fall apart and reel myself in privately. It’s better than holding this all in and self-combusting later in the day.