Chapter 67

The others are up on deck, lazing around and eating a cold buffet that has been set out on a long, low
table by the loungers; it looks awesome and my stomach rumbles, despite the anxious tension between
Jake and me. It’s a welcome distraction and I head straight for it to pile myself a plate, deliberately
ignoring him behind me.

“Oh, the love birds have returned.” Leila squeals and almost throws herself into my arms for a hug. I
cast her a warning look, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“We went for a drive.” Jake’s broody tone comes from far behind me, as though he’s still standing at the
top of the stairs to the deck, I ignore him. Leila casts a worried glance behind me, then back at me, but
she keeps her mouth closed. I hear his footsteps as he leaves and heads down to the second floor and
I’m relieved. We could do with some time apart to get over whatever this is between us; I can’t even
begin to dissect the past twenty-four hours of this trip. So much for a holiday break that would relax us!

Leila, sensing something is up, goes into overdrive in a bid to distract me. She is infectious, and she
soon has me laughing, some of the tension easing and I’m good at pretending every is okay on the
surface, that Jake isn’t at the forefront of my mind every second. I just want Jake to come back up as
relaxed and normal and join in. Put this mess away, but he doesn’t re-appear.

I’m cool toward the other girls … Marissa has been watching me with a sour expression on her face
since I arrived, and Miracle is lying topless, facing me, pouting and applying her third layer of lip gloss.

Jesus, put them away.

The men are huddled together over one of the double loungers, listening to some game coming from
Richard’s cell and making male grunts and moans when something isn’t going well. I assume it’s
baseball.



Jake reappears half an hour later, changed into a black fitted shirt and jeans, his usual clubbing look. I
love that on him, and it cuts me inside. I just need us to be okay again. He has his shades on, hair
spiked, and looks casual as always; even when I’m still mad at him, he makes me ache inside.

“Emma, I need you a second.” He sounds like boss Carrero and not Jake and I prickle inside but get up
dutifully.

Well, at least I know where I stand with boss Carrero.

I follow and we walk down to the lower floor of the boat, I can sense his tension and stiffness; even at a
distance, he’s emanating anger. It makes my stomach drop down to my knees, but I only stand taller
and maintain a look of disinterest. Clasping my hands behind my back to hide the trembling. My
stomach twisting and my heart pounding.

“I’m leaving for a couple of days … I’ve left you a credit card in your room in case you want to go out;
there’s a car on shore that will take you anywhere you want to go.” His voice is flat, he avoids looking at
me directly.

Wait, what?

The panic rises in a tidal wave of emotion.

“Where are you going? We cleared your schedule for two weeks, so you wouldn’t need to go
anywhere.” I react instinctively, my voice slightly higher and faster than normal. I’m practically
hyperventilating because this was never part of the plan. He can’t leave me!

“Change of plan … Try and relax and have fun. If you can.” He almost spits the last words, sarcasm
oozing from him and it cuts me like a knife, right to the heart.

So, we’re still at this, are we?



“Do you need me to come?” I reply coolly, in my best PA tone. Pushing everything down and bringing
that mask into play. I won’t let him see how much he’s wounding me.

“No, I don’t!” he’s closed off, face devoid of expression, only his eyes betray him, with anger seething in
the glittering green depths.

“Jake, you pay me to be at your beck and call and go with you at a moment’s notice.” I’m indignant, I
don’t want him to leave, I want to know what’s going on. I want to be with him. Know what he’s thinking.
I want us to go back to before, and behave like we normally do, like we used to do.

“I don’t pay you to watch me fuck other women, Emma.” He snarls at me and I recoil as though I’ve
been slapped. The knife slicing into my chest, causing my body to reel back slightly. He knows how to
deliver a low blow. He stalks away from me, toward his room, oblivious but I follow angrily.

“What? … Why are you being an asshole?”

Why are you going to fuck other women suddenly? You don’t need other women, what happened to
your sabbatical?

I want to grab him and shake him, bile rising in my throat at the thought of him with someone else.
Pushing it down, trying to fight the urge to cry.

“I’m redefining the boundaries of our relationship … Uncrossing the line. That’s what you called it,
right?” He tosses back casually. I fall back, but I steel myself. Swallowing my sobs and forcing my face
to stay as impassive as I can muster. My body retching inside in agony.

Isn’t this what I wanted? Him to go back to him and his women and I return to being just his PA?

No! Yes! … I don’t know anymore.



“You think going off to screw someone will uncross that line?” The words catch in my throat like steel
wool, I feel sick with the pain he’s inflicting.

“It’s a start.” He turns into his room and pulls a suitcase from the cupboard; I notice he’s already
packed a flight bag on the bed, his passport lying beside it.

“Got over your little break, I see.” I sound cold. The reality is that I’m dying inside, and I want to yell at
him. Hold onto him. Beg him to stop doing this, but I can’t.

You kissed me, Jake … twice. No three times. You kissed me and now you’re going to have sex with
someone else.

“I think that’s probably the reason for the latest tension … I need to go let off steam.” He smirks icily. So
devoid of feeling. I don’t know this Jake. I hate this Jake. I want my normal Jake to come back, the one
who would never talk to me this way, hurt me this way. My Jake would never abandon me to go off and
be a Lothario!

So, kissing me was “recent tension”?

I’ve never known this uncaring and distant angry Carrero. I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all; I want to
throw myself at his feet and cry and hold him back from going, but I won’t. I pull my chin up defiantly
and push down the hurt, replace it with anger and glare, let that trained part of me take over, in all her
icy maiden coolness. That old reliable self-preservation kicking in.

I have pride!

“Enjoy yourself.” I turn on my heel, close to tears, inside I’m a chaos of emotions and trauma, but my
exterior is calm and unflustered as if this means nothing to me.



“Don’t miss me while I’m gone, Tesoro Mio.” His voice is oozing with charm. It only stabs at my heart
more. Unbearable pain that I won’t let him see.

“I won’t,” I reply snarkily. Holding myself tall.

Fuck you, Jake … Fuck you, Mr. Carrero.

“I’m sure you’ll find something exciting to do.” He’s focusing on packing, but his voice is flat and
emotionless, the cruel and harsh side of him; the first time I’ve ever seen his father within him. I want to
slap his smug, angry face, with all my strength.

“When shall I expect you back, Mr. Carrero?” I’m in full PA mode now, I’m making a point, a “you don’t
affect me” one. If he’s trying to get a reaction out of me with this shocking move, then I won’t let him
enjoy it. I won’t let him see that it’s hurting me at all.

“When I’m done … hard to say … It’s been a while.” He sneers without looking up, clearly, twisting the
knife harder in my chest.

Fuck you—fuck you—fuck you.

I smile graciously, ten out of ten for acting ability and still the need to clench my teeth. So precise in my
mannerisms. His cell vibrates and he slides it out, answering it despite my presence.

“Hi … I’ll be leaving soon … Yeah, I missed you too, Honey … I’ll meet you there.” He sounds like
Casanova Jake of old. The “Honey” makes me gag.

Oh my god.

I want to throw up, but I steel myself against the door frame.

Why, Jake, why?



“Who?” It’s out before I can monitor it, cursing at myself for breaking, showing an ounce of emotion
over this. Giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got to me.

“No one you know. Old flame.” He closes his suitcase, throwing me a fiery look, warning me to keep
going with this, he wants to torture me with details. I can’t bear this. My self-preservation kicks in even
more viciously and I smile fakely.

“If that will be all, Mr. Carrero. … I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your trip.” I’m using the door frame as a
crutch, but I can’t stand watching this painful scene unfold; he’s going away with some brainless boobs
on legs on to screw her for at least two days … maybe longer. I don’t want him to. I don’t think I can
bear this.


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