Page 9 of The Love Rematch
It’s Sam.
It’s not her. It’s Sam.
“Jake!”
He snaps back to life. “Yeah?”
“What the hell happened?” Nina asks.
“Sorry, I—” His gaze drops to his Apple watch and he lifts his wrist. “I got a message from home I wasn’t expecting, but I’ll deal with it later. I’m good.”
“You sure?” Trish asks.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
She stares at him for a moment too long. They all do, silently questioning if he’s really ready to be in this room.
He is.
Focus, asshole. Focus. It’s just Sam. She hates you, but what else is new. You can deal with her for six weeks. To keep this job, to prove your worth, you’ll do whatever it takes.
He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this ever since he stepped foot in this town. Longer, if he’s being honest. Ever since he sawFinding Nemoat five years old and realized what a father-son relationship was supposed to be. Ever since he got lost in superheroes, Jedi warriors, and suave spies proving again and again that good triumphed over evil. Ever since he discovered outcasts, geeks, and other damaged characters like him struggling to find their place in the world. Movies had always been his escape, his lifeline. And after so long, he’s finally landed a position with some sort of weight, some sort of meaning—a stepping stone to something more.
He’s not about to fuck it up over Sam.
“Nina, what’s her story?” Trish finally asks. Jake breathes a little freer when the boss shifts her gaze to his counterpart.
“I wasn’t able to find much yet, but she grew up in Georgia,” Nina says. Hearing the name of that state makes his stomach flip. “Then she lived in New York City for a bit. She’s got what appears to be an identical twin sister—don’t even say it, Nick—and they run some sort of jewelry or fashion accessory line together. I need to look into it more. Her father is a local police chief, which will go over well with our conservative viewership, and you all know her mother, who I believe owns a flower shop. That’s about it. No dark secrets I could find—yet.”
“There are no dark secrets,” one of the suits says. “We ran a background check this morning. Here’s what we found.”
The man slides a folder across the table to Trish, who starts mumbling as she shifts through it.
Jake tunes them out. He already knows more about Samantha Peters than he needs to, and he’s not particularly interested in learning anything more. Her photo, her memory, her name—they’ve already brought too much to the surface, and some things are better left buried.
Why is this happening?
His mind races.
Pieces form, twist, start to fit together. His coworkers keep mentioning her mom. AndWake Up, America!And her mom. And—
You have GOT to be kidding me.
Jake sucks in a breath.
His mom.
His mom is the reason this is happening.
I’m the leak.
I’m the fucking leak!
Nick’s theory wasn’t that far off. Jake told his mother about Ashleigh’s pregnancy. And she told Mrs. Peters—probably during a garden-club meeting. And Mrs. Peters then proceeded to tell the entire world.
Did they co-conspire to get Sam on the show?
Is his own mother working against him?
