Page 11 of Look What You Made Me Do

Jake smiled at the imperious index finger pointing in Pete’s face. He was the picture of the-customer-is-always-right patience. Ella, on the other hand, somehow managed to make goddamn sound exactly the way it would coming from a high school teacher with a stick jammed up her ass.

He knew she lived in Inverboro – or had two years ago anyway. But in a city of over two million people, he’d never expected their paths to cross.

“The Chicks?” she asked in desperation. “You know, something with a lyric and more than one note?”

“Well, well, well,” Jake drawled as he strolled unhurriedly in their direction. “Looks like you can take the girl out of Trently, but you can’t take Trently out of the girl.”

She swiveled toward him so fast, he was unprepared for the impact of her gaze after all this time. “Jake?”

He took another slug of Mexican nectar. “Ella.”

They stared for a while. A long while. Then she glanced at Pete. “This is the boss?” Not waiting for an answer, she flicked her gaze back to him. “You’re the boss? You own this place?”

The astonishment in her voice rankled. He raised his bottle to her. “Surprise.”

“I didn’t know you lived in Inverboro.”

“I moved back here almost two years ago.”

She was clearly blindsided. But even so, there was none of the anger, sadness or frustration from their last meeting. No, she looked as cool and detached as the Ella he had known as a kid and, for some reason – maybe it was her incredulity, maybe it was the beer, maybe it was that ponytail – it irritated the crap out of him.

“If you’re after a repeat of last time, I have to let you know that this establishment doesn’t have a room upstairs.”

Her hasty glance at Pete and the red flushing her cheeks didn’t give him the level of satisfaction he’d hoped.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jake,” she said as Pete wisely moved away. “It wasn’t that good.”

He chuckled. There were two things Jake knew how to do. The first was how to block. The second was how to make a woman come to Jesus between his sheets. And Ella Lucas had definitely undergone a total religious conversion in his bed.

“Ella…” He tutted. “I wouldn’t mind betting that I’m the best you ever had.”

Her mouth tightened. “You’re mighty sure of yourself.”

“What can I say?” He took a swig of beer. “I’m gifted.”

Drawing herself up, she gave him that distant haughty look he’d seen often back home in Trently. “I faked it.”

Jake threw back his head and laughed. “All three times?”

Looking him directly in the eye, she nodded. “All three.”

“Well then, you deserve an Oscar. Meg Ryan could learn a thing or two from you.”

“What can I say?” she said, her smile saccharine sweet. “I’m gifted.”

“Lots of practice, huh?”

If looks could kill, her glare would have driven him six feet under. But he was damned if he was going to back down now as he drained his beer and slapped it down on the bar top.

She narrowed her gaze. “Are you drunk?”

Reaching into the fridge behind him, he grabbed another Corona, cracked the lid and took a deep swallow. “Not yet.”

“Drinking the profits, Jake?”

It was a low blow but he guessed he deserved it. “My father gambled the profits, Ella. He didn’t drink them.” Although his father’s top shelf habit definitely helped lubricate his gambling woes.

“Hey babe, a girl could die of thirst waiting for you.”

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