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

“Emma? Mr. Carrero wants to see you.” A small childish voice comes up behind me, causing me to flinch and drop my duster. My heart hits a sudden stop as I inhale heavily pushing back my hair which is stuck to my face from the exertion of my enthusiastic cleaning, my eyes widening in disbelief.

What? Jake? He’s here?

My brain reels a moment with a lurch of possibility before sense smacks me in the chest sharply, kickstarting rapid heartbeats.

No. Giovanni! Of course!

I feel like an idiot. I throw a tight smile her way before turning smoothly to acknowledge the girl, pushing down signs of my overreaction and trying to calm my crazy thudding pulse rate. It’s one of the small receptionists, all blonde hair, and big boobs—like most of Senior’s staff. He’s sickeningly singular about the women in his employ, finding those whose looks are less like the woman he’s married to and more like the “bunnies” of the Hugh Heffner world.

“Okay, where is he?” My voice is even, despite my irritation and internal mental breakdown and a familiar wave of control moves across me unexpectedly.

“In his office, you’d better go right away, he’s in a bad mood.” The tone in her voice betrays her fear of Senior Carrero, but I ignore it. He doesn’t scare me in the slightest. His attitude toward his employee’s grates on my nerves at the best of times; I’m used to that familial Carrero glare and its wily ways. Jake hadn’t been against using that glare when bad moods struck, impossible scenarios or general mess ups. I think, somehow, coming here, I’ve lost all unease around Giovanni Carrero. My heart being ripped out by a man who shares his name has made me immune to the effects any Carrero could’ve tried to pull on me.

I push memories of Jake aside harshly swallowing that lump in my throat that hits me whenever my brain focuses on him. I can’t think about him right now.

Ever!

If I do, I’ll just dwell on how much I miss him and how much I think about the night we had sex … repeatedly. I’ll torture myself into insanity, and I can’t afford to do that. Mentally, I am only just starting to see glimpses of the old me and don’t want to scare her back into submission already.

my chin in the air once more, showing pride and defiance that I don’t feel. I am not going to be intimidated by this man. No matter how badly he thinks I am

leather throne behind his oversized, polished walnut desk. The sun is blazing in from the wall of glass behind him and the breath-taking New York scenery

every movement as I stroll nearer his desk, knowing that he would never ask me

see you?” I start tonelessly, my body rigid under his scrutiny. My nerves swirling uncontrollably low down in my belly despite my demeanor. There is no love between us, I am merely another irritation to his

with a sour taste in my mouth and I think we need to have a little

expected this moment

confession causes a sharp knife-like pain in my

No matter what? Despite sending me away …

it down harshly, almost unable to swallow. I’m not ready to

lightly, always direct and to the point, not wasting his breath on small talk. I know he’s not

drily, less confident at the turn of this conversation. Grasping my hands together as they start to tremble, I lay

care if he sent me to Timbuktu if it meant I didn’t

he waves his hand around, uninterested “… Jacob told me you excel at planning and juggling a high workload, so I hope you

fire, igniting my fear manically, but I remain impassive under his scrutiny while my blood freezes in my veins and

know, my relationship with Jacob is somewhat strained; so this …” he waves his hand to me then back to himself dismissively, “… is the compromise I made to keep him

shame and body weakening with cold anxiety. I suppose I should be grateful