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

It’s late, and he’s out with some blonde bimbo who posed in Playboy who’s all fake boobs and Botox with an irritating laugh and a weird pair of overly plump lips. We fly home tomorrow so he’s letting off steam Carrero style. Loose women, booze, and a nightclub. So very Jake.

I glance at the clock in distraction, noticing how quiet it is when he’s not around to frustrate me. I don’t get his fascination with nightclubs, all that loud, thumping music grinding bodies, and stifling air. But then Jake’s fascination with jumping out of planes and down buildings is beyond me too. He’s the original adrenaline junkie and never seems to sit still for long.

It’s a hot muggy night and I’m sticky in my sweats and T-shirt, my hair has been up all day and it feels itchy with my scalp screaming for release. I had a good workout session in the gym after dinner, but I regret eating first. I’m starving now due to the energy burn off, but don’t want to eat more. I’m always conscious of my figure, being on show all the time. Especially when paired with the Adonis known as Jake. Besides, food after 8.00 p.m. makes me feel bloated and restless.

A shower cools me off but I’m too clammy to put on more clothes. I look through my array of nightwear and pull out a short satin number that Donna bought me in four colors. My saintly shopper! She now takes my personal requests and I had thrown this in my suitcase in case it had been hot and stuffy.

It’s strappy and slight and looks cooler than my normal nightdresses, although, there’s a lot less fabric to it than my normal style. I leave my hair down, but I blow dry it; soft waves hang around my shoulders and I note how long it’s been getting. I rarely keep it down so it’s hard to judge how much it’s grown over the last few months. I should really get it cut to tidy it up and make tying it up less of an ordeal.

I go to bed around ten, taking my laptop with me so I can check my emails and reply to anything urgent.

* * *

I wake with a start, stifling and clammy and my throat’s parched. I was dreaming again of the darkness of my room and the creeping sensation of someone in the shadows, coming toward me. I remember I hadn’t been able to move, frozen with fear and I shake it off, pushing it down with the other five million of these vague night terrors I’ve had over the years. Memories mixed with fear and imagination don’t make for very pleasant dreams, even after twenty-odd years.

I reach for my glass by the bed and notice I emptied it when working on my correspondence. I’ll have to get up and get a drink now.

The clock tells me it’s 4.00 a.m. and still incredibly dark outside. I’m aware that the room is still eerily quiet as I slide out of bed, meaning Jake is still not back. He usually falls through the door anywhere between four and five when he’s gone out, unless he’s with Daniel Hunter. Then you see him when you see him, sometimes not until the next day. Daniel is the bad influence that Jake doesn’t need, and I worry when I know he’s with him. I’m glad we’re still in Seattle and he’s not with him now, getting up to god knows what.

I pad into the suite and across to the kitchen/mini bar area. I don’t bother with lights as the dim glow from the lamp in the sitting area is enough, and if I wake myself fully then I’ll never get back to sleep. I’m glad of the coolness through here and it feels good on my exposed skin after my clammy awakening.

The water from the fridge has a slight lemon taste and it makes me think of Jake and the endless bottles of water with lemon slices he goes through a day; he drinks as much water as he does alcohol and it’s him who started me on lemon water.

the suite door knowing that he’s just getting home, and it somehow comforts

the fun

I need. I freeze by the fridge in an attempt to go unnoticed, hoping he will head straight to his room and I don’t have to endure another of his low IQ bed mates. I lean on the counter and concentrate on sipping the water slowly, the coolness of the surface makes me

I’m dressed like a

of lace and satin that leaves very little to the imagination and is pretty see-through in places. I suddenly feel overly exposed and way too vulnerable. I also can’t run now as he’s opening the door. I push down my anxiety and stay still and

“Emma?”

Shit!

in the shortness of my nightdress and I straighten, suddenly awkward; he’s looking at me oddly and even at this distance I can tell he’s really drunk. I can smell the booze from here. I squirm slightly, noting that he’s looked me up and down in

Fuck. This stupid nightdress.

no accompanying

sound bright and bring his eyes back to my face but he’s still watching me, making me self-conscious. I gauge that he’s on the upper limits of drunkenness. A ten plus on the Carrero scale; he’s

come, tiny.” He slurs badly. I don’t know why he always asks, as I

It’s not my thing.

so I can make a break for it and cover up. I move to walk past him, but he steps in front of me clumsily as he tries to walk to the fridge at the same time. There’s

is

so close to me in a way I’ve never experienced, and I don’t like it at all. The amount of naked skin on show I

out my hand to steady him.

has he had to drink tonight? Jeeze, he smells

and not like Jake at