Chapter 17

I get up with renewed vigor the next morning. I’ve slept better than I have for days, and somehow, I’m more able to cope. I eat and wave Sarah off to work, telling her I have a day off to prepare for the gala. It’s not a complete lie as I intend to get ready in grand fashion, going to lengths I’ve never bothered with before. Wilma is right; a good dress and a girly night with Leila will help. Something she taught me on the yacht was that pampering is an enjoyable girly pursuit and can almost fool you into believing you don’t have a broken heart. She also told me that a good night with a girlfriend can change your whole outlook on life. I intend to follow Leila’s example.

I manage to book an appointment at a beauty salon for just after noon, and I will have the works: nails, hair, waxing, and makeup. I have a room full of people to impress who have seen nothing but gaunt and lifeless Emma for weeks. Carrero Senior will be there, and I want to regain some of my pride in front of him. This event means so much more than a night of fun for me; it’s a chance to save face and present my old self again, Emma, reborn as who she used to be.

I spend the morning trying on dresses and finally settle on a long, slinky, red dress. It clings to every curve with a low-cut back, corseted front, no straps, and falls in a pool of fabric on the floor. At Jake’s request, Donna had chosen this dress for an elegant banquet weeks ago that we never attended. She’s his personal shopper and shops for anything he needs on demand. His Armani tux was sent back, but this was mine to keep. Jake never expected me to return anything bought for me, always generous to a fault. I find the shoes to match in the pile of unopened boxes in my bathroom. Donna’s gone for Hollywood glam, vintage heels in matching red satin. Jake always said red suited me, and I hope he’s right. It’s a color I’ve only worn once…at his insistence on that damn yacht.

I arrive for my appointment with time to spare, feeling more nervous than I should, as this is something I’ve rarely done in my life. Leila was my first proper experience with salons and beauty treatments. So, I’m glad when they don’t keep me waiting long. The full glam treatment starts with a hair trim and highlights retouch. I want my hair back to how it was the first day I cut it. It’s grown so much and tickles my shoulders a lot. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m thinking about Jake’s reaction the first time he saw my hair, and deep down, I want him to see me that way again.

Don’t go there. Tonight is neither about him nor for him. It’s about moving forward.

***

Standing at the mirror in my bedroom, nauseous with anticipation, I look red-carpet ready. I even wow myself, and I wish Sarah were home to see. For the first time in my life, I look elegant and, dare I say, a little bit beautiful. They’ve given me subtle nineteen-fifties style makeup with nude lipstick and winged eyeliner, my skin flawless, my cheeks blushed and high, my nails au natural French manicure, so clean and polished. My hair is left down in its natural waves; it’s shorter and brushed to one side. I can’t believe the girl in front of me is my own reflection. The dress is sculpted to a body I’m rather proud of, and I stand elegantly in my heels. I look seductive.

A tremble of nerves courses through me, anticipation and dread in equal amounts. I know tonight is either going to be wonderful or disastrous. I hope that it won’t be the latter. I know Leila can get me through this, and I need to see her badly.

I grab my silver clutch and pull on the silvery fur stole; Donna had chosen it for another outfit, but it looks good. The taxi I’ve booked will be here any minute. I feel sick to my stomach; my hands shake badly as I slide the ticket into my bag with my cell and some cash. I steel my nerves and head out to wait for my ride in the cool evening air.

This is a new me. Be brave. Take a deep breath and smile. You can do this.

***

The huge venue is as glamorous as any I’ve been to with Jake, complete with a red-carpet entrance, flashing cameras, and tuxedo-wearing security. I pass easily with my ticket, getting some interest from photographers as they try to decide if I’m a celebrity or not, a few flashes just in case. I’m a little proud but keep my chin down and walk inside. Leila knows I’m coming; her text said she’d find me, so my only task is to get inside and amuse myself until then, find something to do until she rescues me.

The reception has been going on for an hour and seems almost full, with no huge wave of latecomers to this merry event. The ballroom is crowded with people milling around in various degrees of expensive formal wear. The music from the full orchestra is loud and invading, and the noisy bustle of chatter, scraping chairs, and clinking glasses is almost overpowering.

I weave my way through the crowd around the entrance to the huge easels in the corner holding the large, printed table plans, and I pale as I locate my name among the guests. I’m still seated at the Carrero table next to Jake as his date.

Shit! What was I thinking? I should’ve known this would happen. No one informed them of a seating change. Margo would’ve known this.

I lose all my bravado as my blood runs cold. Panicking, I turn and rush off toward the entrance, flustered and emotional.

I’m not staying and doing this. The meal takes up more than an hour of the night; I can’t sit beside him sipping wine and acting like all of this is okay.

What the hell was Margo thinking?

I can’t breathe. I need to go. Go home and forget all of this. All my confidence is gone, and a sickening feeling is rising inside me, urging on the breathlessness of an anxiety attack. My face heats as color creeps up my skin, and I desperately push across the overcrowded floor, rushing to find my escape through the crowds haphazardly. I feel like an idiot and start tugging and twirling a strand of my hair manically.

I’ll text Leila and tell her I felt unwell.

I move forward into the room and realize the quickest way out is across the dance floor. It’s less crowded and easier to navigate than the bustling side aisles. I push on, rage and emotion spiraling inside me, and I’m not looking where I’m going, blinded by watery eyes and complete disappointment in myself.

Pushing my way through a group of people in the middle of the dance floor, I look up and come face-to-face with Jake; stopping dramatically, I almost have a heart attack.

Shit!

Literally two feet away.

My breath halts in my chest painfully. The sight of him spins my world and drowns out everyone around me. His eyes meet mine with equal trepidation, and I’m captivated, a prisoner under that steady green gaze, pushing away everything else that surrounds us.

We stand motionless, feet apart, an instant tension around us making me want to crumble. Flawless perfection in a black tuxedo and white shirt, he looks every bit like James Bond and bad boy rolled into one. He looks like my dreams, a doorway to my soul, and it’s painful to witness. His gaze is steady on me, never leaving my eyes as neither of us moves or says anything. His expression is calm, but I want to know his thoughts. I long for him to say something instead of just staring at me that way.

“Oh, my God, Emma!” Leila’s excitable voice grabs my attention as she dives into me from the left. Jake was obviously with her, and she begins hauling me into an overeager embrace around my neck, turning me to her. I grimace in surprise but let my arms wrap around the energetic creature and tear my focus away from the one man holding all my attention.

“Whoa, Leila.” I choke, laughter breaking over me at her exuberant welcome, glad of her sudden distraction. She releases me and grabs my hands, bouncing up and down excitedly, and I catch a glimpse of Jake watching us, his expression unchanged, his body language stiff.

“I’ve missed you, millions! Emails are not the same, Miss Ems. You look freaking sensational!” She spins me around, surprisingly strong for someone so small, and I gasp as I lose my footing on the high heels and stagger sideways. Strong arms catch me, pulling me upright while instant searing heat at the contact flows through me. I know without looking that Jake has caught me. He expertly stands me upright and holds my upper arms, releasing me once I’m steady. Trying for composed and cool seems to be my only focus. I hope he didn’t notice how I trembled at his touch or closed my eyes until he had put me upright, unable to bear his touch.

I take a slow breath to regain my composure, but Leila seems oblivious.

***

“Careful, Leila,” Jake scolds in a paternal tone. I catch his eyes skimming my dress and flush inside, but he looks away and watches other people in the crowd, with that unreadable face and taut body hiding everything in his complex mind. I try to avoid looking at him, my body fluttering at his presence even though he’s let me go.

“I can’t help being so happy to see her, Jake. You keep her hidden from me,” she teases with a smile. I glance at him quickly, seeing the frown flicker across his face when he looks back at Leila.

He hasn’t told Leila that I don’t work for him anymore? I guess neither have I; it never crossed my mind to say to her, or anyone, that Jake removed me from his life.

“I’ve been working,” I cut in smoothly, avoiding his eyes again. The music interrupts our conversation as the instruments heat up, and a slow ballad floats across the air, making conversation nearly impossible.

“Oh, I promised someone the first slow dance,” Leila exclaims, turning me around and shoving me into Jake. As I collide with his chest, he reacts automatically and catches me again, righting me again. He lets me go as though I’ve burned him. We shift apart as the awkward tension between us ramps up. “Keep her warm for me until I come back, Jacob!” Leila calls mischievously and quickly disappears.

“That girl…” he utters tightly, avoiding my face.

“You’ve got to love her, though.” I shrug, biting my lip. Nervousness overwhelms me, and I cannot look at his face. The music is in full swing as couples move around us, joining together to sway. I fidget with my hair awkwardly and shuffle my feet, looking around for a quick exit. This is beyond unbearable and incredibly intense. I catch him glaring at my fingers mid-twirl and release the strand nervously. He can still close me down with a look.

“Want to dance with me, Anderson?” His low tone halts me, and my stomach flips as hesitation jumps in. “I don’t bite.” He smiles, and I catch the flicker of amusement in his eye, remembering the last time he’d said it to me so long ago. I don’t know if I can bear this.

No, he didn’t bite; he just devastated my heart.

He doesn’t give me a moment to answer or think, just reaches out for my wrist and pulls me into him so my body softly collides with his, and I reach up with a flat palm to his chest. He maneuvers me perfectly in his arms and sways me in time to the music, his face above me, and turned away, so there’s no confusion about what this is. I tense; his touch is all I’ve craved for days, all I’ve thought about, but not like this. He’s been forced into this, standing in the middle of a ballroom floor surrounded by important people while trying to pretend we are how we used to be. He doesn’t want to cause a scene. He doesn’t want to be here with me, and I waver as a swell of emotion overtakes me causing my eyes to well up.

I can’t do this. I can’t pretend everything is okay, and we can just put the past behind us. I can’t put the past behind me; I can’t pretend that I don’t still feel the same way about him. It’s agony.

“I can’t do this…” I whisper, emotion breaking in my voice, and I pull myself free. I try to turn away, but he catches my chin with his hand, quickly lifting it to him. I know he sees my pain, and my eyes are almost overflowing with the effort of not crying. I’ve become so useless at finding my mask nowadays; it’s long since deserted me, and I'm defenseless this close to him.

His lips part, and he frowns, but he lets me go. An expression crosses his face, a sort of recognition as if he’s seen something he doesn’t like; maybe he finally realizes why we can never go back to before because his stupid ex-PA has become so utterly devoted to every part of him that she can no longer function in his presence.

That’s one thing that would surely send him running for the hills—love.

“I need to go.” I tilt my face downwards, hiding the tears as they spill down my cheek. I turn on my heels, walk away as fast as possible, take deep breaths, and try to calm the inner chaos begging to erupt all over this ballroom floor. Trying to get away from his feel and smell so I can breathe and function. He stands motionless on the floor, but I can feel his eyes follow me, which hurts me more than I can bear.

I maneuver through the crowd of people and faces on the dance floor until I find open space, trying to find a way out of this infernal room. Pushing until I get to the edge of the dance floor, I stop to take a deep breath, my legs weak as I try to steady my pulsing heart rate. My heart is beating erratically; I’m afraid to turn around and see him again. I need to stay strong and leave.

My cell vibrates in my clutch bag, and I curse inwardly at whoever has picked the worst moment to summon me. I grate my teeth as I yank my cell out, anger growing inside me at this damn job and how it always imposes on every part of my life.

~Jake Carrero has sent you an iTunes gift.~

I freeze, almost dropping my phone in shock. My breathing quickens; I’m afraid to move. I stare at it for a long second.

What? Why would he? Why now, after everything? Our long-forgotten mode of communication.

Jake sending me songs to give messages had been lost and forgotten since he severed our ties and sent me away, along with our friendship. I don’t understand why he would try and get to me this way now. Doesn’t he realize how much this hurts me?

I screw my eyes closed.

I’m dreaming; this is all a hallucination, and it'll be gone when I open my eyes. I can’t do this; I can’t have him acting like we used to. I just saw him, and it was obvious it’ll never go back to how it was. Is that what he wants? PA Emma back, friend, and platonic assistant? I can never go back there.

With shaking fingers, I swipe the screen slowly, scared and hesitant, but my breath catches as I read the email, a small gasp leaving my lips as my eyes fill with moisture.

~Jake Carrero has sent you:~

~“Say You Love Me” by Jessie Ware.~

The tears fall before my brain has time to connect.

What does this mean? Does he know I love him?

I don’t know what to think or feel. I spin around, scanning the dance floor, looking for him for some hint at what this means or what he wants from me. All I see is an ocean of people. I’ve come too far, my sight of him hindered by the crowd, and I stay facing the floor, my head whirling. I made a mistake once before of not being honest with him. No matter what this means, I won’t make the same mistake again. Sarah was right. We didn’t ever just say what we felt. We never talked about feelings. I don’t want to be that girl anymore. Even if I humiliate myself, then at least I’ll leave him in no doubt as to how I feel this time. If anything, maybe he’ll finally leave me alone and stay out of my life.

I open iTunes and scroll, but every title lacks what I want to say. I try some keywords, and there it is. It’s perfect. I know the song; it’s what I should have told him a long time ago. I purchase and send while holding my breath, in case air destroys my courage.

~Emma Anderson, you’ve sent Jake Carrero~

~“Only Love Can Hurt Like This” by Paloma Faith.~

I look up again, scanning the crowds and searching the floor, but

I don’t see him. It pains me more, every face a disappointment, and I shove my phone back in my bag and push it aside. My body is in chaos, my mind floundering, and my breathing labored. I’ve never been so terrified. If only I could see him, figure out what all this means. I want to see his reaction; I want to know how to feel because right now, I’m feeling like I’m hanging from a cliff by my fingernails, torn that maybe I should go back and see if I can find him.

And then, there he is.

Pushing through the wave of bodies toward me, he looks around, his eyes searching every girl with tawny hair in a red dress until his gaze finally falls on me while I am rooted to the spot. He falters, his body straightens, and his eyes lock on mine with a force that makes me stand stone still, caught in his spell. I’m in no doubt that he was searching for me.