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“I’m never lonely, Mr. Carrero; I’m an independent person who doesn’t need assurances or company from other people to be happy.”

I realize I’ve let my mouth shift into gear ahead of my brain and have revealed more than I intended to. It’s another old Emma habit that annoys me despite years of trying to overcome it.

He narrows his eyes and studies me again, more probing as this excruciating chat continues, trying to peel away my layers.

“Oh, Emma, that’s not how a young girl like you should live her life,” Margo cuts in, alarmed. “You’re so pretty; you should have young men romancing you around New York.” She touches my shoulder with a motherly squeeze before returning to her previous position.

I smile emptily and ignore the urge to grimace at her words. If only she knew how that thought repulses me. I’ve learned from my life that romance does not exist in most men's minds, only sexual gratification, whether you consent to it or not.

“Sounds like you’re trying to talk her out of stealing your job, Margo,” Jake laughs, lifting his boyish expression to the older woman, a complete change from his first smile. This one seems more natural and even more devastating.

She shakes her head at him. “No, Emma knows I value her here. I think she’s a perfect fit.” She turns her cloudy gray eyes to me with a genuine warmth that slightly thaws me. “Not too sure how much you’ll like it once Jake starts running you ragged, mind you.” She winks and places a hand on his arm showing the special bond they seem to share, and I wonder at it.

I catch the affection flicker between them. They have a casual and comfortable ambiance between them, almost like a mother and son. That surprised me.

“I’m sure I can handle the demands,” I cut in confidently.

“Despite Jake’s public playboy reputation, Emma, I’m afraid he’s a workaholic. Surprising, I know, but you’ll get used to it; you’ll rack up plenty of air miles in the next few months.” Margo smiles again wistfully, this time patting Jake on the shoulder.

“You’ll soon get fed up with seeing the world,” he says, giving me a comical frown with those alluring eyes back on my face; I hate how they make me feel naked. “And the inside of hotel rooms,” he adds with a mischievous smirk that heats my stomach with a flash. My insides flip over.

“I’ve seen enough of those to last a lifetime,” Margo says, waving her hand and throwing him a glance I cannot translate, oblivious to my reaction. “Right, we have work to be getting on with. Emma, you’re with me for now.” She gestures to the door behind me, and I nod.

Mr. Carrero stands from his perched position on his desk edge and smiles, reaching his hand out again while never breaking eye contact. Holding me to it.

“To our working relationship, Emma,” he says. I accept his hand, ignoring the same tingling sensation his touch creates, my skin ignited, and I smiled tightly to disguise all the feelings.

Sighing with relief that this meeting is over, I nod before I turn and follow Margo out of his office, exhaling quietly and pushing all my taut nerves and anxious tension out with a blow.

Well, I survived meeting Jacob Carrero for the first time. My underwear didn’t self-combust, and I remained intact.

Strike Point one for me.

It’s after twelve.

My head is a little woozy and stuffy as it’s sweltering in the office now, stiflingly so and making me nauseous.

I’ve called maintenance twice to find out why they still haven’t fixed the AC; it’s blowing out tropical heat rather than cold air, and it’s baking us all. My clothes are clinging to me with dampness, and I feel oppressive because of the inability to breathe or find relief.

Margo has left for lunch, and I’m to follow up on her return. She was wavering in the heat as much as I was, but I told her I was okay to stay, wanting to prove my abilities.

Ever the hero, Emma! Good move.

This is a huge sign of trust, and I think she’s testing my capabilities, leaving me to man the fort and cope alone during a hectic schedule. I’m living up to her expectations and taking it all in my stride.

My switchboard lights up, and my insides tighten as Mr. Carrero’s voice comes across the buzzer.

“Emma, can you come in here please?” He says, deep, low, and sexy. At the sound of his voice, I get the now-familiar tingle in my stomach which I still have no control over.

I falter but reply, “Yes, Mr. Carrero.” This is not what I need when I’m melting into a puddle in my chair and already out of sorts.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I’m on my feet, trying to peel my blouse from between my shoulder blades and smooth it down without success. I pick up my notebook and pen and glide past Margo’s open office door and into his, pushing open the heavy dark wood and sliding in. I want this over quickly.

“Yes, Mr. Carrero?”

He looks casually seductive today, sitting behind his desk amid an open laptop and piles of folders.

His pale blue shirt has its top two buttons undone at the neck, his dark hair ruffled out of its ordinarily spiked style as though he’s been running his hands through it, and his sleeves rolled up, revealing one of the tattoos on his inner left arm, a reminder of his rebel teen years.

“Are maintenance any further forward with fixing the AC? It’s way too hot up here!” He leans back, putting his hands behind his head in a very ‘guy’ manner. He stretches out and showcases that beautiful physique, his biceps increasing in size while straining at the fabric of his shirt. It is hard not to get a slight quickening of the pulse rate.

Eyes down!

“I’ve called down twice, sir. They’re apparently on it.” I keep my eyes averted, my tone level sounding as normal as possible.

“Emma, you look like you’re about to pass out; I think you need to head to another floor and cool down.” His eyes run over me; I’m already conscious that I must look disheveled.

“I can’t leave until Margo … Mrs. Drake … returns, sir.” I blink at him and resist the urge to let my eyes wander over his figure.

“When is she due back?” He frowns at me, oblivious to the riot of hormones raging through my body. Or just unbothered by them.

“Soon, maybe fifteen minutes or so. She’s on her lunch early, and I’ll go on her return.” I sound polite and factual, trying not to squirm in my damp shoes and hoping I do not look as awful as I feel.

“Soon as she’s back, I want you to go cool down; it feels like it’s melting up here. In the meantime, I need to dictate a letter. Maybe you’ll feel cooler in here as I have the air vents open.” He gestures at the wall of windows, and I note the blinds moving a little as the small amount of air gets in.

“Ready when you are,” I say, holding up my notebook to move things forward and kill my train of thought. He turns his chair, facing the couch to my left, and gazes at it, deep in thought.

“It’s for the CEO of Bridgestone … a man called Eric Compton. You’ll find his details on the system.” He is in business mode, tone serious and focused already.

“Yes, sir.” I scribble it down in shorthand.

“Emma?” His questioning tone clicks my attention back to him.

“Yes?” I look up at the tone of his voice.

“You can sit down, you know?” He’s smiling at me, amused, and nods at the chair beside his desk, pretty much in his line of vision.

“I don’t bite … much!” He smiles with his I-know-I’m-irresistible look. My eyes snap at him, alarmed, and I see the thinly veiled humor.

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