The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

Gazing up at the crappy brown building that houses “The Haven” homeless shelter, an internal wave of anxiety builds up inside me, like an all-consuming black hole, now that I’m faced with old memories. Jake is standing behind me with hands on my shoulders, and a kiss on my neck brings me back to the present.

“Call me, and I’ll come, okay?” His voice is a reminder that I can do this. I can be strong enough because of him.

“I know. Now leave before I change my mind about going to the hotel first.” I giggle as his hand skims my ass; he’s a tempting distraction to what I know I need to do.

“If I’d known you were this torn about it, I would’ve applied a little more pressure.” He smirks wickedly, letting his hand trail lower under my dress. I laugh and shove him off playfully with my butt, which only serves to cheer him on because he pushes his hand further between my legs, and I fight the scalding surge of heat it causes.

For the love of God. Stay focused.

“Go! There’s plenty of time for that later, a lot of that.” I smile as he holds up his hands in defeat.

“I’m holding you to that, baby.” He smacks my ass and turns back to the car, winking and waving as he slides in effortlessly. I stand watching him and sigh, chaos of emotions churning up at the loss of his touch. He waits by the sidewalk until I swallow down the inner dread; when it passes, I turn with a wave and head inside.

Jake won’t wander far, probably a nearby café or something within walking distance so he can get back to me in a hurry. Knowing he’s close helps. Knowing I can call him and he’ll be right here gives me strength. It gives me the peace that I desperately need. The man is too much for my heart to handle sometimes, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.

I swallow down everything building up inside of me and push through the doors into the main foyer of the building; it’s a lot nicer than the last time I stepped in here, and I remember my mother talking about refurbishments to this place the last time I saw her. It’s airy and light but cozy and welcoming. I spot the familiar receptionist, Claire. Even after all these years, she looks the same but surprised to see me and beams at my entrance.

“Hello, Emma! Well, look at you! God, you look great. The vision of happiness with your glowing face and your hair is adorable.” I smile warmly, my composure slipping when faced with people from my past. The urge to lift my chin and force out those cold mannerisms and icy tone almost overwhelms me, but I don’t. That instant compulsion died a while back in the glory of Jake’s presence, and I won’t slide into an old habit to deal with my discomfort around this poor woman.

“Hey. Thank you. I was wondering if my mother was here and if I could maybe go surprise her?” I take her in with a genuine smile hiding my inner waves of fear. My palms are already clamming up, and I can’t ignore the faster thumping of my heart now I’m in here.

“You’re in luck. She’s in her office today doing the accounts. She’ll be alone too, I imagine; holed up with her head in the books.” She pats my shoulder gently and smiles. “Just go on up. She’ll be so happy to see you.”

Doubtful.

I smile gratefully at her before heading toward the far-right corner staircase, thanking Claire as I go, by-passing a couple of undesirable-looking teens loitering nearby, eyeing me up.

Wonderful.

I swerve around a little older woman, with a huge sense of sadness for her, as she drags carrier bags behind her containing all her worldly possessions.

I skip up the steps, two at a time, in a bid to get this over and done with before I lose my courage, then turn a corner to come face-to-face with the old familiar corridor leading to her office. The same pale cream walls and red carpet, no refurbishments up here to keep my memories at bay. Her pine office door is chipped and scraped, but her name is executively etched onto a brass sign screwed outside, looking so out of place against the old entrance.

I stand outside, fixing my hair, smoothing down my pink sundress, and take a deep calming breath before I steady myself to bring a sense of calm to my demeanor. I picture Jake’s soft, caring face and breathe deeply, seeing him clearly, imagining him beside me with an encouraging hand in mine, a genuine smile lifting at the corners of my mouth.

I can do this.

I don’t knock or hesitate to reach out. I turn the handle and walk in like it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to do.

She’s sat at her desk, glasses perched on the end of her nose and face inclined toward the papers she’s looking at. Her tousled wavy hair, the same color as mine, is falling over her face. She looks up, hearing the door creak open, and I catch a moment of shock gape across her mouth as it quickly turns into a warm smile, a little wary but still warm, making my stomach ache. Doubt creeps in and makes this instantly harder. My mother is always capable of signs of affection when she knows it’s appropriate, but even now, I can’t decipher whether it’s genuine or not.

“Emma?” She stands and smiles, rolling a pen between her hands, elbows bent in front of her. We still, for a moment, neither is the type to initiate any sort of touching with the other.

“This is a lovely surprise.” She gestures pointedly with her pen for me to sit down. “Please, have a seat.” Her voice is steady, with no hint of anything other than minor surprise at my appearance.

“Mother.” I swallow hard and move slowly, closing the door behind me to give us some privacy, deciding not to sit down, knowing I won’t be here long enough to get ‘comfortable’ – if that’s even the definition of this situation. I’m glad we’re here and not at the apartment; this is easier, detached, and business-like, with a desk separating us and making me feel more capable. This is a place I rarely visited as a teen, so there aren’t many lingering memories or heart-breaking thoughts here to distract me.

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you back here after the way you both left last time …” She raises a brow with a hint of attitude, and I bristle. She’s clearly still angry about my behavior and accusations, no doubt irritated that Jake saw that side of her. This is the reaction I’ve been expecting, though, no hint of her own wrongdoing, just highlighting her disappointment in me and noting my failures according to her. Again.

You know her, Emma. This is what she’s like, don’t take the bait.

She wants an apology, wants me to admit I behaved badly, like always, and because I’m not playing her game, she’s not giving me anything in return. She’s turned on her cool demeanor and closed-off persona, a sight I’ve seen many times, withdrawing any form of affection, like she always did when I was a child. She’s freezing me out, except this time, it’s not because I’ve upset one of her lovers. It’s just because I’m here, and she didn’t know I was coming. She can’t pretend with me this way.

Right now, she wants to punish me for daring to turn the finger back on her about my childhood. My mother is a narcissistic person, clear to me like a flash of light as I take in her familiar pose and expression, deadpan blankness.

“Actually, I’m here to tell you my news.” I push down the chaotic feelings threatening to override my courage. A wave of nausea washes over me; tadpole’s instincts at knowing something is wrong with me. I nod toward the chair in front of her desk, looking for permission to sit despite already having it. She frowns at me, annoyed by my ignorance of her request before, yet obliges and nods toward the chair opposite her desk, with an exasperated look. I scold myself for my childish questioning to sit; PA Emma would’ve never sought her permission. An adult should be able to sit without needing consent, but she has a way of making me feel like a child all over again.

“Please.” She sits back, removing her glasses and laying her palms on the table across one another. I cannot help but watch her stiff upright posture, careful mannerisms, and sigh. Jake is right, I used to behave exactly like her, but I didn’t see it; every movement, carefully placed, always aware of her grace and gestures, cool and coldly poised. I look down at my hands, casually laid in my lap, and my sagging posture and smile. I’m sitting how Jake would sit, loose and relaxed, with no thought to how I’m perceived, and I can’t help but feel his warmth run across me as though he’s here with me, encouraging me even in his absence.

“Jake asked me to marry him.” I smile at her, shining with inner joy at his face in my mind, thinking back to the night when he asked me to be his forever.

God, I love him so much.

She sits for a moment, and I scrutinize her every expression, a hint of surprise followed by a look of disappointment, and then a fake smile is plastered on to hide it all. Her façade is disrupted only momentarily, and then she’s back in full control.

Why am I not surprised that she doesn’t want me to be happy? She never has. She doesn’t care if it’s not something for her benefit.

“Congratulations. I’m assuming the wedding will be in New York?” She can’t look me in the eye, but there’s a new tone to her voice, a slight edge, and for the first time, I click to what it is. I’ve been completely oblivious before today, but now there’s a bright, shining magnifying light forced over her for me to peer through.

She’s jealous!! She is jealous of her own freaking child finding happiness. Her child finding love. What kind of mother is that?!

“There’s more.” I sit up straighter, old anger inside me rising at her response to her only child getting married; Inner-Teen-Emma making a grand appearance; the girl pushed down repeatedly by the woman before her.

She hasn’t even asked me if he makes me happy or how much I love him. She has never acknowledged my relationship with him before, so it’s no surprise that she wouldn’t now.

“Let me guess … You’ve quit work to live the life of a billionaire’s trophy wife? I’m so proud.” She stares at me blankly, and I start stiffening. She isn’t good at hiding her envy now since we’re getting into it, forgetting herself and her outward demeanor because we have no audience. Hence needing to do this alone, for this persona right here. The woman who used to tower over me in passive emptiness when her boyfriend was upset or when one left because of me.

Breathe, don’t let her get to you.