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

Within a moment all of them are in his office, past Margo’s inner door, and it’s closed. I take a deep breath of relief and try again to type this document out, meeting with my usual success. Quick and swift skill with a keyboard now that I have no visual distractions.

It seems like an eternity has passed when my switchboard lights up, and the distant voice of Margot interrupts my concentration. I was unaware I’d been semi holding my breath until that second and give myself another stern inner shake.

“Emma, please come into Mr. Carrero’s office. Thank you.” The voice sounds distant and tinny on the remarkably high-tech machine.

“Yes, Mrs. Drake.” I flinch at my use of her full name, knowing she asked me to call her Margo. I mentally scold myself to not repeat the mistake.

I don’t make mistakes. Ever.

I slide up, smoothing down my clothes and putting my jacket back on quickly. Buttoning it up nervously as I walk the small distance to her door which blocks entrance to his.

It takes all my willpower to walk into the office, and all of my acting ability, dredged up from somewhere deep, to pull off the undaunted calm demeanor that I try to present at all times. My stomach-turning somersaults, and my throat drying up. I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble with it today.

“Ah, Emma, here you are.” Margo meets me as I pull open the heavy wooden door and slide in. Suddenly conscious of how short I am, even in my spike heels, next to her swan like body. She stands tall for a woman and I stand at around five feet four.

“Jake, this is Emma Anderson. She’s your new assistant in training. Your new number two.” She smiles fondly at me and gestures me to come to her. I move beside her and get the gentle familiar pat on my shoulder as she tries to put me at ease.

I blink a few times, pausing at the use of the name Jake.

Am I missing something here?

It dawns on me he prefers the name Jake. Brain clicking with memories from my research. He corrected many interviewers and I remember he likes the informality and encourages using his first name; shortened first name.

and I’m held captive to the floor, unable to speak as the object of my nerves gets out of his seat. This is what I’ve been afraid of! My reaction when faced with someone I find attractive, and it’s completely

notice the others in the room as he effortlessly glides up and toward me. He has the walk of someone who’s never doubted his own confidence or abilities. Someone who knew from early in life that he was devastatingly attractive and has the best kind of

him over the six-foot mark easily. Wearing all black; shirt and suit, minus a tie and top buttons open. The overall effect makes me breathless. He’s beyond underwear model hot, he’s like some female fantasy come

Jeeze.

and all I can do is reach out and shake the neatly manicured, yet oddly masculine, hand. I’m painfully aware of the way my heart quickens, and my breath is slightly labored at the tingling sensation of his skin on mine. I immediately feel

has me shifting on

my voice is feeble. I’m so pathetic and

eyes taking me in, leaving me no clue to anything

better acquainted on a first name basis.” He throws me a charming, soft smile, and I’m not immune to the effect. It’s a gesture that hints that he knows exactly what he’s

how you win over women is

mine, and I’m starting to feel clammy. Anxious Emma peeking her

Emma …

enough, only a slight waver in my voice this time and I’m relieved. If anything, my years of poise are saving me from myself

looks me over. There’s nothing in it, which surprises me. Just an interested appraisal as he tries to measure me up. I guess he’s used to women going all weak-kneed and pie-eyed at his presence and it

the expensive clothing. I know from photographs he prefers more casual

blushing, heat emanating from my roots and scowl at my inner-adolescent self. He removes his hand and walks away from me

several times to get the moisture back into my parched mouth and keep

in her eye, and I realize it’s a touch of uncertainty. Mr. Carrero moves off to a bar at the rear of the room, to the side of his desk, with his back to us to

Shit!

another receptionist with the hots for Mr. Carrero. Another woman to fall at the hurdle of

wrinkles in my clothes and straighten my body up, trying to get back my professional air and grace. I hate