Chapter 27


    I hand him back his water, throwing him a look of indulgence. A look that says, “all that casual sex?”


    and he lets me go to take a drink. He empties it and throws it in a nearby trash can, impressed he met


    his own bullseye. That juvenile boy inside fist pumping at his ability to dunk a stic bottle.


    “Do you really want me to learn how to beat you up, Jake?” I smile cheekily, watching him with


    amusement.


    “Carino. Even if you became a pro boxer, I would still put you on your ass. You’re half my weight ss.”


    He smirks and squeezes my shoulder lightly.


    “I don’t even know what that means.” I stop, leaning back to stretch out my limbs and start jogging on


    the spot to signal I’m recovered enough to continue. He pulls my hood further forward over my face and


    shoves me in front of him yfully, so that I’ll lead.


    “It means that you’ll never be able to beat my ass, girly.” Heughs with a huskiness that is a little too


    alluring.


    “Don’t tempt me,” I warn.


    “I like a challenge.”


    “Well if beating is what you’re into?” I catch the cheeky glint in his eye and sucker punch him in the ribs


    yfully before he can finish his sentence. He pushes me away and tries to trip me deliberately,


    catching my wrists so I don’t fall, and he receives a pout and re. He rights me on my feet with a


    laugh and we set off again.


    He’s in a childish mood this afternoon … Great! That’s all I need. It’s seriously his worst mode.


    We jog on in silence for two blocks before we round a corner and head in a new direction. I take in the


    unfamiliar streets and surrounding scenery; Seattle seems lower paced and more rxed than New


    York but it hasn’t got the same buzzing energy and I kind of like it. It’s a wee break in our hectic


    scheduletely.


    “What are you thinking about, Miele?” his voice cuts into my thoughts. Jake’s looking at me as we run,


    and he has to keep pushing his hood back at the side to see my face, the gesture makes him look


    childish and I smile warmly.


    “Wondering where I would dump your body if I beat you to death.” It’s a smug retort.


    “It’s like that, is it?” he grins.


    “Yep.”


    I’m not prepared for the sudden lurch at me as he grabs me by the waist and tips me upside down in


    mid-air. With his muscles, I’m no more than a gym bag in weight and I squeal in surprise and choke on


    the sharp intake of breath. He tips mepletely over onto my feet so that I’m still bent double but in a


    head lock, my butt facing away from him with my head against his abdomen. I’m squealing and trying


    to wrench myself free as he keeps walking, but I’m stumbling backward.


    “Jake … Stop it.” I’mughing stupidly and unable to fight as he has my arms pinned to my sides.


    “I can’t. I’m looking for a shady corner so I can administer some much-needed discipline.” He


    threatens, but he has a yfulness in his voice. He finally releases me and hauls me back up, pulling


    me against him with an arm around my shoulders and drags me onward. My hood falls free, letting the


    soft rain cool my heated face while breathless from his antics and disheveled from his manhandling.


    “You know how many sexual harassmentws you just broke? I could haul your ass through the


    courts.” I point out. Laughing hard as I do so.


    “With my reputation, mywyers would probably just settle.” He smirks and winks and I shake my head


    at him and try to pull my clothes back into their rightful ce within the confines of his arm and fail


    miserably.


    “Should stop manhandling the staff then!” I snort, unable to stop giggling as he’s walking fast and


    making me stumble to keep up.


    “Where are we going?”


    “A walk … I’m bored at the hotel,” he says dejectedly.


    “Are you ignoring my suggestion?” I ask innocently.


    “About manhandling my staff?”


    “Yes.”


    “Yes … There’s no fun otherwise. You were made for manhandling, Ems.” He throws his yful “I’m the


    shit and it means I get away with it” smile and I fight the urge to sucker punch him again. I pull myself


    free from his grip and shove his arm off so I can finally adjust my clothes properly. He has them all


    twisted around me and my hair is falling in my face. He tugs the hair tie out of my ponytail so that it all


    comes tumbling down and I throw him an exasperated look.


    “It wasing down anyway.” He offers by way of an exnation and tosses the hair tie in a dumpster


    as we pass it.


    “Hey,” I sulk. “I don’t have another one with me.”


    He shrugs, which only makes me narky with him.


    “You’ll just have to leave it loose then, won’t you?” He ruffles my hair, trailing his fingers through the


    length and down my back softly.


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    “Stop acting like a child … Sometimes I seriously can’t understand why I work for you, or that you even


    run an empire.” Watching him now, he’s far removed from Mr. Business, or even Mr. Public eye. He’s


    adolescent Carrero.


    He reaches out a hand, ignoring me and tugs me closer by the hood so I’m within reach of his arm and


    puts it back around my shoulders. Only this time it’s loose and casual, and my clothes stay neat and in


    ce. I don’t bother fighting this time; I’m so used to touchy-feely Carrero by now that I’ve stopped


    caring any more. He has very few inhibitions, and he’s been raised by a touchy-feely Italian, family.


    Why doesn’t it bother me? It would bother me if it was anyone else.


    I guess because Jake is the first man I’ve ever known who touches me without intent. There’s no


    threat, or ulterior motive. In the way that a child touches automatically because they want to, and they


    don’t see the issue with doing it.


    In the way he constantly flirts or makes suggestions of a sexual nature, yet never follows through. It’s


    harmless, it’s just how he is. Saying that, however, he’s a constant annoyance at work forever tugging


    my hair or prodding me in the side and manhandling me into cupboards. Maybe I should sue him for


    sexual harassment; I smile to myself.


    Teach him some boundaries, that would show him.


    “We need a break, Emma … I’m listless and tense all the timetely … distracted.” His voice is


    subdued suddenly. I appraise his expression as he seems distracted, even with his hood still up,


    making him look more street thug on the prowl and less Mr. Business. There’s an empty, lost


    expression just under the surface.


    I couldn’t sue that face.


    “You’re the boss … You don’t need anyone’s permission.” We’re walking along an alley with no real


    idea of where we’re going, and it’s stopped raining. The sun peeks out between the dull clouds,


    threatening a better afternoon.


    “Maybe somewhere to rx for a week.” He’s looking around, seemingly lost in thought.


    “Where do you want to go?” I ask curiously, there aren’t many ces he hasn’t been so his choice is


    limited.


    “We could be spontaneous,” he answers quickly, and I raise a brow. Surprised at that.


    “Could we now?” I emphasize the “we”, making it clear that taking your PA on holiday with you defeats


    the purpose of a holiday. Not to mention it being odd.


    “You don’t want toe?” he looks at me in the way a child would on finding you’re no longer taking


    them to buy candy. And all I can do is shake my head.


    “Ummm, why would Ie on holiday with you?” I stifle a giggle at his expression.


    “Because you work as hard as I do and could use the break too. Because I want you to.”


    “I don’t think it’s appropriate” I hesitate, somewhat amused that he would even suggest it.


    He’s actually being serious?


    “Emma, we have literally lived in hotels together for the past few months and you’ve stayed the night in


    my apartment more than once … Why is it any different?”


    “Because a holiday isn’t work … it’s different!” I’m starting to feel ufortable with this direction of


    conversation.


    Why is he pressing this?


    I think of what kind of gossip would fly around the offices if wind got out that we headed off in the sun


    for a week together. Not to mention how it would look if the media took pictures of us together, rxing


    on a beach, or a boat, or whatever he chose to do to kick back. I wonder if he ever took Margo on a


    break.


    I should ask her next time she checks in to see how I’m doing. Ask her if she ever got whisked away for


    a romantic time out.


    “Don’t overthink things, Emma.” He lets go and pulls my arm, indicating we should jog again. My limbs


    are getting heavy, so I follow without hesitation; we should slow the pace to warm “down” anyway. I


    guess it also signals the end of conversation, I observe drily as he jogs ahead making it impossible to


    talk. I follow him as we round the corner and start heading back in the direction of the hotel trying to


    keep up. I get the vibe from him that he’s sulking about this and I stifle the urge tough at him.


    What the hell? Jake sulks? Actually sulks. Since when? And why? Because I won’t go on holiday with


    him? Surely, he can’t be pissed at that?


    I keep my eye on the straight, muscr shape of his back as we jog and think rationally about this.


    He’s been tensertely, maybe he’s just stressed. Jake doesn’t sulk. He’s probably just tired and eager


    to get back. It’s been non-stoptely with so much in the pipeline and he’s right, we could use a break.


    He stays ahead of me at a good pace so that all I can do is jog to keep up as we head back to the hotel


    via an unfamiliar route and I can’t help but feel a little miffed at his sudden cool attitude.