The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)
Chapter 8

I sigh for the hundredth time as I sit across from Leila and Sarah in a small booth of a trendy little cocktail bar. I

feel like crap. I don’t want to be here, but the force that is Leila not only whipped me into a dress and heels, and a

face of make-up, but also cajoled Sarah out with us too. Sarah is in complete awe of this sassy, little whirlwind, and I can tell Sarah loves her, like everyone else who ever meets her.

“Sex on the beach?” Leila blinks at me innocently. I blink back, gulping, instantly incredibly awkward.

“What?” My head immediately zooms to the week Jake took me to the Caribbean, and I flush with both the memory and the heartache.

Why the hell would Leila be asking me this right now?

“It’s a drink, Emma.” Sarah cuts in, cupping her hand over mine. She’s still being the gentle and sweet maternal one, still anticipating my moods, mothering me. Meanwhile, Leila is being a rather bossy and domineering little pest.

“Get that look off your face. By the time we leave, I will have you smiling and pissed. Broken hearts are cured with lots of delicious alcohol, and you know … the quickest way to get over a man is to get under a new one.” She winks naughtily, grinning, as my stomach hits my ankles and a cloak of dread passes through me.

This was so not a good idea. Leila is completely nuts.

Leila shoves Sarah’s hand back from the top of mine with a rather sassy eyebrow raise.

“Stop coddling her. She’s made of much tougher stuff, and this new, all-teary Emma is not a good look. I swear if you don’t suck it up a little for one night, I may have to get my whip out.” Leila’s words hit me, almost like a slap, and I try to ignore the whip thing, wondering how serious she is.

She’s goddamn right! I am not someone who sits and cries their way through life’s upsets. I’m stronger than this.

I also think that secretly, Leila is a sadist.

I lift my chin and paste a defiant smile on my face. Meeting Leila’s approving wink instantly, her nod of pride at the show of my old self.

“Yes, sex on the beach all round!” I chirp up, trying to sound brighter, my heart desperately pushing down the resistance and tears. Sarah regards me a little warily before shrugging and leaning back into her chair with a resigned look.

“Why not? Been ages since I had to get through a shift with a hangover.” She shrugs.

* * *

“Oh, my God! Leila, get down!” I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt as Leila dances along the bar top, shimmying and singing full pelt into the wireless mic of the karaoke machine. She’s in full rock star mode, strutting her stuff like a coyote ugly wannabe. Sarah is so drunk she’s sprawled over the bar, laughing at my poor attempts to control the wild petite blonde.

“Leave her alone, honey. She looks mighty fine up there.” Some sleazy fat man grabs my wrist, tugging my arm from Leila’s leg, and I recoil in disgust at his touch. His eyes travel under the dress she borrowed from me to wear, and my repulsion grows into something more empowering, seething anger. I elbow him hard in the ribs and stand back with a fierce glare when he comes around at me.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Crazy bitch!” He moves in angrily, but my inner anger and psycho switch clicks on, pulling my height up to its full length in readiness, too drunk to care about what I’m doing or any subsequent consequences.

Bring it on, asshole!

“That’s enough. Do you need me to escort you out, Tom?” The bartender cuts in, sliding the empty glass away from the man with a warning glare. The man snaps his attention to the burly tender, with his bulging muscles and no-nonsense expression, and sneers my way.

“Fucking bitch … No. I’m going anyway.” The chubby older man turns on his heel and stalks off, leaving me feeling a little smug. I’m trying to ignore the deep welt of pain growing inside of me, managing to convince myself that it has nothing to do with the anger inside of my broken heart. Anger is a good emotion for me right now. It’s pushing away the melancholy from the last few hours. I’ve been thinking about Jake almost every second, despite the alcohol-fueled party mood that Leila has inflicted on me, and I’m trying my hardest not to let it show for fear of Leila’s wrath.

“Try not to get yourself into a fight, honey. Some of the regulars can be prissy as shit.” The tender winks at me and moves off to tend to the crowded bar. I glare after him, drink bringing out this alarming inner rage inside me rather than my merry carefree drunken Emma.

What would Jake think of drunk Emma like this? Wouldn’t like her very much, would he? This is more like Drunk Teen Emma.

Leila is still singing her heart out, but the song switches to something slower, and now she’s swaying around up there. I’ve given up trying to reach her now that she’s moved further along the bar, which spans the room and turns in a U shape along the other side. I have no idea how she’s still upright, considering we’ve been here for hours and drunk enough alcohol to render the three of us unconscious.

My legs ache from our dancing attempts, and I have the head of a drunk girl wandering around the crowded room aimlessly. I have a fuzzy, almost dream-like haze with my consciousness, and I just want to lie down. I am suffering the effects of my drink, and the room is spinning and swaying around me. I hold onto the bar for support and stand slumped, watching the room, a little detached from reality.

She starts belting out a love song rather tunefully, a little flat in places, but she’s giving it her all and enjoying herself, so I sit down to listen. It takes only a moment to realize it’s a song Jake has sent me in the past.

Pink, ‘Give me a Reason.’

It hits me like a punch in the stomach, winding me, bringing the huge weight of agony back to the forefront of my mind. Emotion heavy in my chest, I let out a long heavy breath to hold back the new onslaught of tears prickling behind my eyes.

I miss him so damned much. I wish he were here right now. Why did he have to infect every part of me with his presence?

I realize, suddenly, I don’t like being drunk anymore. I only ever drank with Jake because I knew he would take care of me and my little bubble of bravado, well and truly pops. I hate being in a bar, without my protector, surrounded by strange men who stare and sleaze over the women around them. I’m vulnerable and emotional. The last thing I should’ve done was come here and get drunk. I feel so powerless and small.

Now I’ve started this monsoon of depressed feelings. I can’t seem to switch it off. I watch Leila for a moment and see, almost with new eyes, how the men around the bar are looking up her dress, checking out her ass, practically drooling with every little movement she makes. Male eyes check out every girl that walks by, all with the same leering stare and licking of lips. Like animals searching out prey, and it sickens me.

I feel nauseous, so aware now of how awful this is. We’ve left ourselves vulnerable in a lions’ pit, too drunk to function and take care of ourselves, and at this moment, I’ve never wanted Jake beside me more than right now to take care of me. Sarah’s passed out, hordes of drunk men surround Leila, and I’m so out of my depth that an edge of panic starts coming on, the old Teen Emma freaking in my mind.

I haul out my cell in my drunken haze, noticing the wetness on my chin and wiping it with surprise, unaware tears have even been falling. The phone sways in my vision, my focus shot, and I try to make the screen less blurry by holding it at various distances.

“You all right, beautiful?” A male voice comes considerably close to my ear. I recoil as his warm breath hits my neck, revulsion creeping over my skin like a moving tide of cringe.

“Fuck off and get away,” I snarl, all claws, hissing and recoiling against the bar. I’m in full defensive Emma mode and feel hemmed in by over-sexed sleaze bags who wish to touch me. I’m prickling with angry energy.

“Fuck you, lesbo!” he snaps and moves along to try his luck with the next one. That knot of anxiety stays well and truly tightened within me, my body tense.

Charming. Dickhead.

I stab at the phone manically, unsure if I’m managing to call anyone at all, suddenly desperate for him to be here. I can hear ringing, so I put it to my ear and hold my breath.

“Emma?” Jake’s voice is like a complete blast of light beaming from heaven, running through me, hitting me right in my center. His low sexy, soothing tone, and the way he says my name, yet with a hint of worry. Trembling rivulets of warmth run through my body at just hearing his voice.

Oh God, I miss you.

I managed to get Jake on the first try. I’ve never felt such relief at hearing his voice, my heart constricting in pain and longing. Now I’ve finally broken the silence. It feels like it’s been months since that gentle tone was inside my head.