10

Less than twenty minutes later, I’m in the back of a large SUV with tinted windows and I’m sitting mere inches away from him. My briefcase on my lap and a pen in one hand. I’m preoccupied, mulling over the weirdness of this request.

“That habit is at odds with how you present yourself, you know?”

I look up at his remark questioningly. The way he is regarding me, and half-smirking my way.

What the hell is he talking about?

I realize I have a strand of hair between my fingers, absent-mindedly twisting it. I drop it and still my hands on my lap, internally cursing him out.

For god’s sake …

It’s the being unprepared, it has me on edge.

Nice move, Emma.

I scowl at teen Emma, always peeking at me from the recesses of my mind and smile tightly in response.

“Nervous habit?” he presses further, looking smugger.

“I don’t get nervous, Mr. Carrero,” I respond drily.

Because I’ve spent many years perfecting the art of hiding it and for some reason, you bring it out in me when I’m not focusing.

“Do I make you nervous?” he smiles; he’s leaning back in his seat comfortably, an arm on the window ledge and looks effortlessly casual. Always annoyingly at ease.

“I would not say that, Mr. Carrero.”

What would I say?

Because he does make me nervous, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how to act around him sometimes.

“Do I intimidate you?” his tone is steady and quizzical, a hint of playful and it’s already tiring me.

Are we really doing this?

“I just don’t know you well enough to feel at ease around you yet,” I answer, impressed with my diplomatic response under the pressure of his gaze.

“I don’t think any woman has ever told me I’m intimidating before.” His eyes twinkle mischievously, his focus on me intense.

“I don’t believe I actually said that,” I say. Sighing.

“You didn’t say no.”

“If that’s how you perceived what I said.” I smile tightly, but he laughs that only further grates on me. He’s infuriating.

“I’ve never met a woman who acts like you do around me!” he jests, pushing a foot against the door so he can lounge some more, and I throw him a cool yet questioning glance.

What’s that supposed to mean? Because I don’t throw myself at you, begging to be mauled?

“Women usually flirt … Make their intentions clear, or just quiz the crap out of me.” He shrugs, un-phased by the statement he made and oblivious to how much of an ass it makes him appear.

“Women openly tell you they want to bed you, Mr. Carrero?” I ask pointedly. I already assumed this was the case, the fact he expects it is a little repulsive. The fact he expected it of me, makes me mad.

“Something like that.” He grins at my honesty, watching me closely still, his body turned toward me slightly.

“That must be nice.” I look out at the passing scenery, completely uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, finding him highly inappropriate and praying to just get to Sunnyside quickly.

Only one more block to my apartment and I can get a reprieve from this crap. Why did I have to live so far?

“It gets old … I like being intimidating … That’s one I haven’t heard yet.” He laughs at me again and I try to ignore it, hating that his laugh is still nice to listen to, despite his flaws.

I cast him a shady look.

Must be so boring having women fall at your feet every day and tell you how gorgeous you are. Must be so hard to have been born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and no real problems in life, except how sexy your outfit is that day.

“In what way?” he says in afterthought, turning his gaze back on me once more.

“What way what?” I am tense. I hate feeling this way and watch my fingers carefully, making sure they stay steady on my lap. Willing him to leave me alone.

“In what way do I intimidate you?” he’s finding this highly amusing, judging by the expression plastered over his smug face, and the tone in his voice which screams tease.

“Is this necessary?” I bristle, tightly sitting upright and showing no hint of my inner feelings.

“What? Wanting to get to know my PA a little better? … I think so.”

Sure, if that’s what we call this … Ego fluffing.

“Probing.” I say evenly.

“I don’t think wanting to know why I make you so uncomfortable is probing … We’re going to spend the next few hours together; I think it’s necessary. It’s a novelty for me.” He looks smug without smiling. So talented.

“I never said I was uncomfortable; you’ve summarized what I said and concluded what you’re now pursuing. I merely said I don’t know you well.” He’s exasperating me now and getting pissed at your boss is never a good career move. I try to keep my tone steady and unemotional, but I even hear the note of dry agitation in my own voice.

“My apologies.” He laughs in that disarming way he has, and I sigh angrily. He knows how to get under my skin and seems to enjoy it.

“Are you always this defensive?” he asks, still pushing.

For the love of god …

I need to muster all my strength to remain impassive.

“Are you always so informal with staff?” I retort defensively. Gripping my jacket hem to try and keep my temper low and not show him how much he’s annoying me now.

“Emma, my staff are people I respect … People whose skills benefit me. I don’t see a need to act like a stuffed shirt because I employ them. I’m not my father.” I hate the way he’s studying me; I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, and I continue to ignore it. Continue to act cold.

“You’re not like him … I met him … You’re nothing like him.”

In that he knows how to behave. He understands the boundaries between boss and employee.

“Good. I don’t aim to be.” He shifts in his seat. “We don’t exactly see eye to eye on most things.”

I give him a cool look and note he seems a little less relaxed at that word again. Maybe talking about his father makes him uptight. I can relate to that, not that I would call the sperm donor a father, the absent sperm donor of my childhood.

“You’re not curious?” he glances at me quizzically, green eyes once again boring into the side of my face and making me uncomfortable.

“Curious about what?”

“Why I don’t get along with him? … Most women pry … They want the juicy details.” A hint of a smile in his voice, a gross generalization of my sex. I curb the urge to eye roll at him.

“No. It’s not my business.” I answer tightly; I’m not most women and I wish he would shut up. It’s a relief when we pull up in front of my building and I glimpse my chance of escape for a few minutes.

“This is me.” I point up at the block of attractive brown apartments rising above us; he regards me for a second then gestures I should go and I almost exhale with thanks.

“I’ll wait here, go get changed … Something feminine and soft … Something you wouldn’t normally wear.” He gives me an odd look, hiding his amusement and I have the sudden urge to throat punch him.

Something feminine? Really? I’m pretty sure any clothes made predominantly for women are classed as feminine!

Once in my apartment, I go straight to Sarah’s room. She’s still sound asleep in bed, so I quietly pull two dresses from the back of her closet with a grimace. This doesn’t sit well with me, but I pick the floral floaty number my mother would approve of. It’s not as short as the other one and I know she has shoes that match this. I go to my room so as not to disturb her and change quickly, despairing at my reflection with a curse and return to the SUV looking like some floaty hippy girl in love, in less than ten minutes.

“Better,” he says, his eyes appraising me quickly as I slide in. I ignore it. Dressed like this I feel exposed; I need my armor … my tailoring and hair to keep my PA persona with me. Dressed like this I’m like teen Emma and it scares me, takes away my defenses. I don’t like to be unprepared.

The car moves off again and I sit back trying to relax. It’s hard to do when every one of your nerve endings is on high alert. My legs are exposed a lot in this floaty dress, and I pull them in tightly against the seat, pulling the hem toward my knees sharply.

“Why all the secrecy?” I ask in attempt to interrupt the way he’s watching me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was checking my legs out. His gaze has certainly covertly swept the length of me twice since I returned.

“His father, much like mine, owns a majority share of his business. Family money. If either gets wind of what we’re meeting about then they would oppose this before I can get things in place. Once I maneuver this a certain way, they will be unable to refuse.” He sits back, turning to stare ahead, instead of at me, thankfully. Finally, no longer pinned down by those green eyes.

“So, you’re going behind your father’s back?” I blanche, blinking at him as though I have no real sense of this.

“For now. He would refuse to even consider it.” He shrugs and starts pushing at something with the toe of his boot on the door. An odd mannerism for who he is.

“Why?”

“Hunter and my father have a history. They let their rift cloud what’s good for business.” He moves closer to me, abandoning whatever he was kicking at. Almost a conspiration lean.

“And you think a merger, with someone your father hates, is a good business move?” I sit back in my seat trying to keep the distance, trying not to inhale that aftershave or unique Carrero scent now it’s closer. He smells too nice for my liking.

“If I do this right, then yes … We stand to make a lot of money.” He shrugs and goes back to looking out his window at passing scenery, moving back again and I exhale.

“What exactly are you going to be merging with?” I relax, glad to have my breathing space back.

“They’re primarily ship builders. I want to take our experience and build floating hotels and spas bearing the Carrero name. Modern conveniences with luxury fitness amenities onboard … Super boats.”

“Like cruise ships?”

“High-end cruise ships, only a lot bigger and more pamper based.”

“What makes you think they will be a success?” I’m intrigued by his plan.

“The Carrero name … It’s what Hunter needs for this venture to be plausible. Their reputation of late has suffered. They had a few multibillion-dollar disasters. They get our reputation and our name, and we get rights to the designs they have in progress.”

“So, this meeting …?” I’m impressed with his idea and know only too well the rich clients of Carrero would jump at a chance to stay on a floating spa. Carrero is all about luxury.

“To outline my plan … How I’m going to maneuver my father to agree to the terms. He could dissolve the whole thing.” He looks serious, a return of boss mode.

“I see … What’s expected of me when we get there, Mr. Carrero?” Best to know my part and be prepared so I can act accordingly.

“I just need you to look adoring if we see any lingering photographers. There may be press hanging around. Daniel’s going through a bit of a media scandal … Caught screwing someone of importance and then she dumped him publicly. Then, when we’re inside, I need you to keep detailed notes of what’s discussed so I can backtrack later.”

“Great.” I grimace, wondering what looking adoring entails. Slightly nauseous at the thought.

“You’ll just have to follow my lead, Emma, and don’t get too insulted if I need to touch you.” He throws me a smile, watching for a reaction, a little too closely. My eyes widen and I almost gasp.

“Touch me?” I flinch at the tone of my own voice betraying me. My heart rate ups a few notches and my palms become instantly clammy.

I never signed up for touching.

“You’re my date remember … I may need to hold your hand, or it might look weird … When I take women out, they’re usually inclined to hang over me.” He shrugs again, those piercing eyes back on the front of the car and giving me respite.

Of course, they are.

This makes me uptight. I want to run away.

Great … Now he wants to touch me and cuddle up for the cameras; nowhere did I sign up for that in my employment contract.

“I have your permission?” He glances at me hesitantly, waiting for a response.

“Yes.” It’s my job. I’m anything but sure, but what harm could it do?

Keep reminding yourself of that fact, Emma … I’m sure I can tolerate hand holding for a few minutes, even with him.

“Good.”