The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)
Chapter 18

I wake up to Nora placing a tray of homemade soup on a table beside the bed and realize I fell asleep again; another sign that I have a virus. The movie is still playing, so I mustn’t have been out for too long. I move to sit up as Jake’s hands come from beside me, lifting the cushions and helping me to sit.

He’s on the bed next to me on top of the covers in sweats and a T-shirt with a mountain of files scattered beside him. It almost feels normal, like before any of this mess came between us. I guess while I slept, he’s been keeping me company and working. Jake is doing what he does while he lets me relax and enjoy the peace.

“Thank you, Nora.” I smile, looking down at the bowl of soup and plate of crusty bread served with a glass of fresh orange juice. The woman is a saint. She knows how to melt her way into my heart.

“How’re you feeling?” Jake smooths back my hair as

I pull the tray toward me. His fingers grazing my cheek

as though checking my temperature, I can feel his eyes on me.

“Too fuzzy from sleeping to know.” I smile at him over my shoulder quickly, halted by how gorgeous he looks. It makes my insides clench, part of me longing for a time before any of this happened when I could turn and curl into him without any of this emotional turmoil inside.

“How long was I out?” I turn my attention back to the bowl, leaning out of bed and taking a spoonful. The soup tastes amazing like I’ve been starved for a week.

“About an hour and a half.” He picks up the files on his lap and shuffles them around. “The doctor said she’d be here about two hours after my call. So, eat up. She should be here soon.”

He shifts and chucks a bunch of files onto the floor from his side of the bed. I hear them scatter as some slide across the surface. I have zero inclination to ask about

work right now. If anything, this separation has highlighted how detached and non-interested in the Carrero Corporation I’ve become, and I know deep down I’ll never go back to that job.

“I don’t think I need to see a doctor, you know.” I try to start reasoning with him, but the dark look on his face quietens me. He has that no-nonsense verging on yelling kind of scary look that I have no energy to handle right now.

Oh, hello, Boss Carrero; nice to see you still exist.

“Emma, whether you want to see her or not, she’s coming.” He watches me eat with his penetrating gaze, causing me to lose my confidence. “You’re looking pale again.” He leans over to feel my cheek and frowns. I don’t feel hot, just tired and hungry, in fact, more than hungry. This soup is the best I’ve eaten in my life. Jake sighs and leans back, pulling his warm hands away; a mixed tingling of relief and disappointment runs through me.

* * *

Jake is right. Less than half an hour later, the lovely Doctor Rachael Brown is shown into the room to examine me. I

tell her there’s no point evicting Jake as he’ll only linger, asking questions, at the closed door every two minutes distracting her from her job. He has an air of command oozing from him, and he’s in a no-nonsense mood. He’s already hanging at the side of the bed with a grim expression as though he wants to beat someone.

“Doctor.” He nods her way and watches her like a hawk.

She smiles indulgently and gives me a sympathetic look. I guess she’s met a few overprotective men in her career and looks like she can handle the Carreros of this world.

“So, now, how can I help here?” She smiles sweetly, her voice as smooth as honey; with one perfectly manicured hand, she runs a stray copper hair back into her neat French roll. She looks more like one of Jake’s top executives than a doctor.

“She’s passed out more than once recently, this morning being the latest, and she vomited when we were out earlier. Something is just off with her. I can feel it. She never gets sick.” Jake’s husky tone and narrowed gaze are almost impaling her hands. He’s watching intently as she moves a stethoscope toward me.

“You know she’s not going to stab me with it, right?” I giggle at him and watch his facial expression soften slightly. He gives me half a smile, and the doctor smirks from the corner of her mouth as she encourages me to pull down the sheets so she can get to my chest and abdomen.

Jake walks over to his wardrobe and comes back with a T-shirt. I’m just wearing underwear right now, so he holds it out to me as the doctor moves behind me to listen to my back, and I slide it on over my head awkwardly.

“Do you have any other symptoms or concerns?” She’s gazing at me intensely, checking my throat and glands, generally fluttering around my body while she listens to me. Her hands are surprisingly soft, warm, and completely non-intrusive despite being all over me.

“I want to sleep an awful lot, constantly feel exhausted, a little weak, I guess, and I’ve noticed I’m hungrier than normal.” I sigh and catch Jake’s eyes narrowing even further. I know he’s accusing me of not telling him something important. It’s not like wanting more food and being crazy tired is a symptom of anything but emotional exhaustion and insomnia. So he can take that glare elsewhere! I narrow my eyes back at him, and I’m met with that stubborn furrow on his brow.

“Hmm, mmm, hmmm.” The doctor pulls something from her bag, a book, and jots some things down.

“Anything else? Tender anywhere? Unusual behaviors or cravings?” She’s not looking at me but rummaging in her bag, pulling out some bottles and vials, then moving to stand.

“Um … not that I can think of.” I hate being put on

the spot when I haven’t been paying attention to my own body. “I’ve been distracted with other things lately, so I’ve not taken much notice of anything like that,”

I explain, smiling. But then I catch Jake’s glare dissipating. He looks completely guilt-ridden and hangs his head a little. The effect is devastating, and a surge of ache hits me hard.

I want to reach out and cuddle him and make it go away. He looks so forlorn.

“I think some urine and bloods might be a good idea. Then, some more questions and a more thorough workup. Are you okay with that?” She blinks at me with a professional smile, and I nod. I catch Jake in the corner of my eye, hands in pockets, leaning back against the flat gray paintwork with the air of a guy who has no will to do anything but wait and watch. He’s obviously mulling things over in his head, lost in his regrets and guilt. I want to pull him out of it and wrap myself around him. But the doctor’s hands jolt me back to what she needs to do right now.

During the next half hour, she examines me thoroughly, questioning me endlessly about my daily routines and other things that don’t seem to have much relation to tiredness and extreme hunger. She takes blood and asks me to urinate in a cup which is awkward, given that the act of standing makes me feel too lightheaded. Jake tries to come to my rescue, but there’s no way I want him to watch me peeing in a cup. I hold him back with a raised palm, hating the look of pain that flashes across his face. He must think I’m refusing his help because of what has happened this last week. He moves back to his deflated posturing against the wall, sinking into a quiet, somber mood; I hate him this way.

The doctor takes away everything she has collected, all cups and samples, and moves to the oak unit that sits against the bedroom wall. She spends a long time pouring, dipping, and using other chemicals and powders in her chemistry kit. Watching her is fascinating, and it reminds me of the scientists in CSI.

She has a very serious expression while she dips and tests and writes down notes, then picks it up and takes things to the bathroom to clear them up. No one has said a word in what feels like an eternity, there are long, tense silences, and the apartment is eerily quiet, despite Nora being out there somewhere. We wait patiently while she disposes of things in the trash and washes her hands in the sink for at least five agonizing minutes.

Jake pushes off the wall and comes to sit on the bedside, helping me fix his T-shirt so that I can remove my uncomfortable bra from underneath. He pulls up my sheets, kissing me lightly on the forehead as though I am a simple sick child who needs mothering. He plumps the cushions for me wordlessly, guarding his emotions, his face is set in a blank expression, but his body language betrays his worried demeanor.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” He watches the doctor as she strolls back into view. She writes something studiously on a medical pad left on the side unit and turns to look at us with a smile. He tenses, then take a long deep breath very slowly, emanating all kinds of fear. It makes me want to wrap my arms around his neck to make him feel better. He’s the boyish young version of himself right now, and I’m incapable of withstanding that side of him.

“Emma, are you okay with discussing a diagnosis in front of Mr. Carrero?” She eyes me kindly, with a no-nonsense attitude and raised brow that tells me she intends to evict him if necessary. Jake stiffens. He either doesn’t like her question, and it’s grating on his infamous ego, most likely bristling with an attitude ready to take her on, or he’s worried that the diagnosis is something to be truly scared about.

“It’s fine. You can tell Jake anything you have to tell me.” I graciously smile, knowing full well the drama that would ensue if I dared to make him leave. It would be horrific.

Jake cuts in instantly.

“So, what is it? What’s wrong with her?” His low growl indicates he’s stressed over the diagnosis, his caveman aggressive demeanor a show of the scared Jake who her attitude has riled. I know him too well. He’s clasping my hands, playing with my fingers in his I’m nervous as hell way, but to anyone else, he looks terrifyingly pumped and ready to beat someone down.