Page 29 of The Love Rematch
“I’m sorry.”
She snorts and arches a brow. “There’s a long list of things you might be apologizing for, Jake. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”
“I should have called.”
“Which time?”
He runs a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping. Emily is pissed off to find disgruntlement only makes him more attractive. The mussed-up waves. The clenched jaw. The sliver of exposed skin she can’t keep her gaze from dropping to as his shirt lifts, revealing hard, tanned flesh. There’s a challenge in his eyes, as if he’s daring her to revisit the past. Beneath it, there’s pain. No one else ever seemed to realize when he was hurting—not his mom, not his friends, not his teachers—but she always knew. He could never hide from her, and he can’t now. History sizzles between them, a pot boiling over with everything left unspoken.
Emily looks away first.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call to let you know I work for the show,” he clarifies softly. “I should have given you the heads-up before you signed the contract.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sam said you were being, and I quote,a little chickenshit.”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course she did.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes.” He says it too quickly, as if it’s an out he’s more than willing to take. Anger curdles in her gut. Dishonesty is the one thing she can’t handle from him.
“Why are you really here, Jake?” Surprise lifts his brows. “And don’t pretend it’s about an apology, because we both know you’ve never been big on those. Are you afraid I’m going to out you to the crew? Don’t worry. If you want to be Jackson Moore, be him. I won’t tell them who you really are.”
“No.” He shakes his head and stands full upright. “Em, that’s not—”
“Are you worried about your job? I won’t interfere. Do all the producing you need to do and don’t worry about me. Bring on the ex-girlfriends. Bring on the fights. Bring on the drama. I understand this is a television show and I’m under no delusions that I’m actually going to meet my husband out here.”
Her stomach twists on the word.
His face pales. “Em—”
“Emily,” she corrects, squaring her shoulders. “You’re not the only one who’s changed.”
“I can see that.”
“Good.”
He crosses his arms, rising to the challenge. “Don’t trust Nina.”
“I don’t.”
“I’m just saying, she’s a producer. It’s her job to become your friend, to blur the lines, to get you to tell her things you wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
“I already said I don’t trust her.”
“Or Trish.”
“Noted.”
“Or any of the assistants.”
“Wow. Your coworkers sound wonderful.”
“Or the guys,” he plows on. “They all have their ulterior motives.”
