Chapter 23

Abandoning whatever he was kicking, he moves closer to me, leaning in almost conspiratorially. “Hunter and my father have a history. They’ve let their rift cloud what’s good for business.”

“And you think a merger with someone your father hates is a good business move?” I sit back in my seat trying to keep the distance, trying not to inhale that aftershave or unique Carrero scent now that it’s closer. He smells too nice for my liking.

“If I do this right, then yes. We stand to make a lot of money.” He shrugs and goes back to looking out his window at passing scenery, moving away again, and I exhale.

“What exactly are you going to be merging?” I relax, glad to have my breathing space back.

“They’re primarily ship builders. I want to take our experience and build floating hotels and spas bearing the Carrero name. Modern liners with luxury fitness amenities onboard. Super ships.”

“Like cruise ships?”

“High-end cruise ships, only a lot bigger and more pamper based.”

“What makes you think they will be a success?” I’m intrigued by his plan.

“The Carrero name. It’s what Hunter needs for this venture to be plausible. Their reputation of late has suffered. They’ve had a few multibillion-dollar disasters. They get our reputation and our name, and we get the rights to the designs they have in progress.”

“So, this meeting is …?” I’m impressed with his idea and know only too well that the rich clients of Carrero would jump at a chance to stay on a floating spa. Carrero is all about luxury.

“To outline my plan, how I’m going to maneuver my father to agree to the terms. He could dissolve the whole thing.” He looks serious, a return to boss mode.

“I see. What’s expected of me when we get there, Mr. Carrero?” It’s best to know my part and be prepared so I can act accordingly.

“I just need you to look adoringly at me if we see any lingering photographers. There may be press hanging around. Daniel’s going through a bit of a media scandal. He was caught screwing someone of importance and then she dumped him publicly. Then, when we’re inside, I need you to keep detailed notes of what’s discussed so I can backtrack later.”

“Great.” I grimace, wondering what looking adoringly entails. I’m slightly nauseated at the thought.

“You’ll just have to follow my lead, Emma, and don’t get too insulted if I need to touch you.” He throws me a smile, watching for a reaction a little too closely. My eyes widen and I almost gasp.

“Touch me?” I flinch at the tone of my own voice betraying me. My heart rate cranks up a few notches and my palms become instantly clammy.

I never signed up for touching.

“You’re my date, remember? I may need to hold your hand, or it might look weird. When I take women out, they’re usually inclined to hang over me.” He shrugs again, those piercing eyes returning to the front of the car, giving me respite.

Of course, they do.

This makes me uptight. I want to run away.

Great, now he wants to touch me and cuddle up for the cameras; nowhere did I sign up for this in my employment contract.

“I have your permission?” He glances at me hesitantly, waiting for a response.

“Yes.” It’s my job. I’m anything but sure, but what harm could it do?

Keep reminding yourself of that, Emma. I’m sure I can tolerate hand-holding for a few minutes, even with him.

“Good.”

As the car draws up to a grand hotel, I’m not relishing what’s coming, and I’m trying not to over-analyze any of this. Before I know it, his driver is opening my door. I step out as Jake follows behind me. We immediately see the hovering photographers with long-lensed cameras hung around their necks, and their interest is piqued as Jake slides smoothly up behind me, standing up to his full height. Even without touching me, I sense him behind me. My body is suddenly on high alert at his proximity, nerves twisting my insides to mush.

“Ready?” he whispers and loops his fingers in mine as he comes around to lead me toward the doormen. I can’t concentrate on much else except the uncomfortable heat of his skin on mine and the way his hand practically dwarves my own. I’ve never let anyone hold my hand, well, my mother maybe once or twice, but she doesn’t count. It’s not a welcome experience, and I have to steel myself against the urge to recoil and snap my hand away. It’s too soft, too hot, too intimate.