Chapter 16

Wilma’s arm is around my shoulder as she rubs my back in her office. I had a full-blown emotional breakdown and did something I never imagined PA Emma would ever do. In a fit of blubbering sobs, I told her everything about Jake and how I feel about him, things I haven’t even told Sarah. I blame Wilma’s maternal pull over me and the darn gentle look she manages to throw my way at every opportunity. I’m using a scrunched-up Kleenex from an almost empty box to mop up my mess of a face, sniffling down the last dregs of my self-esteem.

She sat and listened and nodded, and sometimes I saw a knowing look in her eye and assumed Margo had told her the odd tidbit of my sorrowful tale. She listened quietly, her gentle touch on me the whole time, letting me get it all out. She seemed unsurprised to know I had sex with Jake. But then, I guess most of New York’s single women have. His headboard probably ran out of space to keep tally years ago. It’s not exactly a small or hard list to get on.

“Feeling any better?” she says gently, her soft voice in my ear as she squeezes my shoulder.

“A little,” I sniff, using the new tissue she’s given to blow my nose again. I’m a complete mess.

“Sounds to me like you two have got it really bad, yet neither of you dares to admit it to the other.” She smiles knowingly, but I shake my head. She doesn’t know Jake the way I do. She has this so wrong in so many ways.

Yes, I’ve got it bad; Jake just… I don’t even know anymore.

He’s just Jake. It’s all sex with him.

“You sound like my roommate. She said the same thing. But Jake’s complicated. He doesn’t feel the same way. He told me to leave and go to Europe.” I smile tightly, hurt. She has no idea how much of a roller-coaster ride Casanova Carrero is.

I take solace from her stroking my back. It’s motherly and nice. My mother never did this for me, not even when I was a small child. I’ve never had a maternal figure in my life, not really. No one soothed my tears or hugged me back then. My mother was all about her pain, her drama. I was the one who smoothed her hair back and wiped her tears away.

“I want you to go home, Emma, for the rest of the week. From what you’ve told me, so much has happened in such a short time. You need some space to digest everything. Take some R & R. Don’t come in until Monday. You’re due some vacation anyway, so you won’t lose any pay.” She pats my back and smiles softly, but there is a commanding tone to her suggestion.

“I can’t,” I begin to protest, but she catches my hand and squeezes it tightly.

“This isn’t a suggestion, Emma. I need you sharp and focused. This is for my benefit as much as yours, sweetie. You also need time to determine if your future is in this company or Europe.” She gives me a full-body squeeze before standing up and walking to her desk from the couch where we are perched. She pours a glass of water and brings it back to me, sitting down again. “Go to the gala tomorrow night. I’ll be there, and if you still feel like you don’t need time off, we’ll talk.”

“I don’t know,” I say, shifting uneasily.

Jake will be there, probably with a date. How can I even contemplate going after what’s happened? I’m so done with this roller-coaster.

“You need a good night off, a pretty dress, and a lot of alcohol. Take a friend, have a blast, kick back, and set these gorgeous waves free.” She picks up a strand of my hair and pushes it behind my ear. It seems everyone has the urge to tame my wild hair nowadays. Maybe I should grow it back out and return it to ‘sleek and poised Emma mode’ since my life seemed to start unraveling shortly after I cut it all off.

***

Two hours later, I walk into the empty apartment, dump my bag on the table, and survey the room. I don’t want to be here; I should be at work organizing instead of coming home to sob into my pillow. I need to get a grip on my life. Wilma is right, and all of this has been non-stop, yet all I’ve done is bury my head in the sand and push myself to work, never taking the time to absorb it all. I need time to think, real time to myself, to figure out what I will do.

Do I want to work in Europe?

No. I don’t want to leave New York. I couldn’t leave Sarah. I mean, I know she has Marcus, and lately, I’m starting to warm to him a little. I even laughed at a joke he made a few days ago, but still… She’s my best friend.

Do I want to leave Carrero House?

No. I love working there; it’s familiar and stable. Plus, I adore Wilma, Margo, and even Rosalie. I would miss the people I see daily, even though we don’t interact much.

But, on the other hand, things aren’t going anywhere. I feel like every time I see any light at the end of the tunnel, Jake appears and blacks it out. He’s all I can see and focus on, driving me slowly insane.

How did we get here? He used to be my everything, my friend, my protector, my lifeline. Now he’s the cause of everything that’s wrong with me.

It feels like we’ve been apart for months, but the reality is it’s only been weeks, just a month. Dragging days and sleepless nights have caused time to stand still, and I need to get over him, yet I haven’t even begun.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the sun is out in Queens with kids playing in the street. It’s getting late in the season, but it’s unexpectedly warm for the time of year. Pulling on jogging clothes, I decide to go for a run. Christmas will be here soon, and that’s going to be an ordeal and a half, as my mother had said she wanted to come here this year for some reason. Obviously, I don’t want her to come at all. I’ve invited Sophie for Christmas Eve so I can spend some time with her, and the last thing I want is my mother anywhere near her or me.

God, I miss that girl.

She’s been emailing me religiously. She seems happy in her new home and settled so well in such a short time. She can’t believe how blessed she is, getting used to a wealthy family and all the perks that go with her new lifestyle.

I pound my feet into the pavement, working up a sweat, and it feels good. I’ve missed running, even though I only seemed to do it when staying in hotels with Jake. It had become part of the ritual of our life. Since I’ve come home, my running shoes have glared at me angrily from the corner, asking why I’m neglecting them, but not anymore. I’m going to start doing this every day again, as it helped before, helped me get my emotions in check, and helped me work through my internal dialogue. I’m sweating like crazy, working over everything emotionally, mentally, and physically, but I push on.

I’ll go to that gala tomorrow night. Show everyone who I am, who I used to be. I don’t need a date at all. I’m PA Emma, and I was always happy to stand alone with my chin held high.

There will be plenty of people I know there, all the staff from sixty-fifth, Rosalie, Margo, and Wilma. Even Leila will be. Jake’s childhood friend and my ally when he took me on his family yacht for a week.

I miss Leila.

Her emails are less frequent than Sophie’s, but we’ve stayed in contact, and I know all her family will attend this event. Sadly, Sophie won’t be as it’s adults only.

Wilma’s right. I need this, a social outing where people I know and like will be present. Lots of alcohol and dancing with Leila are just what I need.

Jake can stay the hell away from me. Since it’s what he said, right? We should avoid one another. Well, Carrero, you’re the one who sent me the goddamn tickets.

I wonder if Marissa will be there, and my stomach lurches in agony. Up until now, I’ve done well to ignore that minor issue. It pains me in so many ways to know that she and Jake hooked up and could potentially be together again. It kills me to know she’s carrying his child, whether he wants it or not. I wish I could see inside his head, understand his feelings about her and the baby, and gain some insight. She’s the one person in the world I hate as much as Ray Vanquis.

I can’t see what her appeal is; I mean, Jake and Marissa are so unevenly matched. I’ve never understood how he had ever fallen in love with her, even as a teen. She’s vain, self-centered, cold, and domineering in many ways. Her poor child will at least have one loving parent, one rock to rely on, because, as much as it hurts me to admit it, as it’s so much more than I’m capable of enduring, I know Jake will be a good father.

***

I hit the shower on my return, then quietly eat with Sarah and Marcus. It’s late, and they don't know I’ve been home for hours. The conversation is light. I watch them, and for the first time, I see the compatibility and the companionship between them. Despite still thinking he’s a smarmy creep, I can see his genuine affection for Sarah, and it humbles me yet pains me. I want this with Jake so badly. We had something close once, but we let this mess and sex get in the way, destroying everything. I ruined everything, so I only have myself to blame.

I don’t tell Sarah anything about today. She’s too happy and comfy in Marcus’s arms watching a movie, so I endure the romantic comedy for a bit, then excuse myself and head to bed. My faithful old sleeping pills work wonders to get me through my tragic life.