Page 19 of The Love Rematch
She laughs and puts her hand to her racing heart. “I guess you did.”
“And I plan to keep you,” he murmurs in a deep, gravelly voice that makes her stomach clench. Two of the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen pin her in place, and a dimple puckers his cheek. He takes her hand and lifts it to his mouth, like something out of a movie. “My name is Ethan, and I can’t wait to talk to you more inside.”
He presses his lips gently to her skin, then as quickly as he came, he’s gone, dropping her hand and walking toward the mansion, more apparition than man.
But his kiss lingers.
Emily clasps her hand to her chest and laughs softly. She watches the empty spot where he stood a moment ago, overwhelmed, a little awed, mostly just confused at how this is even her life. Maybe the next six weeks won’t be so bad after all.
“Cut!” the director yells.
She flinches.
Right. This is for TV. This isn’t real.
“Emily, you were perfect,” Fred says in a kind voice. “But Ethan, get back here. I’m going to need at least two more takes of that entrance to make sure we get the angle right coming out of the limo.”
Ethan reemerges and offers her a wink as he’s ushered back toward the limo by the assistants, not given a moment to say a word to her even if he wanted to. She can’t help how her gaze follows him, then flicks a little to the side, landing on Jake. His eyes are practically molten. If looks could kill, Ethan would be six feet under.
Maybe he’s not so unaffected after all, she thinks with a satisfied smirk.
Ethan climbs back into the limo and Jake slams the door shut with so much force, everyone jumps.
“Lay off the Wheaties,” Fred jokes as he rearranges a camera.
“Sorry.” Jake’s voice is gruff, annoyed.
Emily’s grin deepens. Sam was right. Revengeissweet.
Jake turns to look at her with a scowl, but before their eyes meet, Nina is there. She offers her a sip of water through a straw. Over the producer’s shoulder, Ethan takes another diving spill from the limo, this time with a camera about five inches from his face.
“You did great,” Nina murmurs in a low voice, as if it’s a secret and the two of them are in cahoots. “Don’t mind the reshoots. The first take is the only one that matters for you. We want your genuine reactions for the show. The rest is to give our editors options. What’d you think of the first guy? He’s hot, right?”
“I guess.” Emily shrugs. “I hardly know him.”
“He looks like Henry Cavill and Colin Farrell’s love child. What else do you need to know?”
His full name? His life dream? His Starbucks order?She offers Nina a wry grin. “His shoe size?”
The producer snorts. “Save that one for the interview room.”
“We’re ready,” Fred calls.
Nina backs away slowly, holding Emily’s gaze. “One down, twenty-nine more to go. You got this.”
She turns to the limo, straightens her shoulders, and pointedly ignores Jake for the next four hours—which is the ungodly amount of time it takes for them to film all thirty arrivals. When the last guy walks through the door, Emily is exhausted. Their names and faces are mostly a blur. All she remembers are the gimmicks. Big Ben, who came dressed as a clocktower asking her not to run away at midnight. Cowboy Cooper, who rode in on an actual horse. Floatie Frank, who decided to show up in a full scuba suit with a pink flamingo around his waist for some unknown reason. Was he a marine biologist? She can’t remember. Then there was Sexy Pierre, the Frenchman whose accent actually made her knees go weak even though for all she knew he’d whispered the French word formoistin her ear. Oh, then someone threw a football at her face—thank god she grew up in the South and spent enough time on the high school sidelines to be ready forthat. And then there was the yo-yo guy, the pink suit, the real estate broker with the smarmy smile, and the man who brought her a milkshake. It was strawberry—blegh. His name went in one ear and out the other after she caught Jake chuckling softly to himself while she pretended to enjoy the drink. It was a sweet gesture, and she hadn’t wanted to make anyone feel bad, but, god, she loathed strawberry ice cream. Of course, it was Jake’s favorite. She’d had half a mind to chuck it at his head.
Freaking Jake.
Always there. Always watching. Always in the back of her mind. She can’t escape him. Thirty seconds with a new man, then Jake. Then thirty seconds with someone else, then back to Jake.Jake. Jake. Jake.
“How are you holding up?” Nina asks.
Emily flinches. “Good.”
“Good.” Nina grins. “Because we have about twelve more hours to go.”
“Twelve?” Emily groans and slumps back into the folding chair the assistants had provided while they set up her entrance into the house for the cocktail party.
