The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

“Mathews is nearby, and I’ll only be gone until tomorrow, baby, and you know Mamma will come to check on you if you don’t show face.” I’m getting the paternal-type lecture from Jake as he gets ready to go to Manhattan. He’s looking sophisticated in a flawlessly tailored dark suit and, for once, a tie; one of his clients is sharing his flight to get business out of the way quickly, mid-air.

“I’m sure I can look after myself for a night. You know, I did handle some independence before I had you.” I smile sarcastically as he frowns at me.

“Workmen finish up this afternoon, a day early, so by tonight, you’ll be chaos free.” He continues, ignoring my jibe. He’s on a roll in bossy commander business mode, and I revert to PA Emma to listen patiently while he gets it all out of his brain. I remember one of the first things Margo told me about Jake when I started to work for him; she told me he likes information to be repeated back to him and tasks relayed vocally in order of importance. It’s nice to think I’m at the top of his list, even subconsciously.

“Good. I plan on a lovely bubble bath, an annoyingly soppy movie and an early night in our luxurious bed.” I lean up and kiss his cheek.

“That sounds much better than having to go back to work,” he grumbles.

“Jealous?” I utter sweetly, leaning in to kiss him goodbye on the mouth this time, always aching to have that intimacy with him.

“No, just wishing I was part of your evening plans, baby. I can’t even Skype call this time because I want to get through everything to get back home tomorrow morning. I’m going to miss you a lot.” He runs a hand down my jaw and ruffles my hair before the obligatory kiss on the forehead and leaves.

My goodbye waves are rudely interrupted by the chaos of noise starting for the day in the house somewhere behind me. I sigh inwardly as the screeching sounds of a power drill, and instant hammering over my head start echoing around the emptiness.

One more day of workmen and chaos and noise, just one more day. You can cope with that.

We’ve been here a few days and spent most of it locked in our room or the lounge: another perfectly decorated room or next door. We have avoided most of the hired staff renovating and tried our best to escape from Monica when she repeatedly tries to show Jake around the developments. She doesn’t seem to take no for an answer and certainly doesn’t seem to be phased by his pregnant fiancée hanging on his arm every time they enter the house. I’ve told Jake repeatedly, much to his amusement, that I think she’s one of those older women cougars you hear about, preying on young hot rich men.

I need to grin and bear it for today, and then they’ll be gone, dragging all their tools and mess and chaos with them out of my way. I want to start adding some homely touches to our castle finally. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and hug myself, unable to stop an internal squeal of happiness.

I wander through the rooms toward the kitchen in my robe and catch two men walking from the library to the dining area: carrying boxes. I sigh in agitation and avoid eye contact, instinctively pulling my robe tighter around my body; for more comfort. At least, for the most part, they keep out of my way. One of them seems to have an eye for me, though, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve only noticed it the past day or so, and since they’re leaving today, I can deal with a couple more hours of this crap; if anything, just to prove to Jake that I can.

I can’t seem to settle here yet because of it all. My nausea runs high at the stress of moving into the house and all the upheaval. The constant drilling and banging and heavy sounds drowning out any peace for me mean I can’t sleep through the day because of it, so I doubt my little tadpole can. This tidbit brings my annoyance at the workmen boiling up inside me. It tilts my brain off focus with fierce protectiveness. That’s why I’ll be glad when they leave.

I swallow it down in agitation and walk to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat. I’ve found that I love cooking since I have all the time in the world to leisurely stand around in this beautiful chef’s dream. Sarah would love it. I’m sure she’d be proud of how domesticated I’ve become, knowing my way around a kitchen. I like not having a cook until she returns at the end of the week. It’s somehow enjoyable making meals with love and caring precision for Jake and me to enjoy.

Maybe I’ll follow in Sylvana’s footsteps and cook for my own family once or twice a week as she does.

Soon the noise of drilling and male chatter and laughter annoys me enough to send me to my room for refuge. At least in here, I can turn on the TV or run a bath and lock them all out. The large hall echoes around downstairs and amplifies it to incredibly ridiculous proportions. Somehow so much louder today. The bed still smells of Jake and has retained some of his body heat locked between the sheets, so I curl into his side and wrap the blankets around me to drown out the chaos and nap.

I am exhausted enough to try to get some sleep. I’m too tired to exchange pleasantries with the workman today, and even Monica isn’t around for me to roll my eyes at.

Thank God.

Her overly eager eye fluttering and sexy smiles at Jake every five minutes slowly bring out inner violent Emma lately. The woman simply has no scruples at all. She reminds me of the bored rich bitches Jake and I would meet at every event; those who hung on him and his every word despite their husbands standing close by.

The downside to a popular hot man!

Even here, the noise is too much, and I give up. I haul my restless body out of bed and resign myself to getting dressed; every intention of spending today in the solace of Sylvana’s kitchen, hoping for some inner calm and serenity … if not for me, then at least for the baby. If I have the possibility of avoiding the last day of banging and hammering, surrounded by strange men, then I will. I’m uneasy here without Jake, so seeing his mamma with her gorgeous welcoming heart will be a comfortable break.

I swear maxi dresses were made for the comfort of pregnant women; in one fell swoop, I’m dressed and ready to get on with the day since I am begrudgingly forced out of bed by the invasive chaos. I tap down the stairs of the stairwell and slip my feet into the ballet pumps I have lying by the entrance to the living area. I can’t seem to go anywhere downstairs without a layer of dust settling on my feet; at least after today, that should hopefully be over. I pick up my bag, drop my cell into it, and then leave.

“Miss. Anderson?” One of the burly men calls to me as I’m walking for the door through the main hall downstairs.

“Yes?” It’s unusual for them to address me directly. I turn sharply, Jake normally deals directly with the workmen while Monica and I focus on the décor, blissfully ignorant to the construction work going on; that’s Jake’s kind of thing.

“We should be out of your hair by noon at the latest, ma’am. Just wondering what you’d like us to do with the keys if you’re not back?” He regards me with a relaxed, business-like expression, and my insides instantly calm. No danger here. Old Emma always rears up inside me when I face unexpected, strange men.

“Drop them next door if I’m out. I’ll either be there or close by. Sylvana is my mother-in-law, so that’s fine.” I smile gratefully.

“Sure thing.” He nods at me and lets me on my way, walking out into the warm day, and I chew my lip a little. I didn’t know they’d been gaining access with their own key the whole time. I assumed Mathews or someone at Sylvana’s had been letting them in and out, which bothers me a lot. Those random men have keys and access codes to my house, and it’s grating on my inner calm, old Emma showing face and trying like hell to point out the dangers in it, in a rather disturbing way, through visions of what those men could do to me. I’m glad to be leaving and relieved that this is their last day.

I’ll ask Jake to change the locks and the codes when he’s home. That’ll make me feel better. How could he have forgotten to tell me that the contract workers have full access to the house? Maybe it’s just something that richer people are used to.

I sigh inwardly and head to my second home, a huge smile on my face and a rumbling stomach despite having eaten. Sylvana’s cream cannelloni are singing to me across the grassy lane, as is a morning curled on the couch with her like yesterday. Cocoa mugs and daytime soaps, chatting our boredom away. This new way of life is starting to agree with me.