CHAPTER3

Floor sixty-five of the Carrero Corporation, Executive House, Lexington Avenue, Mid-town Manhattan.

My palms are clammy, and a wave of heat rushes through my body, threatening to make me sick. It frustrates me that I can't regain control as easily now that I'm here. Time seems to crawl as I watch the clock's hands move slowly, and the only sound I hear is the rushing of blood in my ears. Every noise and movement in the sleek, modern office feels amplified, and the shiny keyboard in front of me stares back expectantly. I haven't even started working yet.

This isn't like me at all.

I've taken twelve deep breaths in a row, but my hands still tremble. I feel as if I might collapse at any moment. I'm disappointed in myself for letting my nerves get the better of me, and I try to compartmentalize each emotion, tucking them away in that neat box in my mind.

Don't fall apart, Emma.

I scold myself and check my reflection once more in the glass wall opposite me, ensuring I don't betray any hint of what's happening inside. Despite the turmoil within, I appear self-sufficient, calm, and in control. As always, there's no trace of the conflict behind my cool blue eyes or the sleek tawny hair that frames my face. Years of practice have granted me the ability to act my way through life, concealing the turbulence beneath my composed facade. I won't allow anyone to see it again.

"Emma?" Margaret Drake's voice echoes towards me as the sound of her stiletto-clad footsteps draws closer across the white marble floor from her internal office. She looks composed and graceful in her tailored black pantsuit and shiny high heels.

"Yes, Mrs. Drake?" I stand uncertainly, not sure if I should, suddenly feeling nervous and shy in the presence of this woman I've been shadowing for over a week. She exudes professionalism today, with a sense of purpose. Despite my inner turmoil, I steady my hands on the hem of my waist and plaster a smile on my face.

"Mr. Carrero will be arriving shortly. Make sure there's fresh water with ice and clean glasses on his desk," she says, offering an encouraging smile, perhaps sensing my unease.

"Have the espresso machine ready in case he asks for one, and lay out all his mail and messages on his desk before he arrives. Once he's here, please stay out of his way until I call you for introductions." She gently pats my shoulder with a bright smile—an action I've grown accustomed to.

"Yes, Mrs. Drake," I nod, still trying not to feel overwhelmed by her effortlessly styled platinum blonde hair or her impeccably tailored jacket that highlights her curvy figure. When I first met her a few days ago, I was taken aback by her appearance. My previous mentor informed me that Mrs. Drake, in her fifties, was Mr. Carrero's assistant. Given her crucial role in the business, I had expected someone colder and more intimidating. Yet, here she stands before me, a designer-clad, composed figure of beauty and natural friendliness. Now she's become my mentor, and I can't help but admire her intelligence and exquisite presence.

"Oh, and Emma?" she pauses, turning slightly.

"Yes, Mrs. Drake?"

"This week, you'll meet with Donna Moore. She's Mr. Carrero's personal shopper, and she'll outfit you with appropriate work attire for trips, events, and all that red-carpet stuff he's so fond of." She smiles warmly, accompanied by a slight sigh and a raised eyebrow, suggesting her disapproval of his public antics.

I swallow, deliberately suppressing my nerves once again. While I was aware that my role would require me to be available for trips and functions on short notice, I wasn't informed that it would involve the public aspect of his life.

Damn!

"Yes, Mrs. Drake," I say, trying to calculate how much this will impact my savings. I'm worried it might eat into them more than anticipated. Perhaps a lot more.

"Company expenses will cover it, Emma. Mr. Carrero expects his personal staff to maintain a certain appearance," she winks at me. "Consider it a necessary expense for all employees on the sixty-fifth floor." Mrs. Drake possesses an uncanny ability to read people's minds. I appreciate this trait—it eliminates awkward misunderstandings and hesitations, leaving no room for second-guessing. I'm relieved that it won't affect my savings or jeopardize my future dream of buying an apartment in New York to reduce my commuting time.

"Thank you, Mrs. Drake," I nod as she begins to walk away.

"Emma?" She turns her head back to me, sporting a half-smile.

"Yes, Mrs.—"

"Please," she interrupts. "It's Margaret... Margo... from now on! Only my children's friends call me Mrs. Drake. You've been here for over a week, and I'm more than satisfied with your progress. We'll be working closely together, so please." She gives me a warm smile before turning on her expensive high heels and heading back towards the grand door of her own office.

I feel a sense of warmth and calm. I get the impression that Margo has taken a liking to me during my time here. However, I'm not sure I appreciate the casual suggestion of using her first name. I prefer to keep things professional and impersonal. I'm skilled at keeping people at a distance, and it's a boundary I prefer to maintain. Allowing business to cross into the realm of pleasure is a messy mistake I never, ever allow to happen.