The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO) novel Chapter 89

I finally get home to the apartment in the early hours; Jake had two cars awaiting us at the airfield, so I didn’t need to share the journey to his apartment first. This was a new move for him, we’ve always shared cars coming home, so this spoke volumes about what he’s feeling about me.

He never looked at me once in our entire trip. At the car, he just guided Marissa into his and departed, left me standing in the dark with Jefferson. Empty and broken hearted, aching to have him say something, anything to me. I almost burst into tears right then and there.

Sarah’s in bed and I know, without checking, that Marcus is here too, I can sense his presence in the house and smell his scent lingering in the air. Cheap cologne and deodorant. The thought makes me uptight, but I ignore it and go to bed, taking sleeping pills before I lay down. I’m going to need them; my head is so full to bursting that I know if I even try and extract one tiny piece it will unravel like a chaos of elastic bands. That I’ll unravel, and I’m so done with that kind of pain and turmoil.

* * *

I wake to the sounds of Sarah making breakfast, my head groggy, but at least I managed to sleep. A dreamless black haze and the usual night tremors waking me early before I finally dozed again. The aftereffects of the pills are not great, my mouth is fuzzy, and I feel hungover, so I venture through in my robe for a drink, seeing her moving from stove to worktop effortlessly. The kitchen has always been her territory and it shows in her graceful, easy movements. She seems different this morning though, tired, and uptight.

“Hey,” I breathe, and she startles at my voice then breaks into a warm smile. I notice the lack luster in her normally bright eyes causing the hint of concern to unravel inside of me.

“Hey, stranger … God, I love your hair, when did you do that?” she gushes at me, the tight look dissipating quickly. I automatically reach up and tug on a strand self-consciously and shrug.

“Felt like a change.” I respond emptily.

Has it really been that long since we have been in each other’s company?

“You look so different … So un-Emma,” she giggles and continues to work, returning to the stove. “You hungry?” she goes back to focusing on the batter she’s mixed up and drops some in the pan she’s oiled.

“Not really.” I answer tightly. How can I tolerate food while my insides are violently rejecting life? I notice the pile of letters on the surface and rake through to give myself a task, flinching at the ones addressed to Marcus and cast her an accusatory look.

“So, were you going to inform me I had a new roommate?” I utter quietly, catching her pause for a second, the whisk stills, then resumes.

“I really didn’t think you would care, Emma … You’re never here … I get so lonely.” Her voice wavers and I’m hit by sudden guilt from her admission.

Lonely? Sarah?

The bright and sassy soul of the party, surrounded by her chef friends and busywork schedule … Since when? I rake her up and down, my mind racing over recent months, pushing further back … I guess I have never realized, always focusing on my own turmoil, and keeping her at arm’s length.

I regret it instantly, as though for the first time, seeing it from a different viewpoint. I’ve left her alone so many times, assuming she has everything she needs. That she didn’t need me. No one else ever did and I never gave her a second thought.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” my voice breaks unexpectedly, my emotions just tumbling out from a deep recess as the walls start to crumble; her head snaps around, staring at me in confusion. Overwhelming shame and guilt hits me hard in the gut, almost winding me and I struggle to inhale. “I’m sorry that I’ve been such a shit friend … And a worse roommate.” The dam I’ve been holding back all-night bursts, such a tiny reason to fall apart, yet here it is, that extra nudge of my vulnerable emotional bubble and it pops. Magnificently.

Truly losing the plot, Emma!