Page 67 of The Love Rematch
A puff of air slips through her lips as they twitch with a smile. “Jake.”
“What?”
She arches her brows as if to say,You want to play it that way? I can play it that way. Then she steps closer, getting in his personal space. “I’m only going to remind you of this once, so take it to heart,” she murmurs. “The crew is the crew. The cast is the cast. And never the two shall meet. Understand?”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
His heart thuds so loudly he’s sure she must hear. “What exactly are you implying, Nina?”
“What exactly are you avoiding, Jake?”
They stare at each other for a prolonged moment, until she shakes her head with a soft laugh. “Oh, Jake, Jake, Jake.”
She says his name as if she can read every thought in his head, as if she knows everything. But she couldn’t possibly.
She’s fishing, he thinks.She’s got to be.
Well, he’s not some puppet to be produced.
“I’m not sure what you think you know, but I’m here to do a job, same as you.”
“Then why don’t you?” Nina retorts as she pulls open the door to her room. “Go find Cooper. Go secure us a leading man for next season. And leave the worrying about Emily to me. Got it?”
“What do you think I was doing before you stopped me for this little chat?”
“I don’t know, Jake,” she says, offering him one last opening, one last chance. Then she steps into her room, eying him over her shoulder. “I really don’t know.”
The door closes.
Jake grits his teeth, glancing once at Emily’s closed door before stomping to the elevator at the end of the hall. The last thing he needs is Nina’s suspicion.
What the hell am I doing?
He presses the button for the fifth floor and drops his head back against the wall, then runs his hands over his face and through his hair.
What in the actual hell am I doing?
Giving Em a phone. Passing her notes on the plane. Sneaking her out of the hotel. It’s not just playing with fire. It’s lighting a stick of dynamite and watching it burn—bound to blow up in his face. And why? For what?
Because it’s Emily.
That’s exactly why he needs to stop.
God, I’m such a fucking idiot.
It’s not about his job. He doesn’t give a rat’s asshole about the job. Let them fire him for all he cares. He’ll find something else. It won’t be easy, and he’ll have to start over in a lot of ways, but he can do it if he has to. The seven years he put into this career means nothing compared to the seven years of space he put between him and Emily—seven years of space that’s rapidly depleting before his very eyes due to his own stupid, selfish behavior.
I’m no good for her.
I almost ruined her life once. I can’t do it again.
I destroy everything I touch.
It’s the mantra he told himself over and over again in those early days in Los Angeles, when he was hurting and alone and couldn’t stop from reaching for the phone, ready to dial the number he would never forget, dying to hear the sound of her breath on the other end of the line.
He would say those words to remember why he left.
