Within a moment all of them are in his office, past Margo’s inner door, and it’s closed. I take a deep breath of relief and try again to type this document out, meeting with my usual success. Quick and swift skill with a keyboard now that I have no visual distractions.
It seems like an eternity has passed when my switchboard lights up, and the distant voice of Margot interrupts my concentration. I was unaware I’d been semi holding my breath until that second and give myself another stern inner shake.
“Emma, please come into Mr. Carrero’s office. Thank you.” The voice sounds distant and tinny on the remarkably high-tech machine.
“Yes, Mrs. Drake.” I flinch at my use of her full name, knowing she asked me to call her Margo. I mentally scold myself to not repeat the mistake.
I don’t make mistakes. Ever.
I slide up, smoothing down my clothes and putting my jacket back on quickly. Buttoning it up nervously as I walk the small distance to her door which blocks entrance to his.
It takes all my willpower to walk into the office, and all of my acting ability, dredged up from somewhere deep, to pull off the undaunted calm demeanor that I try to present at all times. My stomach-turning somersaults, and my throat drying up. I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble with it today.
“Ah, Emma, here you are.” Margo meets me as I pull open the heavy wooden door and slide in. Suddenly conscious of how short I am, even in my spike heels, next to her swan like body. She stands tall for a woman and I stand at around five feet four.
“Jake, this is Emma Anderson. She’s your new assistant in training. Your new number two.” She smiles fondly at me and gestures me to come to her. I move beside her and get the gentle familiar pat on my shoulder as she tries to put me at ease.
I blink a few times, pausing at the use of the name Jake.
Am I missing something here?
It dawns on me he prefers the name Jake. Brain clicking with memories from my research. He corrected many interviewers and I remember he likes the informality and encourages using his first name; shortened first name.
away to nothing and I’m held captive to the floor, unable to speak as the object of my nerves gets out of his seat. This is what I’ve been afraid of! My reaction when faced with
his own confidence or abilities. Someone who knew
me as he approaches, putting him over the six-foot mark easily. Wearing all black; shirt and suit, minus a tie
Jeeze.
He extends an arm, and all I can do is reach out and shake the neatly manicured, yet oddly masculine, hand. I’m painfully aware of the way my heart quickens, and my breath is slightly labored at the tingling sensation of his skin on mine. I
down, abhorred that I should react this way. It’s alien to me and has me shifting on my own
Car—” my voice is feeble. I’m
in,
training you a little more extensively in time, to step in fully when she retires. I guess that means we should get better acquainted on a first name basis.” He
is it, Carrero? Melting them with
hand is smooth and inhumanely warm in mine, and I’m starting to feel clammy. Anxious
Emma … Stay cool. Stop
I sound normal enough, only a slight waver in my voice this time and I’m relieved.
women going all weak-kneed and pie-eyed at his presence and it interests him that I don’t appear to be. I’m glad he
internet pictures, and his ruggedness is intimidating. The sheer power of his shoulders and toned body, straining behind the expensive clothing. I know from photographs he prefers more casual attire than suits and ties most of the time. He’s sexually intimidating
get you a drink, Emma? You look flushed.” His voice pours over me like honey, and my mouth dries up fully. I’m blushing, heat emanating from my roots and scowl at my inner-adolescent self. He removes his hand and walks away from me to
equilibrium, swallowing several times to get the moisture back into my parched mouth and keep my eyes off his ass. A drink would be
I realize it’s a touch of uncertainty. Mr. Carrero moves off
Shit!
I’m just another receptionist with the hots for Mr. Carrero. Another
myself together, smooth invisible wrinkles in my clothes and straighten my body up, trying to get back my professional air and grace. I hate that I’ve shown signs of being rattled. I don’t normally break under so little pressure, and I’m not impressed with