After lunch, the switchboard flashes like mad at my desk, and I see that Margo’s and Jake’s lines are busy. Nina also has a few calls on hold, so I buzz her to tell her to put one through to me too. I sit down to deal with the first call and catch sight of Margo waving through to me, smiling widely. She points at her head, then mine, indicating my hair, and gives me a thumbs-up, making me grimace. I don’t think I’ve worn it any other way than up during my five years working here. I feel like I’m not appropriately dressed, and it bothers me far more than it should. I focus on the call.
Half an hour later, I’m lost in thought, absorbed in a financial spreadsheet Jake needs by this evening. I’ve already plowed through a mountain of work today, making light work of it and not conscious of eyes on me until I hear the movement of feet shifting on the wooden floor. Looking up absent-mindedly, more from reaction than any actual realization, I see Jake Carrero standing staring at me. Six feet from my desk! I jump with fright, and my face flushes with heat and alarm.
Crap.
“Sorry, Mr. Ca … Jake, I didn’t see you there. Is there something I can do for you?” My voice is all over the place in my floundering panic, my heart thundering through my chest at a rate of knots as I dissolve into bumbling incompetence.
How did I not realize that my boss was hovering by my desk?
I’m supposed to be constantly aware and attentive to his every demand; this is such a faux pas on my part. I’m on my feet, trying to plaster on my most friendly and efficient smile. I’m breathless. It’s the fright he gave me; I’m flustered and trying to recover quickly, body trembling with the shock I gave myself noticing his presence.
“Emma …” He too seems at a loss for words, looking at me peculiarly with uneasiness to his expression.
“I was coming to give you these. You look different!” His face is unreadable; I can’t even say what it is. I remember my hair is down, and I flush because I’m not prepared. Feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, I falter.
“It won’t happen again. I took a shower at lunch because of the heat from earlier.” I need to reel myself in and claw back cool and control Emma. I’m babbling. I try a steadying breath to stop myself from looking like a complete idiot.
“You look …” His green eyes are piercing through me, and it’s sheer agony. All my little insecurities are peaking up in one fell swoop.
“Untidy? It’s not how I would normally come to work.” I’m rambling and fidgeting like crazy, unable to just regain control.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is not me!
Don’t fall to pieces, Emma, not now, please. Get a grip and pull yourself together.
And he’s acting … strange. I know it’s because he startled me, I feel undressed, and I’m at a loss being out of my comfort zone. My breathing is labored, and I’m trying to steady it without making it too obvious, but I’m doing a terrible job.
“I was going to say …” He clears his throat, trailing off, and looks down at the papers to change the direction of the conversation, probably because I’m making him uneasy.
Great job!
“So, here, I need these copied, emailed, filed. I’m sure you know the drill.” He glances up and away again as though he isn’t comfortable making eye contact.
I do, yes. I do, of course, I do. I don’t need direction. I need a focus.
I reach out and take them from him in haste, stopping myself from grabbing them like a madwoman.
“Yes, sir.”
“Emma, you look nice,” he interjects softly, glancing at me only to remark and then back at his cell in his hand. I ignore the strange look of apprehension on his face and the tingles inside me igniting with ferocity. Shifting nervously, I try to steady my hands on the folder. This escalated quickly, and I’m so angry with myself. I’ve just lost my calm and capable persona in milliseconds because of my stupid hair. I plaster on my relaxed expression and smile tightly to reel it all under wraps.
“Thank you, Mr. Carrero.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize I didn’t call him Jake, and it’s yet another reason to groan silently.
Try and regain composure. Years of control, Emma, and you go to mush in seconds.
I’m beyond livid with myself.
Margo appears a moment later, carrying a briefcase and a jacket. I’m grateful for her sudden appearance and instant calming abilities. I glance at the wall clock, noting it’s not even 2.00 p.m., and click on why they are going out. I had forgotten they have a meeting across town at the other Carrero building, Carrero Tower HQ with Senior, something to do with quarterly finances, and are leaving me to man the office.
King Carrero in his ivory tower.
He prefers to lord over his empire in a separate building from Jake several blocks away. I wonder if the coolness between them is why.
“Emma, divert any important calls, and message me if you need anything,” Margo instructs, “I’ve left you a pile of folders here.” she taps the small mountain she has placed on the desk, oblivious to my making a complete fool of myself. “Work through and leave by four-thirty.” She smiles, her hand hooking a stray tendril of my hair behind my ear, catching me by surprise. “I like this; it’s softer. You look so much prettier, more carefree, and younger.” She smiles again, eyes alive with genuine affection.
I try to smile and force back the grimace that arises within, uncomfortable with the attention this slight change is getting me, and I am fully aware it will never happen again. Nor am I entirely comfortable with the way Jake is still looking at me as she fiddles with my hair; I smooth it out of her grasp gently, nodding with a vague expression to avoid comment.
I sigh with relief when they utter goodbyes, turn and leave.
Thank God it’s over.
For God’s sake.
I haul over the folders to the front of my desk and angrily throw my hair back over my shoulder.
I’m angry at myself. I’m mad that Jake made me lose my cool without even meaning to. I’m angry that for a split-second, old Emma resurfaced, teenage Emma. Stupid, idiotic, nervous, fidgeting Emma raised her dumb head. I just made a complete idiot of myself.
I’ve spent years pushing her into the background and trying to replace her with the more capable and confident me. I don’t need her presence or her anxiety and insecurities near me. She’s a broken little girl who’s held me back, and the last thing I need is to see her again.