Page 25 of The Love Rematch
“You heard me.”
Cooper moves to intervene, and for a second, Jake fears everything he set up will be for naught. Then Emily puts her hand out, holding the cowboy back. Her eyes burn like molten amber. The crystals on her dress catch the light as she steps forward, the click of her heels loud in the sudden silence. She doesn’t stop until she’s inches from Chet, her face arched up to make her seem taller, her shoulders proud. Quiet she may be. A pushover she is not. Her lips curl like a lioness’s on the hunt as she opens her mouth.
“Get out.”
“What?” Chet scoffs.
“You heard me,” she says, repeating his words against him. “I know what you’re probably thinking. I know what everyone is saying about me online. That I’m pathetic. That I’m a loser. What kind of desperate do I need to be for my mother to practically beg America to put me on this show? But I’ll let you in on a little secret, Chet. Something I figured out a long time ago. Something I hope every woman watching already knows. I will never be so pathetic, so desperate, or so lonely that I’ll settle for someone like you. Someone who belittles other people to make themselves feel bigger. So yes, get out. Get out of this room. Get out of this mansion. And get out of my life. Because I’d rather end up alone than end up with you.”
Beautiful, Jake thinks. The moment. The delivery. The girl. Simply stunning on all accounts, especially when she whips around and stomps across the room, leaving Chet gobsmacked, his mouth bobbing comically like a fish’s, his brain just as empty. Jake doesn’t think it can get any better, and then she pauses to glance back over her shoulder. The moment extends for an extra beat, the effect so perfect he’s sure Fred is losing his mind behind the camera. She’s a director’s dream right now, and she always has been.
“Oh, in case I’m not being clear, Chet,” she sneers, practically spitting his name—which, really, is how a name likeChetis meant to be said, anyway. “You arenotmy perfect match. Goodbye.”
“And scene,” Jake murmurs softly.
It’s just enough righteous fury to gain the viewers’ support. Any more and she risks coming off as a shrew. Unfair, yes. But that’s reality television.
Nina must have the same thought because she starts flailing her arms to catch Emily’s attention, then ushers her toward an open door, completing the dramatic exit. Chet stands like a stunned idiot, watching her go. Cooper takes the opportunity to step up next to him. He pats the other man on the back.
“I tried to tell you,” he murmurs, but these mics pick up everything.God bless modern technology, Jake silently commends, fighting a grin as the cowboy continues. “Oh, and by the way, that home you’re so worried about? It sits on about two hundred thousand acres. I live in my own three-bedroom house on my family’s ranch, and I can assure you, the ladies I bring home don’t mind it one bit.”
Then he follows Emily out the door, snatching the pair of silk slippers Nina left on the console as he goes.
Chet is practically purple by the time he storms over to Jake.
“What the fuck, man?” he seethes. “You set me up! You said you wanted me to get one of these assholes eliminated—”
“And you did.”
Chet stops cold, as if his own stupidity has literally smacked him in the face. Jake steps to the side, anticipating the security guard who has marched down the hall to escort the bastard out. He can’t help but laugh under his breath as Chet gets hauled from the mansion, kicking and screaming, every second captured for millions to see. The so-called tough guys never go quietly.
“Well done, Jake,” his boss says over the comms, her voice laced with unbridled approval.
His grin widens and he drops his head back against the door, soaking in the victory. “Thanks, Trish.”
He rolls his face to the side, unable to keep from looking toward the spot where Emily disappeared, his longing too strong to ignore. It’s part of him. A living, breathing thing beneath his skin. But the doorway isn’t empty like he expected.
She’s there.
She’s watching him.
She knows exactly what he did.
For the first time since the limos, Emily meets his gaze. Jake doesn’t even care that there’s not an ounce of love in those eyes, just fury. He’d rather have her rage than have nothing at all.
CHAPTERSEVEN
emily
Exhausteddoesn’t even beginto cover how Emily is feeling as she walks into her bedroom, strips off her dress, and blindly grabs an old T-shirt from the drawer. She’s too tired to turn on the light, too tired to scrub off her makeup, too tired to even think of bothering with a pair of pajama pants. It takes all her energy to stumble over to the bed and faceplant on the comforter—to hell with the sheets. A balmy evening breeze blows in through the windows she left open earlier, and it’s perfection on her overheated skin. After sixteen hours of filming, the equivalent of thirty first dates, and an excruciatingly drawn-out puzzle ceremony where she sent ten men home, all she wants is silence. And darkness. And, well, a slice of cake wouldn’t hurt, but she’ll settle for ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Before her head even finds the pillow, her eyes are closed.
Her brain shuts down.
Ocean waves lull her to sleep, then—
Thump!
