Seattle is miserable.
It’s rainy and cold, and the meetings drag endlessly another boring board of directors and another dull, meaningless round of chatter. I’ve learned working in my new role how much business people like to set up meetings to discuss nothing much at all and will take several sessions to conclude on something minor.
The hotel is like every other we have stayed in, and, as usual, we have a penthouse suite, grand, opulent, and modern. Jake insists that we have rooms in the same suite when we travel, so I can be at his beck and call as we usually work late in them. I spent the best part of last night taking his dictation and running through his schedules and itineraries. Then he made me get up at the crack of dawn to jog with him in the rain.
Jake likes conversation when he runs, so whenever we leave home and his trainer behind, he harasses me into it. I had never jogged so much in my life until I started working for this man.
I’m tired by the time we get back to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and I’m not too pleased when, upon arrival, we’re met in the foyer by a familiar-looking redhead. I inwardly groan.
Felicity Crane!
This is the one with a voice like razor blades, and I have a headache coming on. She’s also a screamer and the reason I carry headphones and an iPod when I have to live in the same suite as Casanova Carrero. I am instantly deflated.
I give him a withering look and catch his smirk; he knows how much I love Felicity. She’s been on his date list for a few weeks with sporadic hookups because she understands the meaning of casual sex! Seattle is her home base, although she travels a lot and meets us in random cities.
“Miss Crane,” I smile tightly and look elsewhere as she embraces Jake eagerly with loud wet kisses on his cheek.
Gross. Have some class, for God’s sake.
“Oh, Jake, you look so hot in this suit, so very businessman of the year,” she whines in that painful voice. I try to block out the clingy baby tones as we hit the elevator. It’s like nails down a chalkboard.
“You look nice, Felicity. New hair?” Jake observes, although he only noticed because I pointed at her hair with scissor motions as soon as her back was turned.
“Oh, Jake, you noticed!” she beams, and I shake my head at him and turn away. Even though I’m standing with my back to them, I know she’s probably curled around him possessively like an octopus, and I roll my eyes.
I don’t get what he sees in half the bimbos he dates. He’s not a stupid guy, so he can’t get any enjoyment out of conversations with the brain dead. I guess it’s not the conversation he’s interested in. I reason as I turn slightly and eye up Miss Crane's endless legs and tight ass. His women all fit the same standard: gorgeous, tight-bodied, and dumb.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I look down to retrieve it absentmindedly.
“Emma Anderson,” I answer, not recognizing the number, glad for the distraction from the smoochy woman molesting my boss behind me.
“Emma?” It’s a male voice, one I vaguely recognize, something gnawing at me in the back of my mind as I screw my eyes up and try to place him.
“Yes, this is Emma.” My curiosity is evident. I sense Jake’s eyes homing in on me with interest, his gaze probing because usually all calls are related to him somehow, and he is also a nosy shit.
Being a nosy shit, he probably thinks I have finally found a date.
Felicity is babbling incoherently right behind me, and it’s distracting as I’m trying to listen to the hoarse voice on the other end who is mumbling annoyingly. I have to plug my other ear to hear what he is saying.
“Emma, I wasn’t sure if you would talk to me; it’s been a long time. Emma, it’s your father, Frank Roberts,” the faceless voice slurs. My blood freezes in my veins and the warmth drains from my face as I inhale fast; I’m at a loss for words as I zone out whatever else he is saying. The suffocating sensation in my lungs momentarily knocks me off-kilter, but I push it down harshly and find some resolve to answer.
“What do you want?” My voice sounds alien to me as I regain my composure, cutting off his babble. I sound as shocked as I feel and know that Jake will notice it too, a tremor of teen Emma slipping out.
“Emma, I just want to talk. I want to meet up, and maybe if you give me a chance ….” His voice is weak and gnarly; it causes creeping bile in my stomach to rise and anger to swirl viciously from the depths.
“We have nothing to talk about. Leave me alone,” I snap aggressively, my hands trembling as I fumble with the phone, trying to switch it off and disconnect the call. Jake’s hand is on my arm in a heartbeat, trying to turn me, but I stiffen to stop him, unable to look at him while feeling this prickly.
“Emma, are you okay?” He sounds concerned, and my cell vibrates again before I manage to turn it off; it’s the same number. I blanch at the screen and then reject it, this time managing to switch the cell to mute and shove it deep into my bag. I am overcome with emotion, and I don’t want to be closed in this elevator with Jake and Felicity the Crone anymore. I can hear Jake asking me what’s wrong again, but I’m fighting to get my head calm and straight before answering. I’m shaken.
“Emma?” His voice is intent. He pulls me back against him, his hard chest against my back, his face coming around my side to see me. I block him out, trying to get a hold of self-composed Emma before I can say a word.
Deep breath. Steady, calm, composed.
The closing walls begin to move back out, and I calm myself, pushing out of his embrace against the elevator door with a palm to steady myself.
“I’m okay. Really!” I glance at him with a tight smile, but his expression stays the same. He looks worried and only frowns at my reply. Felicity watches us silently, suspiciously.
Yes, Felicity. My boss often manhandles me; it doesn’t scream affair!
Jake knows nothing of my father; he’s never broached the subject. Not that I would ever volunteer the information if he did.
“You want me to send Felicity home?” he says right in front of her, and I catch her slight intake of breath, followed by the indignation in her voice.
“No!” we retort in unison. I don’t want this kind of awkwardness. I fake a smile and give him a reassuring look as we stop at our floor.
“It’s fine; it’s nothing,” I warn, impressed with how quickly I’ve managed to sound bright and normal. All those years of hiding finally pay off. I head to our suite door and let us in with my swipe card, knowing his eyes are on me. I can feel it. Felicity is, for once, silent, and I think she senses the oddness in the atmosphere.
“I’m going to bed. I’m tired. I’ll grab a shower and a light snack and hit the sheets.” I need to get away from his probing eyes because I know he will start to question me, and we’ll only end up quarreling about this.
“You don’t want to come for dinner?” He sounds odd, tense, watching me closely.