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

Wilma Munro is a shock to the system. She’s Scottish and her accent is thick, but not completely alien, with hints of a long New York residency. I can understand her for the most part and she’s a resolute force to be reckoned with.

Wilma is small with dark coppery curly hair and huge brown eyes set in a love heart face, standing at only four and a half feet tall. She catches me immediately in her whirlwind of enthusiastic energy. Loud, but not in a commanding way, she is direct, yet friendly and slightly terrifying. She whisks me into my new domain, assigns me a desk near her office, and outlines my responsibilities as part of her team, thrusting a box of files at me. She believes throwing someone in at the deep end brings out their inner worth.

“I’ve heard enough about you, Miss. Anderson, to know you were being wasted at Carrero Tower. I’ve great expectations of you.” She smiles warmly, soft eyes twinkling merrily as she fawns over the files.

“Mr. Carrero seemed to imply I was only seconds away from dismissal,” I respond drily, instantly regretting letting my mouth jump in before my head. I look away nervously, my fingers finding my jacket to twist the hem, anxiously.

Nice move just tell your new boss how useless you are.

“I’m particularly good friends with Margo Drake, my dear. I spoke to her only this morning when I was informed you were coming to me. She only had good things to say about you … and maybe some insight on recent behaviors.”

I spin to look at her, sudden shock on my face, blood draining away and leaving me cold as I get the jist of what that might mean.

What did Margo say to Wilma? What did Margo know? Surely Jake didn’t tell her about sleeping with me? Everything that happened?

My head is reeling. Of course, he would. He tells Margo everything about anything, she’s like a surrogate mother to him, and my old mentor. She would’ve pushed him to give her the real reason he let me go, unsatisfied with excuses and seeing through any untruths. He would’ve told Margo about that night for sure. That we had sex on the hotel floor.

But would Margo have told this woman?

Even when I was with Jake, I kept Margo up to date with how he was doing; she always wanted to know, she always seemed discreet to me, so I hope right now she has been. Wilma winks at me knowingly and I pale, my body turns colder as the blood leaves my veins and my mind almost crumbles hysterically.

Oh, my god.

She must know!

pain is almost overwhelming. I swallow hard, unable to think of a response, but Wilma doesn’t dwell. She sweeps away from me with

files, we have press releases and a guest list to sort out, that’s going to be your job.

I’ve been hit by a tornado, but I push it all down deep inside and stare at my hands as they tremble around the

This is my life now and they owe me

to care about the past, so neither

it and focusing on work as it’s what I do best. The schedule looks full and exhausting, but I see potential. I can work my ass off on this and regain some of my reputation. This job should be easy; easier than facing Senior Carrero and handing out coffee like a mindless minion every day. This is exactly what I need, a

finding myself engrossed in tasks I’m more than capable of and the hours fly by

it’s the end of the workday already and I have been so zoned I didn’t notice.

needed to forget

* * *

but something deep down tells me she hasn’t. I open the door slowly and take a deep steadying breath to calm my nerves. The small hall which opens into the sitting room, smells

won’t be home from her shift at work, Marcus is unlikely to cook so that means someone else is here. I stiffen as I walk in, glimpsing my mother

mother’s cooking expertise stops at heating a can of soup.

in Chicago and who is now being adopted by family friends of the Carreros’. He gave Sophie his word he would take care of her until her injuries are fully healed, despite cutting ties with me. It causes a dull aching lump to form in my throat and my eyes well up with tears I refuse to cry. My heart breaking all over

and pointless chatter. My rage simmers at the sight of her in my home, taking over. I’m still reeling with the fact that she

all as both heads spin round, minor surprise replaced with quick

of the little kitchen toward me, her face still bearing some of the yellowing bruises from being beaten to a pulp by the so-called man in her life. She attempts to hug me but meets my icy stance and statue like posture.

least she has the good grace to turn back to the stove and continue cooking, acting like she hasn’t

expression of hers, the one I’ve seen a million times on her frail little

the center of the room like a lost puppy. I take satisfaction in the hurt evident on her face, maybe it’s