Chapter 8

• After lunch, the switchboard flashes like mad at my desk, and I see that Margo’s and Jake’s lines are busy. Nina also has a few calls on hold, so I buzz her to tell her to put one through to me. I sit down to deal with the first call and see Margo waving to me, smiling widely. She points at her head, then mine, indicating my hair, and gives me a thumbs-up, making me grimace. I don’t think I’ve worn it any other way than up during my five years here. I feel like I’m not appropriately dressed, which bothers me far more than it should. I focus on the call.
• Half an hour later, I’m lost in thought, absorbed in a financial spreadsheet Jake needs by this evening. I’ve already plowed through a mountain of work today, making light work of it and not conscious of eyes on me until I hear the movement of feet shifting on the wooden floor. Looking up absent-mindedly, more from reaction than any actual realization, I see Jake Carrero standing, staring at me. Six feet from my desk! I jump with fright, and my face flushes with heat and alarm.
• Crap.
• “Sorry, Mr. Ca … Jake, I didn’t see you there. Is there something I can do for you?” My voice is all over the place in my floundering panic, my heart thundering through my chest at a rate of knots as I dissolve into bumbling incompetence.
• How did I not realize that my boss was hovering by my desk?
• I’m supposed to be constantly aware and attentive to his every demand; this is such a faux pas on my part. I’m on my feet, trying to plaster on my most friendly and efficient smile. I’m breathless. It’s the fright he gave me; I’m flustered and trying to recover quickly, my body trembling with the shock I gave myself noticing his presence.
• “Emma …” He too seems at a loss for words, looking at me peculiarly with uneasiness to his expression.
• “I was coming to give you these. You look different!” His face is unreadable; I can’t even say what it is. I remember my hair is down, and I flush because I’m not prepared. Feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, I falter.
• “It won’t happen again. I took a shower at lunch because of the heat from earlier.” I need to reel myself in and claw back cool and control Emma. I’m babbling. I try a steadying breath to stop myself from looking like a complete idiot.
• “You look …” His green eyes are piercing through me, and it’s sheer agony. All my little insecurities are peaking up in one fell swoop.
• “Untidy? It’s not how I would normally come to work.” I’m rambling and fidgeting like crazy, unable to regain control.
• Fuck, fuck, fuck.
• This is not me!
• Don’t fall to pieces, Emma, not now, please. Get a grip and pull yourself together.
• And he’s acting … strange. I know it’s because he startled me, I feel undressed, and I’m at a loss being out of my comfort zone. My breathing is labored, and I’m trying to steady it without making it too obvious, but I’m doing a terrible job.
• “I was going to say …” He clears his throat, trailing off, and looks down at the papers to change the direction of the conversation, probably because I’m making him uneasy.
• Great job!
• “So, here, I need these copied, emailed, filed. I’m sure you know the drill.” He glances up and away again as though he isn’t comfortable making eye contact.
• I do, yes. I do, of course, I do. I don’t need direction. I need a focus.
• I reach out and take them from him in haste, stopping myself from grabbing them like a madwoman.
• “Yes, sir.”
• “Emma, you look nice,” he interjects softly, glancing at me only to remark and then back at his cell in his hand. I ignore the strange look of apprehension on his face and the tingles inside me igniting with ferocity. Shifting nervously, I try to steady my hands on the folder. This escalated quickly, and I’m so angry with myself. I lost my calm and capable persona in milliseconds because of my stupid hair. I plaster my relaxed expression and smile tightly to reel it all under wraps.
• “Thank you, Mr. Carrero.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize I didn’t call him Jake, and it’s yet another reason to groan silently.
• Try and regain composure. Years of control, Emma, and you go to mush in seconds.
• I’m beyond livid with myself.
• Margo appears a moment later, carrying a briefcase and a jacket. I’m grateful for her sudden appearance and instant calming abilities. I glance at the wall clock, noting it’s not even 2.00 p.m., and click on why they are going out. I had forgotten they have a meeting across town at the other Carrero building, Carrero Tower HQ, with Senior, something to do with quarterly finances. They are leaving me to man the office.
• King Carrero in his ivory tower.
• He prefers to lord over his empire in a separate building from Jake several blocks away. I wonder if the coolness between them is why.
• “Emma, divert any important calls, and message me if you need anything,” Margo instructs, “I’ve left you a pile of folders here.” she taps the small mountain she has placed on the desk, oblivious to my making a complete fool of myself. “Work through and leave by four-thirty.” She smiles, her hand hooking a stray tendril of my hair behind my ear, catching me by surprise. “I like this; it’s softer. You look so much prettier, more carefree, and younger.” She smiles again, eyes alive with genuine affection.
• I try to smile and force back the grimace that arises within, uncomfortable with the attention this slight change is getting me, and I am fully aware it will never happen again. Nor am I entirely comfortable with the way Jake is still looking at me as she fiddles with my hair; I gently smooth it out of her grasp, nodding with a vague expression to avoid comment.
• I sigh with relief when they utter goodbyes, turn and leave.
• Thank God it’s over.
• For God’s sake.
• I haul over the folders to the front of my desk and angrily throw my hair back over my shoulder.
• I’m angry at myself. I’m mad that Jake made me lose my cool without even meaning to. I’m angry that for a split-second, old Emma resurfaced, teenage Emma. Stupid, idiotic, nervous, fidgeting Emma raised her dumb head. I just made a complete idiot of myself.
• I’ve spent years pushing her into the background and trying to replace her with the more capable and confident me. I don’t need her presence or her anxiety and insecurities near me. She’s a broken little girl who’s held me back, and the last thing I need is to see her again.