The afternoon is chaotic. For the first time, I’m glad of my assistant Rosalie’s lingering presence; it feels like I don’t get a second to think.
Jake is in his office with just as much going on as me; I’ve walked in there a dozen times with files and notes, and he seems to be shedding clothes each time. He’s now sitting with his shirt pulled out, unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves rolled up. His usually styled hair is ruffled and messy, and his tie and jacket are strewn across his couch. His shoes are lying in the middle of the floor, a sure sign he’s stressed.
I pick up his tie and jacket, hang them neatly on the hooks behind his door, and push his shoes under the edge of his desk with the toe of my stiletto. I move all the papers he’s been through from the left side of his desk, pile them neatly into an open box file, and then lay out some contracts he needs to sign before sending them down to Legal. He smiles up at me briefly, leaning back so I can move the papers in front of him before signing them while propping his cell to his ear.
I move around in companionable silence, straightening and removing things from his workspace so he can take the new ones. Noting he’s done with the Hunter briefs, I scoop them up. We have gelled this way for a while now, anticipating each other’s movements silently and wordlessly working around one another.
It’s something that just happened organically over the weeks.
“Emma?” he pauses on the cell, throwing me a soft look.
“Yes?”
“Organize a flight to Seattle for us tomorrow early as possible. We’ll need hotel rooms for the next five days and a car.” He moves his cell into his neck some more and keeps signing papers.
“Yes, Mr. Carrero.” I always use his title when we’re in front of company, or he’s on the phone.
Another trip!
I sigh. We haven’t been back from London that long, and Jake was right: hotels no longer do it for me, even five-star suites. It’s just another few days of jetlag and a week of grueling work with men in suits who look at me like I am worthless. We have taken so many trips already that it feels like second nature to me now. The novelty has well and truly worn off. Margo was right.
***
It’s been two hours of watching him through the glass panels in the boardroom as I sit in a temporary office. So far, I’ve been in there several times with files, coffee, and whatever else he asks of me. I’m not needed right now, so I’m waiting for the next command via text in the next room.
I’m as fed up as he looks. My laptop is keeping my focus, but if this meeting runs over any longer, it will be a late night, and we have that flight to catch in the morning. I have an hour on the subway to get home to Sunnyside as it is after this, and I need to pack.
I watch him lift his cell from the table in front of him and start touching the screen with amusement on his face; I wonder what he’s up to. A second later, my cell buzzes, and I pick it up, seeing the email notification from Jake.
“Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift.”
Frowning, confused, I open it and find he has sent me a song: “Rescue Me” by The Raffetillies.
I stifle a giggle and shake my head, looking up through the glass and catching his quick eyebrow raise before turning his attention back to the meeting at hand. Biting my lip, I scroll iTunes for a suitable title and purchase a gift in return. I send it to him and wait to see if he will read it.
“Cry Baby” by Melanie Martinez.
I wait, watching for his reaction, and hold my breath while smirking as he pulls his cell over and slides the screen. After a couple of presses, he lets out a laugh and tries to cover it with a cough. I catch a couple of the stuffed shirts look up disapprovingly, but they say nothing, and the meeting continues. Jake throws me a wink with a slight shake of his head, very amused.
Back at you, Carrero. Not so funny now, are you?
I smile to myself, satisfied with our little joke.
***
Finally, the men all shuffle out of the boardroom as
I stand dutifully by, politely saying farewells like a good little PA.
Thank God.
Jake emerges with a smile and immediately pulls me to one side.
“Effective form of communication - music.” He grins at me, looking as gorgeous as he always does, if not a little tired, with dark shadows under his eyes.
“I can see this being abused by you. Now you’ve found something else that you think is clever and amusing,” I smile with a slight groan at the twinkle in his eye, and I can already predict this will become frequent.
“Say it with song titles; they say music can speak volumes,” he winks, resting his arm on the door jamb over my head so that he’s leaning into me incredibly close, smelling a little too divine. Citrus and Jake … a perfect combo. I’m aware of the odd glances a couple of passing assistants throw our way and try to press myself back to make it look less intimate.
“Hmmm.” I look down at the time and point out that we should head home, uncomfortable with the attention he’s drawing. After all, we have a flight to Seattle tomorrow, and I don’t want to fuel gossip.