The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO) novel Chapter 19

I pick up my fork, starting to eat again now that my temper has improved along with my appetite. Feeling light and merry now, and ravenous once more.

“I like you when you’re like this.” He nods over at me, a happy expression on his face, eyes almost twinkling.

“Like what?” I look up innocently, the steak is so tender that I’m now savoring every mouthful. Appetite fully restored.

“More relaxed. PA mode on hiatus. When you forget to play cool.” It sobers me slightly, he has a way of making me forget myself when we are kicking back and much like now, it startles me. I don’t like letting that mask drop, I don’t like people seeing too deeply. Especially not him.

“It’s hard to focus when you ply me with alcohol,” I return a little too quickly, trying to reel in my controlled facade once again, pushing the glass away from my plate.

That’s enough wine.

“Maybe that’s why I do it.” He smiles softly, but it makes me suddenly uncomfortable. I ram food into my mouth and stare across the restaurant, looking for a diverting topic.

I gesture toward the far window with my fork, and he turns to look at what I’m pointing at spotting the movie star too, he looks back at me shrugging.

“He’s an asshole … I’ve met him. He’s a bit of a diva, and I mean look at him; he’s wearing a god-damn flower brooch … If that doesn’t scream closet gay, then I don’t know what does.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but for some reason this makes me laugh unexpectedly and causes me to choke on my half-chewed steak. I erupt into a coughing fit which has me grabbing for my wine, in an effort to dislodge the lump in my throat before I die.

“Jesus, Emma, don’t have a coronary over seeing some asshole Hollywood big shot.” He’s laughing at me now and I throw him a pained look. I gasp for air, thumping my chest to push my steak down and inhaling heavily.

“Fuck you.” I manage weakly, with a smile.

“Swearing at your boss is good grounds for dismissal … gross misconduct.” He jokes and tops up my glass again with a wink, highlighting the fact I just drank it all without meaning to.

“So, fire me.” I throw back, slugging down my red wine and finally clearing the food that is still caught in my throat and intent on half killing me. Not caring about intake while choking.

“Can’t fire my future wife!” he acts shocked and grasps his chest in a mock horror response before he chucks his fork down on his plate, also finished with his food. I ignore the wife comment, another frequent joke he makes.

“Dessert?” He gestures at me with a questioning brow. I shake my head; I’ve drunk too much wine, feeling a little tipsy now and I need to get out of here. I need coffee.

“Back to the grind, Bella.” He offers me his hand as I get up, chucking my napkin on the empty plate. I take it without hesitation and let him pull me with him, then immediately wonder when this stopped being weird. When we started holding hands casually.

How many times have I let Jake touch me without repulsion coursing through me? Or questioning it?

I walk behind him contemplating this fact, staring at our loosely held fingers. It’s become something as familiar as being around him now. Maybe it is just the nature of our relationship … Platonic and safe. We are real friends.

The jokes about sex, the best friend comments, and wife vibes are frequent, but I know it is all play. Jake is never anything but a complete gentleman, well, minus the man handling, but even that is not so bad. I’ve never had a platonic relationship with men of any age, and it makes me feel slightly strange now that I’m examining it.

* * *

The afternoon is chaotic. For the first time, I’m glad of my assistant, Rosalie’s, lingering presence; it feels like I don’t get a second to think.

Jake’s in his office with just as much going on as me; I’ve walked in there a dozen times with files and notes and each time he seems to be shedding clothes. He’s now sitting with his shirt pulled out, unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves rolled up. His normally styled hair is ruffled, messy, and his tie and jacket are strewn across his couch. His shoes are lying in the middle of the floor, a sure sign he’s stressed.

I pick up his tie and jacket and hang them neatly on the hooks behind his door, shuffling his shoes to under the edge of his desk with the toes of my stilettos. I move all the papers from the left side he’s been through and pile them neatly into an open box file, before laying out some stapled contracts he needs to sign to send down to legal. He smiles up at me briefly, leaning back so I can move the papers in front of him, before setting to sign them while propping his cell to his ear.

I move around in companionable silence, straightening and removing things from his workspace so he can take the new ones. Noting he’s done with the Hunter briefs; I scoop them up to take them. We have gelled this way for a while now, anticipating each other’s movements silently, and wordlessly working around one another. It’s something that just happened organically over the weeks.

“Emma?” he pauses on the cell, throwing me a soft look.