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

Chapter 51

We’re finally home and I’m standing in my apartment. Sarah isn’t here, as usual, only this time it vexes me. There’s a crap load of male things infused throughout the apartment, and that rank smell of Marcus’s aftershave is over everything. I’m also aware that in the whole time I’ve been gone, I have only heard from her via text, asking about my mother briefly. I know I shouldn’t be upset. I barely touch base with her either, but I assumed I would have at least one call. Seeing as I haven’t been home in a week or more.

I march to my room and throw my suitcase down in agitation. I have two whole days at home for a change as Jake is shooting off to see his momma for her birthday, and for once, I’m not being dragged along for the occasion. I know Jake loves his mother and he wants some alone time with her; he has plans to take her on a shopping and spa day, her and her two sons.

My room is depressing, after the weeks of jumping from grand hotels and Jake’s apartment for quick changes and flight stop overs. I kind of miss it, the view from his comfy ivory tower and the city lights stretching below. My room’s claustrophobic and it doesn’t help that there’s a mountain of clothes piled on three surfaces, from my coming home to throw out the contents of one suitcase, and pack another before leaving again. This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

My cell beeps and I open the text, surprised to see Jake’s name already. We’ve barely left one another and I’m still wearing my dress from the dance. Red satin and floor length, all boobs, and shoulders on show.

What are you doing?

I guess he’s bored already, maybe like me he’s feeling listless and unsettled. I’ve been home less than an hour and already I’m itching to get out of these four walls. He’s supposed to be getting an early night for his trip home tomorrow, but I send a reply with a smile on my face.

Staring at a sea of pointless clothes and wondering how I’m going to wrestle Donna’s gold card away from those itchy fingers.

Can I come stare with you?

His reply makes me smile and that usual warmth grows in my chest.

My poor boss is really losing the ability to socialize with normal people, beyond me … What am I doing to him?

It’s still early, so I guess he isn’t ready for sleep. I know I’m not.

What’s the matter, Mr. Carrero, are you lonely in your ivory tower without me?

Maybe.

His reply is instant. I stifle a giggle; he’s impossible at times, like a child who needs my constant attention. Unable to satisfy his own boredom and I wonder where all his buddies and playthings are tonight? Surely, he can’t only have me to hang out with.

If you’re that bored, how can I deny you my sparkling company?

I have to admit, I miss him already, I’m so used to his constant presence that standing here alone feels alien.

Are you home alone?

His replies are swift, and I can’t help but grin.

Aren’t I always?

He knows about Sarah’s almost constant absence, yet he knows that Marcus hangs around, even when she isn’t here.

I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

I close my cell and look around with a critical eye.

Should I clear up? It’s only Jake.

I giggle at my own lack of care in this matter.

When did I start thinking that way, “it’s only Jake?” How many weeks ago would I have had a meltdown at the thought of Jake Carrero in my apartment?

There’s noise at the door and I’m surprised he’s here already, that’s been less than five minutes. I’m pretty sure he won’t have been hanging about outside waiting, he’s not that kind of creepy at all. It can’t be him, he’s not rude enough to just walk in, he has impeccable manners.

I wander out of my room and come face to face with the sleazy Marcus, all floppy curly brown hair, and sulky brown eyes, in that unshaven face, carrying a brown grocery bag.

Great. So now he has a key.

“Marcus,” I retort drily. He seems to be a little shocked at my arrival and throws me a nervous tight smile. His lanky frame meandering into the kitchen to dump the bags.

“Emma, you’re home for once … started to think you were never coming back.” He grins with his lop- sided, toothy mouth. Eyes appraising me openly and I shudder.

“I’m guessing you’re living here now. If my whereabouts has become your concern?” I reply flatly, anger simmering low down inside of me. Sarah has no right. I despise this guy on normal terms but him living

here is worse. She should have at least asked me if I minded.

“Sarah and I decided to give it another go, and as she works a lot, we figured this would give us our best chance at working it out”

Great … thanks Sarah.

I grind internally.

“She didn’t think I should know?” I thinly veil the venom in my voice; I can’t stand this wiry, curly headed, out of work actor. Free riding from my friend in our home. My voice is tight and haughty and holds nothing back about my dislike.

“Why?” he blanches at me, and I push down the urge to throw something at his head.

“Because it’s half my apartment, and I pay half the bills.” I retort angrily. Incensed at his nerve.

“We kinda figured you would be moving out, seeing as you’re shacked up with your boss.” He smirks at me. His eyes do the usual route from my cleavage down to my ankles and slowly back up. He makes me sick. I’m beyond livid, and Sarah knows that nothing is going on with Jake and me. I swallow the urge to slap him across his messy head, tightening my fingers into fists by my side while swallowing hard.

Smarmy prick.

“I’m not shacked up with my boss! I work for him, that’s all.” my teeth clenched, my voice full of hatred.

“Yeah sure.” He’s eyeing me in that “know it all”, sleazy manner of his, that makes my skin crawl, his face saying, “I can imagine you screwing him in all those fancy hotels”

“Fuck you, Marcus! … You know nothing!” I turn on my heel and stamp back into my room, anger threatening to burst out, and I just cannot be bothered with him or a fight.

Asshole. I can’t stand that weaselly little prick. What the hell is Sarah thinking?

He has the good grace to disappear into Sarah’s room and I’m left to change quickly, diffuse the rage. Glad I have a lock on my door as I just don’t trust men like him. Men who undress me with their eyes, they always make my skin crawl.

I opt for jeans and a T-shirt and leave my hair in a ponytail loose, pushing thoughts of Marcus away as a minor irritation, and focus on the task at hand. If I’m going to be clearing out a mountain of clothes, then I would rather be comfy. It’s not lost on me that a few months ago I didn’t even own jeans, Jake mentioned that fact in sarcasm right at the beginning.

What has Jake Carrero done to me?

I haul a pile of clothes from the top of my dresser and dump it on my floor, followed by subsequent piles around my room and open my door so I can listen for Jake’s arrival.

Jesus, that’s a lot of clothes!

It’s almost half as tall as I am. I really need to clamp down on this excessive buying from Donna, it really is abusing the company assets, spending so much on stuff I don’t need. I haven’t even worn half of the things she sends my way. I’m like her own human sized dress up doll.

I put the iPad in my docking station and turn on some music, it’s the random mix of popular songs that I like, and the ones Jake has sent me over the months. Our weird form of communication. I smile at some of the titles, lifting my mood again as I scroll through, able to pinpoint the memory or the reason he sent each one.

I don’t hear Jake arrive, but Marcus lets him in and next thing he’s standing in my bedroom doorway, looking muscular in a red T-shirt, and jeans over sneakers. His presence, as always, makes me instantly happier.

“Hey.” He smiles but throws a wary look and thrusts his thumb over his shoulder, indicating he’s asking about Marcus. I shake my head and shrug; he knows I don’t like him. He frowns in response as I turn my attention back to the piles on the floor of my neglected bedroom.

“You weren’t wrong … I think Donna has dressed you for a year.” He exclaims, coming to sit on the floor beside me, sprawling out casually. It just looks odd on him, sitting among a sea of girl’s clothes on the floor in a girly bedroom.

“Whose fault is that? Mr, Oh, buy her an outfit for this, that and the next thing, every time you see her.” I poke at him with a giggle.

“Maybe I should tell her to ask you from now on, when you need something?” he holds his hands up in mock apology.