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Our departure from the boat this morning is tense as Marissa calls several times. She and Jake have heated arguments over his refusal to meet with lawyers until she agrees to his new terms instead of him agreeing to her original demands. His emotions are on edge with the topic of the baby, and Marissa seems to know exactly how to push his buttons. Every call causes Jake to hang up in irritation and throw his phone violently in various directions, cursing and going off in a full Italian rant. Surprised that his phone hasn’t shattered into pieces yet, I watch with my breath held until he calms down, unsure what to say to help bring him back to a simmer instead. There isn’t much to calm that hot temper, and I know to let it run its course.
The flight home is silent, so I listen to music while he dashes emails back and forth to his legal advisors about the meeting over paternity rights. He’s tense and agitated and very much like the Jake Carrero I used to work for, boyfriend-Jake on hiatus as he scowls his way through a heated typing rampage, his poor laptop taking a beating. The Carrero glare stuck firmly in place as I watch him hit the keyboard several times. His fiery Italian temper always seems at odds with his normal, cool, calm demeanor, the most laid-back Carrero alive, and I smile despite the look on his face. I had even missed this part of him when he’d sent me away; his monumental asshole moods and dangerous glares never phased me at all. I watch him pull out his phone, give the screen the most hateful look I’ve ever seen, then reject the call before returning to pounding on his keyboard again.
“I think your laptop might need medical attention when you’re done,” I say, poking him in the rib lightly, hoping to calm some of the storm.
“I think Marissa will need it if I talk to her right now,” he grinds out.
Ahhhhh, enough said.
* * *
We get to his apartment late in the evening; his staff put our bags in his bedroom, leaving us in peace. We never spoke again about what I told him of my past, and I’m glad. I feel like all I needed to tell him is done; I don’t have anything more to say about it, nothing else to get off my chest, putting an end to a chapter of my life in a way I wasn’t even aware needed. Sharing all this with someone who matters to me and having that person show me they don’t blame me has done more to ease my pain than years of hiding it in the recesses of my mind ever did. Jake knows enough, and now I hope we can forget about it. Always attentive, he seems to sense this too and hasn’t brought it up again, although I know he is still mulling it over; his gentleness since that conversation is testimony to the fact. He’s treating me like fine china and behaving even more adoringly toward me even though I thought it impossible.
As we sit on the couch, his cell vibrates again, and his expression turns deadly; he stalks to the bedroom, barking Marissa’s name again. I bristle, aware of how much she is already imposing on us, and this is only the beginning. By my calculations, she must be two months, maybe two and a half months pregnant, three at the most.
This will be a long six months, if this is how she’s going to play it, then what? When the baby’s here, how is it going to work?
A massive bang in the other room makes me jump and freeze, listening intently as Jake curses. He reappears, shaking his hand as though he’s punched something.
“I hate her,” he snarls, pacing past me to the bar in the living room and reaching for the ice bucket; he throws some ice in a towel and holds it to his fist. “Now I need someone to fix my goddamn wall.” His glare breaks into a remorseful smile as he looks at me with shame etched on his face. I shake my head and sigh with relief at his mood change.
“What could she possibly have said to piss you off this time?” I smile sweetly, my voice laced with sarcasm. She’s only called him on average every hour, all day.
“Same bull. She doesn’t want you around ‘her’ baby. She wants me to promise not to bring you with me to LA. I don’t know what her goddamn problem is suddenly. She stayed on a boat with you and never said a wrong word, and now she thinks she has some leverage that she can call the shots. She’ll soon realize that, when it comes to you, she hasn’t got a fucking chance!” He snaps again, then sighs, moving the ice bag on his hand to a new spot.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m trying not to yell at you. This isn’t you. It’s her. She knows how to get under my skin.” He leans on the bar, reaches toward a glass, thinks better of it, and then walks away. Over the last few days, I've noticed that he hasn’t drunk any alcohol. He hasn’t pushed me to drink either, despite ‘boss’ Carrero having wine with every meal and trying to get me drunk at every opportunity. I wonder about this change, but I let it go.
“She’ll just keep hounding you until you agree, Jake; I think she’s still in love with you,” I reply boldly. He pauses as he walks toward me on the couch and looks me up and down in disbelief.
“I don’t think so. It’s been years, and she’s the one who screwed my best friend and caused me to break things off.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up before sitting and yanking me down on top of him, the soft leather cushioning us. He wraps me in his arms, pulling me with him as he lies down and stretches out on the couch with me on top. His mouth is against my temple, and our arms are wrapped around each other, face to face. I love this position; it always feels so restful and safe.
“I think it’s why she hates me so much,” I explain. “I know you think I’m wrong, but I’m a girl. I understand girls. She’s still in love with you; it was obvious even on the yacht weeks ago,” I point out with a yawn, tired from our trip.
“Well, if she is, that’s her problem, not ours. Good luck to her because she’s never going to get anywhere with it. Her problem with you better stay away from me because I’m the last person in the world you want to be around if they have a problem with you.” His hand moves to the back of my neck, holding me against him tightly as he kisses me on top of the head.
“Want to have a movie night and some hot sex?” he asks. “I brought home that bondage gear we found on the yacht, the best way to kill stress.” I catch the smile in his voice; he’s already bored talking about Marissa and wants to forget it tonight. I lift my head and grin at him, showing my full cooperation. My body is already responding to his suggestion.
“As if I would ever say no to you,” I grin widely, eyes heavy with desire and body churning with heat.
“Maybe we’ll skip the movies and just go straight to bed,” he grins back. “We can have dinner later.”
Without warning, he scoops me into a bundle and jumps up from the couch, carrying me to the bedroom. He tosses me onto his huge bed, kicking his door shut behind him, coming at me like a playful child, jumping on top of me, and hauling me over on top of him.
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