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4

“You don’t need to be so … stiff around me, Emma.” He relaxes back in his chair, casually dropping his hands on his arms. “You can thaw a little. I know you’re efficient. You won’t get sacked for relaxing.”

He looks amused, but annoyance churns down low inside of me. We can’t all be laid back, Mr. Born Into Money. I have come to do a job, and I have pride in my professionalism; it’s the one area where I know I excel.

“This is me relaxed,” I respond tightly, training my expression not to betray my mood.

“If you say so,” he responds, with that irritating smug look he has that’s the other side of Carrero.

It’s that face that makes women drop their panties in a blink, but he also has this annoying male know-it-all impishness and arrogance, like he’s always on the verge of a good joke. It has to be one of his most infuriating qualities.

“So, to the CEO of Bridgestone …?” I say with a tight tone, raising my eyebrows and tapping my pen on my notebook, indicating we should move on.

He frowns at me, holding my gaze for a moment, unphased, but I ignore him, then look down at my paper expectantly.

“I’d like a copy of the letter sent to my father’s email, and I would like it if you would call me Jake … like I asked.” He lifts his feet onto his desk, swiveling his chair back to face it, and regards me with a relaxed, smug look.

“If that’s what you prefer.” I’m not used to employers showing so little concern for titles or behaving so casually.

I’m more than a little disappointed in the laxness I’ve seen from both Margo and Jake so far in how they behave with each other, making me uneasy. Here he is, sitting with his feet on his thousand-dollar desk like a lounging teenager, and it kills the image I once had of him.

“I’m not Mr. Carrero … that’s my father.” His eyes flicker to the photo on his desk, and I catch a dark shadow in them. He slides his feet back down as though not so relaxed with that one tiny word, ‘father.’ The feeling’s gone before deciding if I saw it or not, and I shiver inwardly.

“Okay, Jake!” It’s almost painful to use his name, even if he insists. And it’s forced. He returns smiling, looking pleased, and I stand, indicating my departure.

“Do you like working here, Emma?” He catches me off guard as he leans forward onto his desk, resting his arms in front of him, halting my escape for a moment. I paused, stunned by his question.

“So far,” I answer without thought, wondering why he even cares.

“Five years is a long time to work for this company.” Despite my reservations about him, his voice is soothing, and I note how his tone alters when he’s not talking business.

He has this way of capturing you with just a subtle change, drawing you in. His relaxed, natural voice is almost sensual but overall comforting and genuine. He seems to have the art of relaxing people down to a finely-honed skill, the art of making women want to chat to him effortlessly.

Very good, very clever. Win over women with feigned interest. Smooth player.

“I guess I’m someone who likes to stick to something and work at it. See where it takes me.” I tap my notebook against my hip in distraction, trying not to react to that voice.

“You don’t care that you’re spending your twenties missing out on life?” He’s appraising me again, something he does whenever I’m faced with him, and I still haven’t gotten used to it. His eyes eat me up as though I’m a puzzle to be worked out. I guess I interest him on some level.

“Perspective, Mr. Carrero; this job offers me opportunities most twenty-six-year-old women never get the chance to experience,” I say, shrugging, trying to will those sharp eyes to look elsewhere and stop tearing into me.

“You never aspired to be anything different?” He watches me thoughtfully, if not a little intensely.

“Such as?” I shift on my shoes. The rising awkwardness from his attention is getting a little extreme, my uneasiness growing.

“Managerial role?” He grins; he is amused by his remark, but I fail to see the joke, so I smile frostily.

“I don’t have the qualifications to be in a managerial position, Mr. Carrero. I worked hard to climb from admin assistant to here; this is where I want to be,” I retort, easily irked by him again.

“I guess that’s lucky for me then.” He throws me his I-can-charm-anyone smile, and I internally bristle. He obviously knows he’s hot and uses it to his advantage too well. I’ve seen how he turns it up on women and seems to like the reaction but turns more ‘dude’ with men. I want to get out of here.

“Perhaps.”

“Time will tell, Miss Anderson. You can go now; see if Margo is back to relieve you. That letter is not urgent so take lunch first.” He smiles me away with what I assume is his ‘charming’ look, obviously bored with my lack of female swooning, and I turn to leave, exhaling with relief.

“Very good, Mr … Jake.” I throw him a tight smile and catch

the flicker of amusement in his eye, aware that he knows how much I dislike informality.

Very good, Carrero; I’m here for your fucking entertainment.

I walk toward the heavy door, my mood ruined by his smug face, a hot bubbling inside my stomach.

“Wait. Can you book a table for two tonight at Manhattan Penthouse at nine in my name?” He adds quickly, and I turn back to nod that I have heard him, face blank with no reaction.

Wonder which playmate is being wined and dined tonight?

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