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

I’m tired after my workout, meal, and hot bath yet I know I won’t be able to sleep. I’ve never been a good sleeper, not since childhood, as far as I can remember anyway. I have vivid dreams that make no sense, full of darkness and anxiety that leave me ravaged upon awakening. Working out before bed helps but doesn’t eradicate them and I’ve learned to live on the erratic, fretful sleep I do get. I still wish I could sleep like a normal person but I know that I may never lose the night terrors; my mind just can’t let go of the past no matter how hard I try to move on.

My cell vibrates, I jump with a small surprise noting it’s a text from Margo. I’ve been waiting for my job to infringe on me outside of regular working hours; I know they’ve been going easy on me so early into the promotion. I wonder if this is the start of full on PA mode.

Emma. I need you in an hour early tomorrow, you’ll be paid overtime. There will be a car for you, so you won’t be late. You’re meeting Donna Moore. x

That’s fine, Margo. Thank you. I reply instantly, uneasily.

This side of the job is new to me; Working early/late and specific outfits— the executives I handled on the lower floors weren’t as important, I suppose. I’m aware that working directly for a Carrero is a whole different ball game and in a way, I’m eager to start properly. I need a new challenge as things on the tenth floor had become stale and predictable.

* * *

The car arrives bright and early next morning, a black four by four; a typical Carrero choice and the driver is dressed in a black suit similar to the security who had been in Jake’s office. Their appearance makes me roll my eyes; aware the guy just loves all things black. I have since learned the guard that day was Arrick Carrero’s personal bodyguard; Jake doesn’t seem to require such things apparently.

Dressed in cream slacks and a dusky pink, silk blouse; a present from my mother for my birthday which isn’t until next week, but she mailed them early to be sure I got them. I don’t celebrate my birthday and Sarah knows not to even mention it when it comes around. I was surprised by my mother’s gift as she doesn’t normally bother, but for some reason, she did this time. I felt too guilty not to wear them.

They’re not as crisp and tailored as my usual attire but still passable and I’m obliged to put them on at least once as I know how expensive they must have been. I hate that she felt the need to buy me things like this. Motherly guilt of some sort no doubt. It’s her style, not mine, but she has tried.

My mother is an eternal hippy; romantic frivolity is more her forte and part of her appeal to men. Even in her forties, she’s still attractive and men find her desirable although the less I think about my mother’s taste in men the better. I shake away that memory, pushing down the revulsion in my stomach.

the familiar building; it’s gray and wet this morning and there’s a cold nippiness to the air. New York is coming up for a

to the early hour. Shivering, I pull my wool coat further around my shoulders

personal shopper and informs me I’m to be measured. Mr. Carrero insists that his closest staff receive this perk as his public image often sees him on red

their range of high-end grooming products and aftershaves, which means a never-ending media interest. The boy

and such. She pulls out her cell and snaps a few pictures of me from all angles. Unhappy with the images, she fusses at me to untie my hair. I hold my patience and irritation in check and follow her instructions.

around my face and having everyone croon about it.

masses of soft hair.” She smiles

at me, eyeing me up and swooping

it softens your whole face.” She regards me

want them both to back off and stop scrutinizing me, making me

up like a school mistress.”

image.” The heat in my cheeks rises with irritation, at the giggling, and the fuss over

darling, do you realize how gorgeous those waves are? You’ve such a lovely color of hair, like pale autumn leaves.” Donna

and brown splodged leaves on the New

Emma. I think you look so much more natural and pretty like this. I think Jake agreed yesterday.” Margo says a twinkle in

light, meeting with amused looks. Ignoring the warm sensation deep

is grinning at me in a mother hen kind of a way and it’s the first time I notice the lines around her eyes, giving away a slight hint to her age. Margo is

merely meant that you do seem a little severe and uptight when your hair’s back. I know that’s ironic, considering how I look, but you’re young and pretty. You’ve a natural beauty that you shouldn’t