It’s after twelve. My head is a little woozy and stuffy as it’s ridiculously hot in the office now, stiflingly so and it’s making me feel nauseous. I’ve called maintenance twice to find out why they still haven’t fixed the AC yet, it’s blowing out tropical heat, rather than cold air and baking us all. My face is flaming, and my pulse is beating so fast and hard, like I’ve been sprinting. My clothes are almost clinging to me with dampness, and I’m irritated because of the inability to breathe or find relief. It’s oppressive.
Margo has left the floor for lunch and I’m to follow on her return. She was wavering in the heat as much as me, but I told her I was okay to stay. Wanting to prove my abilities.
Ever the hero, Emma! Good move.
This is a huge sign of trust, and I think she’s testing my capabilities, leaving me to man the fort and cope alone during a very busy schedule. It’s been three days since Jake returned and I feel like Margo is relying on me a little more. Living up to her expectations and taking it in my stride.
I can’t stand the heat on my cheeks and my blouse is clinging in places it never has before. Sticking like a second skin. I’m obsessively clock watching for her to return, to relieve me for an hour, from this damned infernal sauna before I pass out. My switchboard lights up, my insides tightening as his voice comes across the buzzer,
“Emma, can you come in here please?” deep, low, and sexy. I get the now familiar tingle in my stomach at the sound of his voice which I still have no control over.
I falter but reply with a, “Yes, Mr. Carrero.” This is not what I need when I’m melting into a puddle on my seat and already out of sorts.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I’m on my feet trying to peel my blouse from between my shoulder blades and smoothing it down without success. I pick up my notebook and pen, and glide past Margo’s open office door at speed and into his, pushing the heavy dark wood open and sliding in. I want this over quickly.
“Yes, Mr. Carrero?”
He looks casually seductive today, sitting behind his desk amid an open laptop and piles of folders. His pale blue shirt has its top two buttons undone at the neck, His dark hair ruffled out of its normally spiked style, as though he’s been running his hands through it, and his sleeves rolled up, revealing one of the tattoos on his inner left arm. A reminder of his rebel teen years. I know from images I’ve seen online that he has a few across his body. All tribal black tattoos and symbols; the effect is devastating even on me and I try not to react, annoyed that he still does this to me.
his hands behind his head in a very “guy” manner. Stretching out and showcasing that beautiful physique, his biceps increase in size while straining at the fabric of his shirt. It’s hard not to get a little heightening of the pulse
Eyes down!
sir … they’re apparently on it.” I keep my eyes averted, my tone
think you need to head to another floor and cool down.” His eyes run over me; I’m already conscious that I must look disheveled. I feel it. But the passing out has more to do with the way he’s sitting now, and my body
Emma? He’s
until Margo … Mrs. Drake, returns, sir.” I blink at him and resist the urge
is she due back?” he frowns at me, oblivious to the riot of hormones
go on her return.” I sound polite and factual. Trying not to squirm in my damp shoes and hoping I do not look as awful as I
she’s back, I want you to go cool down, it feels like it’s melting up here … In the meantime, I need to dictate a letter. Maybe you’ll feel cooler in here, I have the air vents open.” He gestures at the wall of windows and I note the blinds moving a little as the small amount of air gets in. He’s right, it is cooler in here—marginally. Well, it would if he wasn’t
Emma, again? Really?
of thought. He turns his chair so he’s facing the couch to the left of me and
Compton. You’ll find his details on the system.” He
I scribble down in
questioning tone clicks my attention back to
the tone of his voice, sure I’ve done something he
smiling at me, amused, and nods at a chair at the side of his desk, pretty much in his line of vision. It’s why he turned his chair. I blush and come around to sit in front of him abruptly. I hate that since coming to work for him my inability to control my blushing has
and see the humor veiled thinly. I give a short-embarrassed smile, to cover my reaction, my heart upping a gear and inwardly chastise my stupidity. He’s a
things so