Carrero Series 2: The Carrero Influence

“Emma? Mr. Carrero wants to see you.” A small childish voice comes up behind me, causing me to flinch and drop my duster. My heart suddenly stops as I inhale heavily, pushing back my hair which is stuck to my face from the exertion of my enthusiastic cleaning, my eyes widening in disbelief.

What? Jake? He’s here?

My brain reels a moment with a lurch of possibility before sense smacks me in the chest sharply, kickstarting rapid heartbeats.

No. Giovanni, of course!

I feel like an idiot. With a tight smile, I turn smoothly to acknowledge the girl, pushing down signs of my overreaction and trying to calm my crazily thudding pulse. She’s one of the receptionists, petite, with blonde hair and big boobs, like most of Senior’s female staff. He’s sickeningly singular about the women in his employ, finding those whose looks are less like the woman he’s married to and more like the ‘bunnies’ of the Hugh Hefner world.

“Okay, where is he?” I ask. Despite my irritation and internal mental breakdown, my voice is even, and a familiar wave of control moves across me unexpectedly.

“In his office. You’d better go right away; he’s in a bad mood.” The tone in her voice betrays her fear of Senior Carrero, but I ignore it. He doesn’t scare me in the slightest. His attitude toward his employees grates on my nerves at the best of times, but I’m used to that familial Carrero glare and its wily ways. Jake hadn’t been against using that glare when bad moods struck, impossible scenarios, or general mess-ups. Somehow, I think I’ve lost all unease around Giovanni Carrero by coming here. My heart is ripped out by a man who shares his name and has made me immune to the effects any Carrero tries to pull on me.

I harshly push aside memories of Jake, swallowing that lump in my throat that hits me whenever my brain focuses on him. I can’t think about him right now.

Ever!

If I do, I’ll dwell on how much I miss him and how often I think about the night we had sex. I’ll torture myself into insanity and can’t afford to do that. Mentally, I am only just starting to see glimpses of the old me and don’t want to scare her back into submission already.

I follow the girl silently from the room and head toward the long hall leading to King Carrero’s domain with my chin in the air, showing pride and defiance that I don’t feel. I am not going to be intimidated by this man. No matter how badly he thinks I am doing at my job.

Senior visibly bristles as I enter his office. For once, he’s alone and sitting on his leather throne behind his oversized, polished walnut desk. He looks like a formidable billionaire framed by his kingdom, small and tanned with highlighted brown hair and dark, evil eyes veiling that shrewd brain. The sun is blazing in from the glass wall behind him, and the breathtaking New York scenery pulls my eyes to the city for a second.

He watches my every movement as I stroll nearer his desk. Knowing that he would never ask me to sit, I don’t even try.

“You asked me to come to see you?” I start tonelessly, my body rigid under his scrutiny and my nerves swirling uncontrollably low in my belly, despite my demeanor. There is no warmth between us; I am merely another irritation in his life and another faceless employee.

“Yes, Miss Anderson, I did. My son sent you to me as a PA, yet I do not need more assistance. Your performance has left a sour taste in my mouth, and I think we need to chat briefly.” He doesn’t even have the grace to continue looking at me while saying it, his eyes on his laptop as he types as though I no longer interest him.

He’s not one to mince his words, and I stare at him blankly, unsurprised. I’ve expected this moment for a while, and I’m amazed it’s taken three weeks for us to have this conversation.

“My son obviously saw something in you, so I’m not ready to dismiss you just yet. In fact, he insisted you stay in this company indefinitely.” His unexpected confession causes sharp knife-like pain in my chest, and a slightly confused expression crosses my face. His uninterested gaze sweeps my features with a deadpan look when he glances up, betraying nothing.

Jake asked his father to keep me employed? No matter what?

Despite sending me away? But why?

Raw, painful emotion fills my throat as a giant ball wedged mercilessly, but I push it down harshly, almost unable to swallow. I’m not ready to dissect Jake’s reasons yet, if ever. It’s too hard.

Senior never says anything lightly, always direct and to the point, not wasting his breath on small talk. I know he’s not embellishing. If he thinks I am a drain on company finances, excess to requirements, I’d be gone already.

“So, what’s to be done with me?” I respond drily, less confident at the turn of this conversation. Clasping my hands across my waist as they start to tremble, I straighten my posture, trying to appear business-like despite the pounding thuds in my chest.

Right now, I wouldn’t care if he sent me to Timbuktu if it meant I didn’t get fired.

“You’re going back to Executive House. Floor thirty-two, Public Relations, organizing events and the like…” He waves his hand around, uninterested. “Jacob told me you excel at planning and juggling a high workload, so I hope you finally prove it to me.” His harsh penetrative gaze rests on me coldly, assessing me, but I steel myself against his stare.

The thought of going back to that building ignites my fear manically and surges through me like fire, but I remain impassive under his scrutiny while my blood freezes in my veins and my lungs turn to ash.

“I don’t know what happened between you and my son, Miss Anderson, but I am pleased with your discretion; there has been no real gossip. But I want to point out that you’re still employed under duress, as my son was very clear on this. And as you know, my relationship with Jacob is somewhat strained, so this…” He waves his hand to me then back to himself dismissively, “is the compromise I made to keep him happy. If I hadn’t made such a promise to Jacob, I would’ve fired you in under a week.” He releases his visual grip on me as an end to our discussion and goes back to tapping away on his laptop.

I lower my lashes and swallow involuntarily, my face hot with shame and my body weakening with cold anxiety. Despite my organs trying to shrivel up and die, I suppose I should be grateful for this. I still have a job.

What the hell has happened to me?

My job was my universe, the one thing I pushed myself for and excelled in. My life was consumed with work, which got me to where I was. Yet here I am, saved from unemployment because Jake felt guilty enough to ensure I kept my job.

The thought is sobering, and Giovanni’s revelation is a surprise. He and Jake were always so formal, distant, and cold that it makes me wonder at his willingness to please his son.

There may be more to their relationship than either Jake or I realize. Maybe Senior loves his son more than he shows.

“Jake didn’t need me anymore. That’s all there is to say,” I point out blandly, avoiding the eyes that have once again come to rest on my face at the utterance of my words. In a way, it’s the truth. He doesn’t need me. Not in the way I needed him, so there was no reason to keep me any longer.

“Right.” His voice is drenched in sarcasm. I glance up, and, for a moment, I catch a hint of challenge in his eye, maybe even a slight thawing of his typically cruel tight mouth. He’s almost as unreadable as his son. “Pack up whatever you brought here; you’re going there today. Wilma Munro is expecting you.” He focuses back on his screen, an apparent move to signal my dismissal. He’s issued his commands and now wants me to remove myself from his presence.

“Yes, sir.” I nod briefly and turn on my heel, needing no more direction. I walk out briskly, glad to escape, my steps seemingly confident despite my insides turning to mush. I can barely breathe with the weight caving in on me.

I’m not sure how to feel right now.

I’m going back! Back to Jake’s building, only floors below him, I don’t know how to navigate it or process it.

Chance sightings…chance meetings. I don’t know if I can handle it. I don’t think my heart can take it.

Waves of nausea return bitterly. My hands tremble at the thought of possibly seeing him again, and a sickening dread almost consumes me. This must be the worst decision ever made in the history of mankind, and somehow, I feel like it will be my complete undoing.