Chapter 5

“Miss Anderson.” He extends his arm, and all I can do is reach out and shake the neatly manicured yet masculine hand. I’m painfully aware of how my heart quickens, and my breath is slightly labored at the tingling sensation of his skin on mine. I immediately feel betrayed by my own body.

I push it down, abhorred that I should react this way. It’s alien to me and has me shifting on my axis. I don’t particularly appreciate being forced out of my comfort zone and into new experiences.

“Mr. Car—” my voice is feeble. I’m so pathetic and obvious.

“Jake! Please,” he cuts in, those green eyes taking me in, leaving me no clue about anything going on behind them. “Margo informs me she’s happy with you so far and will be training you a little more extensively to step in fully when she retires. I guess that means we should get better acquainted on a first-name basis.” He throws me a charming soft smile, and I’m not immune to the effect. It’s a gesture that hints that he knows exactly what he’s doing with it.

So, this is how you win over women, Carrero? Melting them with seductive smiles. Ughhh.

My insides lurch unexpectedly. His hand is smooth and unusually warm in mine, and I’m starting to feel clammy. Anxious Emma peeks her head out only to be pushed back down with a firm shove.

Be still, Emma. Stay cool. Stop drooling.

“I’m grateful for the opportunity.” I sound normal enough, with only a slight waver in my voice this time, relieved. If anything, my years of poise are saving me from myself; I’m pulling off the pretense. He subtly looks me over. Nothing in his glance surprises me, just an interested appraisal as he tries to measure me up. I guess he’s used to women going all weak-kneed and pie-eyed at his presence, and it interests him that I don’t appear to be. I’m glad he can’t see my internal reactions, as they are behaving disgustingly now.

I’m unnerved that this close, he is just as handsome as his internet pictures, if not more so, and his ruggedness is intimidating. The sheer power of his shoulders and toned body strains behind the expensive clothing; I know from photographs that he prefers more casual attire than suits and ties most of the time. He is sexually intimidating and so far out of my league in every way, and now, that is so much more obvious in the flesh. I swallow hard.

“May I get you a drink, Emma? You look flushed.” His voice pours over me like honey, and my mouth dries up fully. I’m blushing, heat emanating from my roots, and I scowl at my inner adolescent self. He removes his hand and walks away from me with a confident swagger toward his desk.

I’m uneasy and try to regain my equilibrium, swallowing several times to get the moisture back into my parched mouth and keeping my eyes off his ass. A drink would be good right now if only to release my throat.

“Thank you.” I catch Margo watching me with a strange look in her eye, and I realize it’s a touch of uncertainty. Mr. Carrero moves off to a bar at the rear of the room near the side of his desk; with his back to us, he fixes me a drink.

Shit!

Margo’s thinking I’m just another receptionist with the hots for Mr. Carrero. Another woman to fall at the hurdle of meeting him.

I pull myself together as I smooth invisible wrinkles in my clothes and straighten my body up, trying to regain my professional air and grace. I hate that I’ve shown signs of being rattled. I don’t usually break under so little pressure, and I’m not impressed with myself.

I see her expression ease, and I relax.

Perhaps I’m overthinking this.

I’m mindful that Mr. Black Suit is standing in a corner by the window, glaring at us; it’s a little intimidating but reassuring. Just out of sight to my far left on a long, cream, Italian leather couch, the younger man is sitting below some huge modern art prints depicting what might be naked women. I blink and look again. Yes, naked women.

Ughhh. Really? Could you be any more playboy, Carrero?

Arrick is disinterested in what’s going on. He’s playing with his cell, and I think I recognize the Angry Birds music that Sarah loves to irritate me with. An annoying, immature game, although Arrick looks like he is in his late teens to early twenties, so he can be forgiven for a juvenile game.

“Here you go.” Jake’s voice cuts into my thoughts, bringing my attention back to him as he hands me a tall glass of something bubbly with ice. It’s a cold, transparent liquid that tastes sweetly tropical with an unexpected hint of alcohol. I take a sip and give him a grateful smile, expecting flavored water.

I guess it’s not ice water.

It’s a cocktail, and I try not to show my surprise, but a tiny frown hits my brow before I can correct it, inwardly startled.

Surprising. He did this himself. Booze at work, though?

“Thank you, Mr.… Jake,” I correct, and he gives me a soft smile again. With minor annoyance, I ignore the butterflies rising from my stomach.

Stop behaving like a fourteen-year-old!

“So, Emma, Margo tells me you’ve worked here for just over five years?” He sits back perched on his desk, relaxed, and eyes fixed on me. He is distractingly good-looking, especially when he lounges all casual and charming, very un-boss-like. Margo stands close by, listening.

“Yes. I’ve worked on various floors but mainly the tenth.” I place my glass on the table, so my fingers don’t toy with the rim, showing my nervous habits. I’m disappointed to be putting it down; it tasted amazing, but I’m not a fan of alcohol at work, or anytime for that matter. He has skills with making drinks, though.

“You were Jack Dawson’s assistant for a while?” he questions as his eyebrows dip unusually cutely, and he studies me non-intrusively.

Get a grip, Emma!

“Yes, Mr. Dawson.” I smile, although I know, it must look as forced as it feels. Dawson, in his late sixties, small, and overweight, is an unbearable letch who grabbed my ass at every opportunity and pressed himself against me whenever I tried to pass him. I was surprised he still had those kinds of urges at his age. He’s the type of man I’m used to dealing with, with his wandering hands and sleazy smiles, the kind of man I can handle after years of practice.

“It was Miss Keith who recommended you for this position, I believe?”

Easily distracted by his appearance, I home in on his beautiful teeth, white and perfectly lined up, just as a billionaire’s mouth should be. I wonder how much he spends on dental work yearly to be Carrero model material.

“Yes. I loved working for her while her assistant was on leave; I learned much from her.” A surge of satisfaction at how relaxed and calm I sound again rushes through my body. My nerves are settling, and his effects on me are winding down with effort. I guess the shock of meeting him is finally diminishing.

I was wrong about his eyes, though. In person, they’re the most gorgeous, pure green I’ve seen; the photographs don’t do them justice at all.