Page 8 of The Love Rematch
“Oh, well, if you have their permission,” Nick comments under his breath, but right into the microphone so everyone can hear. He’s the creator of the show, and like most rich people in Hollywood, he doesn’t like being reminded that there are people even more powerful than him. For the most part, the network gives Nick free rein, but with a mounting disaster like this? Jake isn’t surprised they’re stepping in.
“We sent a list to the president last week, as soon as we found out about Ashleigh’s pregnancy,” Trish says. “The two runners-up, Tiffany and Lauren, have already been announced for the new season ofThe Love Match in Mexico, so they’re out. And we had to paint Sarah as the villain because of that fight between her and Ashleigh, so she’s out. But we’ve still got other Laurynne, teacher Jen, and virgin Mandy as options. The virgin thing might be a little stale, but she did poll well, better than Laurynne after that whole group date fiasco.”
Oh god.
Jake stifles his snort. Four of the girls decided to turn a group date photoshoot at the beach into a skinny-dipping session. It could have played well if they hadn’t gone full mean girl, calling Mandy aprude, akilljoy, and worse yet, aprissin their interviews. The conservative viewers backed Mandy for sticking to her morals, and the feminine viewers scorned the girls for the name-calling. It was television gold—and though the public would never know it, karma had done its job. All four girls ended up getting sand stuck in a truly unfortunate place from the rough surf. They complained about the burning for days, and one girl even got sent home because her infection needed medical attention.
Ah, the joys of reality television.
“We don’t want any of them,” the suit says.
Trish balks. “But—”
“We wanther.”
“Herher?” Trish asks.
“Wake Up, America!, her?” Nick slams his fists on the table and his camera nearly topples. “So desperate she needs her mom to find her a boyfriend, her? Hasn’t been tested by the viewership or undergone any psych evaluations, her?”
The suit shrugs. “That’s who they want.”
Jake briefly wonders if he can pull out his phone and open Twitter without anyone noticing. What a day to accidentally fall asleep in the cab!
“She’s trending number one across the country. She’s got the look, and more importantly, she’s got a story. The mom angle has never been done before. We haven’t had an unaffiliated lead since season one. The higher-ups want to take the momentum and run. The producers atWake Up, America!already agreed to bring the mom back for a segment next week to pimp the new season. We’ll be pushing our two best shows at once. It’ll be big for ratings. And—”
“They don’t give a shit what any of us think?” Nick fires.
The suit shoots a tired look in his direction. “No.”
“Well, fuck me.”
“No, thank you,” Nina mutters under her breath.
Jake fights a grin.
“Pull up her photo,” Trish says, tone inscrutable.
Nick’s fuming face cuts to half the size as Fred splits the screen. A blurred image fills the blank space, becoming clearer and clearer by the second, until—
“FUCK!”
Every head in the room swivels toward Jake, as if his coworkers have only just remembered he’s there.
Trish speaks into the silence. “Something you want to share?”
“I, uh… I—” His brain short-circuits. Actually, scratch that. His brain implodes, blown apart by the nuclear explosion that is the first sight of her face in seven years. His gaze goes straight to her lips, plump and bow-shaped. Those lips still haunt his dreams. Hell—those lips still haunt his entire goddamn life. No other woman’s can measure up. And when he closes his eyes, they’re there, laughing, smiling…slightly parted and shaped in the perfect O as her nails dig into his back.
Fuck.
“Jake? Earth to Jake?”
He keeps staring, and staring, and staring.
It’s not her.
Jake narrows his eyes, studying the slope of her Cupid’s bow and the curls at the corners of her mouth. He doesn’t know how he’s always been able to tell them apart when no one else ever could, except to say that for him, there’s only ever been one Emily Peters, and this isn’t her.
He takes his first breath in what feels like hours.
