The Carrero Influence
~ The Dance ~
Jake shifted in his seat for the millionth time and tried once more to get his brain to focus on the laptop on the highly polished walnut surface. He just couldn’t keep himself on track lately.
The sound of a female clearing her throat startled him to look up and the impatient stance of Margo waving a piece of paper with a raised eyebrow suggested she had been talking to him while he was zoned out.
“Sorry. What?” He frowned and sighed heavily, pushing himself back into his molded leather chair and rolled up his shirt sleeves in agitation.
“For God’s sake, Jacob. I’ve been here for three minutes talking at you. You need to just bloody well call her.” Margo’s stern tone did nothing to help his current mood, and he just shifted forward again to try to ignore that intent, chastising glare. He went to his laptop, ducking his head in an attempt to dodge her blue eyes and typed something aimlessly.
“Don’t k
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I smooth my hands down my pencil skirt and gray tailored, jacket before touching up my dark lipstick in the hall mirror with a look of resignation. My eyes scan and check my tawny hair is neat and sleek in its high bun and I scrutinize my reflection again, to make sure it’s precise. Sighing once more, I take a steadying breath trying to ready myself, pushing down the gnawing ache of anxiety and nerves deep inside my gut.I’ll do.I look as good as I know I’m capable of, and I’m mildly satisfied with what I see before me; a cool, efficient image of cold poise and gray tailoring that exudes authority, with no hint of the turmoil of emotion inside me. I narrow my eyes to look for any flaws to my immaculate armor, any stray hairs, specks of dust, or creased fabric, and find none.I’ve never been a lover of my own reflection, with my young appearance, cool blue eyes, and pouting lips, but nothing is out of place and I look right for my new rol
Floor sixty-five of the Carrero corporation—Executive house. Lexington Avenue, Mid-town Manhattan.My hands are clammy and heated and my heart’s pounding so hard I may throw up. It’s grating on me that I’m unable to reel it all back in so easily now I’m here. I’ve been watching the hands on the clock move very slowly for the last few minutes and all I can hear is the sound of my own blood rushing to my ears. I’m sensitive to every noise and movement around me in the stark modern office, and the fact the shiny new keyboard in front of me is gazing back expectantly. I’ve not even begun to start working.This is so unlike me.I’ve taken twelve deep breaths in a row, yet my hands are still shaking, I feel like at any moment, I may pass out. I’m disappointed at myself for letting my nerves get the better of me and I’m trying to pull back every single emotion one at a time, to stow into that neat box in my he
I’m absent-mindedly twisting my pen in my fingers back at my desk, and it gives me a huge surge of anger—at myself. Stilling the pen sharply and laying it down with a smack and scowling at it as though it’s the cause. Another habit from childhood that I’m permanently trying to overcome, and just one of the subtle tells that I’m not who I perceive to be. The only flaw in my perfect demeanor that I grasp so tightly onto.I fidget.And it’s so at odds with the persona I’ve managed to create for myself since my teen years, getting away from the life I once knew. A stark reminder of how far I’ve come from my childhood in Chicago, and a habit that annoys me on a serious level. Not only because it betrays the confidence I seem to emit, but also because it’s juvenile. My fidgeting occurs on many levels. For the most part, I’ve mastered it, but with my raw nerves this morning; I’m betraying myself.I still my ha
She’s thinking I’m just another receptionist with the hots for Mr. Carrero. Another woman to fall at the hurdle of meeting him.I try to pull myself together, smooth invisible wrinkles in my clothes and straighten my body up, trying to get back my professional air and grace. I hate that I’ve shown signs of being rattled. I don’t normally break under so little pressure, and I’m not impressed with myself.I catch her expression warm up, 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 also reassuring. Just out of sight to my far left on the long cream Italian leather couch, the younger man is sitting below some huge prints of modern artistry depicting what might be naked women. I blink and look again. Yes, naked women.Ughhh. Really? Could you be anymore playboy, Carrero?Arrick is disinterested i
It’s after twelve. My head is a little woozy and stuffy as it’s ridiculously hot in the office now, stiflingly so and it’s making me feel nauseous. I’ve called maintenance twice to find out why they still haven’t fixed the AC yet, it’s blowing out tropical heat, rather than cold air and baking us all. My face is flaming, and my pulse is beating so fast and hard, like I’ve been sprinting. My clothes are almost clinging to me with dampness, and I’m irritated because of the inability to breathe or find relief. It’s oppressive.Margo has left the floor for lunch and I’m to follow on her return. She was wavering in the heat as much as me, 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 very busy schedule. It’s been three days since
“Is that all Mr. Carrero?” I finish my notes and push the pen in the top of the notebook with a sigh. Clammier now 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 to 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 who behave so casually. I’m more than a little disappointed in the laxness I’ve seen from both Margo and Jake so far. In the way they behave with each other and it has me a little at unease. 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 d
Back at my desk after lunch, the switchboard is flashing like mad and I Margo and Jake’s lines are busy. Nina has a few calls on hold, so I buzz her to tell her to put one through to me too. I sit down to deal with the first call and catch sight of Margo waving through to me, smiling widely. She points at her head, then mine, indicating my hair and gives me a thumbs up, which makes me grimace. I don’t think I’ve worn it any other way than up during my five years working here. I feel like I’m not dressed properly, and it 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 wooden floor. Looking up absent-mindedly, more from reaction than any actual realization, I see Jake Carrero is
It’s raining by the time I get home and I’m soaked walking from the station through the few blocks to my apartment. Sarah’s out when I get into our third-floor apartment and I take in the coziness of the small rental instantly relaxed. I’m glad to be home, surrounded by our familiar comforts and bright rooms, our feminine haven. I’m tired, it’s been a long day and I want to take a bath and go to bed.I screw up Sarah’s note, informing me she has made Mac “n” Cheese, from the counter. It’s in the refrigerator for me and I throw the paper in the garbage.The perks of living with a chef. She works late most nights and I can’t remember the last time we spent more than five minutes in each other’s company. Our lives comprise occasional brief conversations in passing, and notes on the refrigerator which suit me more than when I had to keep her company every evening.Sarah has been my best friend since f