The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO) novel Chapter 206

I must’ve gone back to sleep at some point in the car ride through the city because I wake up, completely disorientated, in a very familiar bed; Sarah’s loud snoring and body next to me. I sit up, warily, as the spinning nausea and headache of the world’s worst hangover hits me, and I push down the urge to throw up.

The room is dark and quiet but that doesn’t mean much. Jake has blackout shades on all his windows, blocking out the sun whenever he wants to sleep. I scramble around under the sheets, catching the smell of him from the cushions under my head, and it instantly overwhelms with me with a mix of longing, pain, and upset.

I still don’t know how to feel. Great.

I slide out and carefully tread my way to the bedroom door, not wanting to wake Sarah or anyone else; especially when I’ve no idea what time it is. I open the door slightly and hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen, followed by a sudden rush of brilliant light which makes my eyes smart and I hurry to cover them from the blinding pain.

It takes a moment to get used to the adjustment and I check I’m still wearing clothes; last night’s dress and underwear are still intact; which surprises me. I would’ve expected Jake to at least undress me, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me in varying degrees of nakedness before. I guess I’m seeing how much of a gentleman he can be. The fact he chose not to sleep in bed beside me hints at him respecting my need for space. Part of me feels disappointed and I wonder how it would’ve felt waking up in his bed in his arms. The thud in my stomach hits when I realize that may never happen again. We may never sleep in a bed together again and I try to push down the thought, as a twisting wave of tears runs up inside of me.

I head out in search of a drink and some pain relief in hopes of distracting myself from those agonizing thoughts.

I pause when I see Leila and Jake sitting at the breakfast counter, across from one another, talking in hushed tones. They have their heads bent over coffee mugs and a plate of butter croissants, seemingly oblivious to me as I wander out quietly. Just the sight of him takes my breath away and my palms start to clam up.

“Give him time, Leila … You know Daniel’s head is royally fucked-up. He has some serious issues when it comes to love.” Jake leans out and covers her hand with his in a small affectionate gesture, which makes me want him back so badly. I miss having him act that way with me. I miss his attention and soft touches, his never-ending understanding, and the way he grounds me.

No! Don’t even go there. He hurt you. You’re not your mother, running back to men who don’t care about what they do to you.

My mind slaps me hard. Somewhere old PA Emma, voice full of stern disgust, finds her way back inside of my head.

I clear my throat quietly, spanning the area from his door to the kitchen, and they both look up. Leila smiles and Jake slowly rises; not hurrying to take his hand from hers. He walks around the kitchen making me a mug of coffee without lingering too long or looking at me. It hits me like a pain under my rib cage and it confounds me.

“Morning, you. How you feeling?” Leila looks freshly showered and wearing a T-shirt and shorts belonging to Jake. Her clean face, free from make-up, looks unbelievably young and cute; her blond, choppy hair is tucked behind

her ears making her look ten years younger. No hint of the tear-stained emotional wreck of last night and I can only admire her for it. I’ve no clue how awful I must look right now and she’s making me so self-conscious. I try to run my fingers through my hair, and I know my make-up under my eyes must be smeared.

I catch Jake’s eyes flicker to mine and wonder if he thinks that I look like an absolute mess; maybe that’s why he’s trying not to look at me.

Great.

“Like I’m dying,” I mumble, trying to get onto the stool beside her; my head aching and mouth dry like sandpaper. I’ve never felt a hangover this bad. I drop my face to avoid him, I obviously look like trash. I wish he could see me looking better; or showered at least.

Jake wanders over and slides the coffee in front of me with a glass of water. He reaches out for a pack of aspirin and places them beside me too, his eyes never leaving the task, not once looking at me.

I am stabbed with that tug of pain again. I want his beautiful green eyes on me, to look at me the way he always does. This is just painful. I want to feel like the center of his universe again, commanding his attention and attentiveness. I want him to tell me that I look nice, even though I know I don’t, because that’s what he does; what he’s supposed to do. I miss it.

“Thanks,” I utter softly, trying not to focus on him for too long. He pulls the plate of croissants over toward me.

“They’re fresh; picked them up about a half hour ago, on the way back from my run.” His deep voice is like molten sexiness and I can’t help but glance up at him. Our eyes meet but he’s the first to look away and it emotionally slaps me, hard across my heart.

Why won’t he look at me? Because I was a drunken mess last night and now probably look a hundred times worse. Hardly the picture of beauty he was probably imagining in our separation.

My head starts going crazy with suspicions, self-doubt, and panic, my stomach lurching once more, and my nerves get the better of me.

Has he been with someone else in my absence? Because he could, we’re not together and it’s who he used to be. Has he decided he doesn’t love me after all? Oh, my God … has he decided we’re not worth the fight?