Chapter 17

“I’ve more than enough testosterone to deal with, having you glued to my hip on a daily basis, Carrero.
And no. I don’t ever see you taking that hat off and being happy with only one woman to keep your
interest.” I’m trying to keep my focus on my food as my cheeks warm up, I’m not comfortable with this
ever-probing fascination with my lack of boyfriend. It makes me squirm in my seat.

“Emma?” he looks at me pointedly, that hint of serious coming through the boyish charm.

“Even women have needs.”

Do they?

I think sourly. I’m pretty sure I’ve never needed to go there. I tried it when I was young; non-serious
boyfriends and the pressure of other kids doing it. I didn’t like it much and it only left a nasty taste in my
mouth.

“You would know, of course, being one hundred percent hot-blooded male.” I laugh at him, raising a
brow at the man who is as far from feminine as any guy can get.

“I go to bed with enough women to know it’s not only men who crave sex. There’s no way you can tell
me you don’t get the raging horn, at all?” He’s a little too focused on me now and looking all too
invested in this.

“Jake, can we talk about something else? I don’t think I want to talk about sex with my boss over
lunch.” An anxious knot has moved up into my stomach at the topic of conversation making me
uncomfortable, like I always am when any conversation is turned on me and my life. Something he
often does. He has no sense of boundaries.

“Do you need me to set you up? Are you secretly man shy? Or maybe I should show you what a real
man feels like.” He winks at me and I just roll my eyes, suppressing a smile at his humor.



“Like I would ever trust your choice of men … Or you! … The Daniel Hunters of this world don’t do a
thing for me.” I smile sweetly.

That’s an understatement.

“So, what is your type of man?” he asks curiously, focusing on me instead of his food now. I throw him
a dark look, indicating that I really mean we are done with this topic.

My type? Far, far, away from me.

“Okay, okay … Are you going home to visit your mom anytime soon?” he pushes in a new direction
instead, but I just drop my fork, mood dying, and temper punching me in the stomach.

For god’s sake.

“This again?” I snap and shake my head at him, irritated, being too sharp with him in reaction.

“Don’t roll your eyes and wave your hands at me!” He shoves my foot with his under the table, and I
kick him back, a light satisfied smirk crossing my mouth as he grimaces with a glare. Relieving me of
my temper a little.

“Why do you always bring her up?” I accuse. Pissed that he does this – a lot.

“Because I find it weird that you never go home to see her, Emma … She’s your mother, and Chicago
is two hours on a plane. It’s hardly on the other side of the world. You know you can use the jet
whenever you need it.” He’s frowning at me, all green eyes and stiff, squared jaw, looking wounded at
my anger over this. Reverting to child.

“I don’t need to run home and see ‘Mommy’, Jake. I’m a big girl with my own life.” I scold. I hate that he
always presses me about this at every opportunity.



“I go see my ‘Mommy’ every couple of weeks … She gave birth to me and raised me. I can’t imagine
going five years without one trip home … it’s odd.” He narrows his brows at me, and that green gaze
just penetrates mine.

“It’s not like she hasn’t come here to New York. I don’t need to go home.” My food isn’t satisfying me
like it normally does, and I realize the conversation is souring the taste. I put down my napkin too now
I’ve lost my appetite.

“You grew up there … Don’t you miss it?” he’s still eating and trying to come across as non-intrusive,
but I’m not fooled. Jake is one of the most intrusive people I’ve ever known; he has a severe craving to
pry into my life every day and he is as subtle as a bull.

“No,” I snap. Finally letting the irritation rule and losing my cool with him properly.

“Did you leave for a reason, and that’s why you get so pissed about this?” My eyes flash up as though
he’s struck me, but I quickly look back down. I won’t have this conversation; he needs to leave it alone
and know when he’s crossing the line—again. I’m tired of this.

“Drop it,” I say quietly, the rush of emotion running through me, dampening all of the happy I had on
arriving here. It’s not a good feeling.

“You never talk about you, Emma … You know everything about me,” he almost pleads but it falls on
deaf ears.

“I never knew your father had an affair before now!” I snap, a little more harshly this time, looking at him
accusingly and hoping to push this away.

“But you do know now.” He sulks a little, his green eyes narrowing under furrowed brows. Little boy
scolded comes to mind and equally as stubborn as me.



Sometimes we bicker, it usually goes a lot like this and usually for similar topics. I sigh heavily,
annoyed, at well, everything. Guilty at making him like this and regretting my harsh tone immensely.
Jake makes me feel bad so easily.

“I’m sure there are things you haven’t told me, Jake … Everyone is entitled to privacy.” I remember the
fleeting look earlier in our conversation and see it reflected in his eyes once more. Something is there
after all. It seems to cause him to back off, thankfully. Realizing he has secrets too.

“Fine … But it’s just weird.” He dips his eyes down at his plate, definite sulk face on. I cannot help the
tug of affection that softens my whole attitude.

Man-child returns.

“You are the king of weird, you attract massive amounts of weird, so you have a cheek.” I try a friendlier
tone, efforts to bring humor back into the conversation. I hate when we bicker and argue over pointless
things and as his frown smooths out to be replaced with a growing warmth, he knows what I’m hinting
at.

“You’re talking about that freaky Lisa?” he smiles slightly, mood dispersing too. Such is our way.

Yes, he got my hint. There hasn’t been weirder than that.

“You didn’t say no to her weird fetishes … You asked your PA to research them.” I narrow my eyes
accusingly but can’t help the giggle that springs from my throat. Mood lifted, and irritation gone, just like
that, like always. We recover quickly, effortlessly. He laughs too.

“I didn’t actually partake, Emma, I just didn’t think she was being serious … I thought I was missing
some joke.” He smiles, his natural cute Jake smile, and it makes me smile too. Glad that he is once
again his normal, infuriatingly smug, and cheeky self once more. Bickering over.



“You called me at four in the morning to ask me if diapers would turn me on.” I reminisce while
chuckling, remembering the shock that had run over me when I had been rudely awakened with that
drunken question.

“I needed another female perspective. A normal female perspective. She scared the shit out of me.” He
flinches at the memory which only makes me grin all the more.

“How do you think I felt … I got a wakeup call from my drunk boss asking me about weird crap to do
with adult babying fetishes, and diapers.” I remind him. Raising my brow and fixing him with an
accusatory look.

“You were very cool on the cell … Efficient as ever … Serious about the whole thing. I think it was the
first time I figured you and I were going to be best friends.” He’s laughing at the memory as my heart
ups it’s beat on the best friend comment and warms slightly. He has said something similar several
times before. I guess the feeling’s mutual. I never really thought about Jake and I being real friends
before this promotion progressed, but I guess we are.

I remember that night well, I had tried to gauge his seriousness and even attempted a rational factual
conversation while skimming Google for answers. Cringing the whole time and wondering what the hell
he was on. I shake my head, grinning too.

“Only you could pull the freaky one in a nightclub full of normal women, Jake.” I point out, relaxing once
more.

“She ended up going home with Daniel and he still doesn’t mention it.”

I burst out laughing, unguarded and heartfelt, and that does make me feel better. Daniel still gives me
the creeps and the thought of him tied up in a baby’s crib with some strange diaper wearing crazy
makes me laugh. Jake is chuckling too.



He leans over, topping up my now empty wine glass; we’re only halfway through our food and I haven’t
noticed how much I’ve drunk already. His bad influence on me has turned me into a wine with food type
of person. He always orders by the bottle wherever we go to eat. I never drunk much before
Jake.


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