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

Strange.

“I’m really glad you’re here … Both of you.” She smiles without looking up. I hand Jake the bowl of salad after dishing my own and watch her, I feel like there is so much to say yet I don’t have the words at all.

Where would I start? Twenty-six years of pent-up emotions and accusations, yet here we are, acting like me coming home for a weekend with my boyfriend is normal. Not that she’s even asked if that is what he is now. Maybe that’s what that look was all about, maybe it’s obvious.

Jake digs into his food, his normally chatty self, quiet, he’s leaving me to take the next step and for once I would rather ultra-sociable Carrero would just step in. He’s a master at idle chit-chat and dominating a conversation, normally.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying,” I mutter indirectly to break the silence.

Maybe it’s best to say it now and not let her think the whole weekend would be “catching up”.

I take a forkful of my chicken and dressing and watch the frown develop on her face. I try to ignore it.

“Well, even being here for a quick visit is enough for me … I do miss you, Emma.” She finally looks at me and smiles warmly. I grimace back but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, we’re doing what we always do. Playing nice and polite and pretending there’s no issue in front of other people.

Being back here, in this apartment, this town, and already I can feel myself closing. Old Emma mannerisms pushing in. The wall coming up between us. That controlled mask of indifference that Jake spent months peeling away. I don’t want to go back to her, to who she was. To that empty cold and feelingless shell of myself, the person who let no one in and never experienced real emotion. That girl is gone.

I could come here and do the whole heart to heart thing with her. Being faced with her acting as though life is so fricking normal just reminds me that she will never see my side of it. She will never take any blame in how I turned out and why

hand on my back and I glance at him, he’s studying my expression and frowning lightly. I realize I’ve been silently staring at my empty fork, probably with a blank expression as I mulled things over. My mother is chatting about nothing of importance, unaware that neither of us are listening. Jake strokes my back gently, relaxing his hand when I continue eating and returns to his own food, a silent little message between us that he knows I’m not okay being here. He smiles softly at me and a small look in his eye tells me he loves me. I inhale slowly and pull it all back down to

to try to connect with her, try

mom?

dates instead of sending them to the trash.” She grins, obviously proud of herself. She turns her smile on Jake impressively. “And the donation from the Carrero Corporation went toward fixing up the building and redecorating the shared sleeping rooms, thank you so much for that, Jake.” He smiles back but

When the hell did Jake donate anything to

glance at him, questioning with my eyes and he just shrugs. I’m irritated by this little new piece of information, something else he swooped in and solved with a cheque book, something else he didn’t

lately. My emotions up and down for the last few days. Of course, I’ve no right to be mad about this, it’s nothing. Jake’s company donates to causes every year as part of a tax relief move, of course he would donate to her. She’s my mother and he loves me. He probably didn’t even write the cheque, just forwarded her details to finance to be added to our list of preferred causes. I know because it used to be my job to do it. I sigh heavily and try to force more food into my mouth

I ignore him. Finally, fed up with the way

I can hear my mother carrying on the conversation about the home, but Jake sounds only half interested, his replies polite yet he’s not really conversing. I glance back and catch him looking at me every few seconds. He’s trying to read me,

me that he doesn’t see as much in New York, she rules down here in Chicago. Her moods all over the place, her temper short, and the suffocating air of this wretched

over and lay them down in front of them, returning for my own before I finally sit back down. I push my uneaten food away, curbing the urge to start tapping my nails on the table. There’s a growing energy of restlessness inside of me, that familiar pang to run very far away

at the mention of

yeah, she really is blossoming with the Huntsbergers.” There’s obvious affection in his voice and just like me, he’s