Chapter 8

“Is that all, Mr. Carrero?” I finish my notes and push the pen into the top of the notebook with a sigh, clammier than ever.

“I’d like a copy of the letter sent to my father’s email, and I would like it if you would call me Jake… like I asked.” He lifts his feet onto his desk, swiveling his chair back to face it, and regards me with a relaxed, smug look.

“If that’s what you prefer.” I’m not used to employers showing so little concern for titles or behaving so casually. I’m slightly disappointed in the laxness I’ve seen from both Margo and Jake so far in how they behave with each other, making me uneasy. Here he is, sitting with his feet on his thousand-dollar desk like a lounging teenager, and it kills the image I once had of him.

“I’m not Mr. Carrero… that’s my father.” His eyes flicker to the photo on his desk, and I catch a dark shadow in them. He slides his feet back down as though not so relaxed with that one tiny word, ‘father.’ The feeling’s gone before deci