Seattle is miserable.
It’s rainy and cold and the meetings drag endlessly, another boring board of directors, and another boring meaningless round of chatter. Something I learned working in my new role is how much businessmen like to set up meetings to discuss nothing much at all and will take several sessions to conclude on something minor.
The hotel is like every other we have stayed in and as usual we have a penthouse suite. Grand, opulent, and modern. Jake insists that when we travel, we have rooms in the same suite, so I can be at his beck and call as we usually work late from them. I spent the best part of last night having him dictate memos and running through his schedules and itinerary before he made me get up at the crack of dawn to jog with him in the rain.
Jake likes conversation when he runs, so whenever we leave home and his trainer behind, he harasses me into it. I have never jogged so much in my life until I started living with this man.
I’m tired by the time we get back to the hotel, it’s been a long day and I’m none too pleased, when upon arrival, we’re met in the foyer by a familiar looking red head. I inwardly groan.
Felicity Crane!
This is the one with a voice like razor blades and I have a headache coming on. She’s also a screamer and the reason I carry headphones and an iPod when I have to live in the same suite as Casanova Carrero. I am instantly deflated.
I give him a withering look and catch his smirk; he knows how much I love Felicity. She’s been on his date list for a few weeks with sporadic hook ups, because she understands the meaning of casual sex! Seattle is her home base, although she travels a lot and meets us in random cities.
“Miss Crane.” I smile tightly and try to look elsewhere as she embraces Jake eagerly, with loud wet kisses on his cheek.
Gross. Have some class for god’s sake.
“Oh, Jake, you look so hot in this suit, so very businessman of the year.” She whines in that painful voice. I try to numb out the clingy baby tones as we hit the elevator. Like nails down a chalkboard.
“You look nice, Felicity … New hair?” Jake, as observant as ever, although he only noticed because I pointed at her hair with scissor motions as soon as her back was turned.
“Oh, Jake, you noticed.” I can hear her beam and I shake my head at him and turn away. Even though I’m standing with my back to them I know she’s probably curled around him possessively, like an octopus and eyeroll.
I don’t get what he sees in half the bimbos he dates. He’s not a stupid guy so he can’t get any enjoyment out of conversation with the brain dead. I guess it’s not the conversation he’s interested in, as I turn slightly and eye up the endless legs and tight ass of Miss. Crane. His woman all fit the same standard: gorgeous, tight bodied, and dumb.
My cell vibrates in my pocket and I look down to retrieve it absentmindedly.
“Emma Anderson,” I answer, not recognizing the number and glad for the distraction from the smoochy woman molesting my boss behind me.
“Emma?” It’s a male voice, one I vaguely recognize, something gnawing at me in the back of my mind as I screw my eyes up and try to place him.
“Yes, this is Emma.” My curiosity evident, I sense Jakes eyes honing in on me with interest, his probing gaze, because normally all calls relate to him in some way, and the fact that he is also a nosy git.
Being a nosy shit, he probably thinks I have finally found a date.
Felicity is babbling on incoherently right behind me and it’s distracting as I’m trying to listen to the hoarse voice on the other end, who is mumbling annoyingly. I have to plug my other ear to hear what he is saying.
“Emma, I wasn’t sure if you would talk to me … It’s been a long time … Emma it’s your father, Frank Roberts.” The faceless voice slurs and my blood freezes in my veins, the warmth drains from my face, inhaling fast and I’m at a loss for words as I zone out whatever else he is saying. The suffocating sensation in my lungs momentarily knocks me for six but I push it down harshly and find some resolve to answer.
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