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“Lucy. My name is Lucy,” I managed, using the little rung on the chair to step down and shake his hand like the adult I so desperately was trying to be.
See? I totally had this under control.
My eyes were fixed on that damn smile of his and I didn’t see the cords on the floor. My toe caught the only uncovered one, catapulting me right into Jake’s chest.
Jake’s veryfirmchest.
Where my right cheek and side of my mouth were now uncomfortably smooshed.
“Jeez-uthh,” I oofed against the solid wall of muscle. Damn, he smelled good, like those fresh and subtly sweet notes after the rain.
I felt his warm hands close around my upper arms, effectively catching me.
And then a second or two passed. It was hard to tell; I was too caught up in how I was going to play this off coolly. But who was I kidding? This moment was long past salvaging.
A rich, low rumble gently shook under my cheek. He chuckled and grinned. “Not quite. It’s Jake, actually. Nice to meet you.”
Chapter 8
Jake
Portland
God, it wasnice to eat carbs again. Now that I wasn’t on a strict diet and exercise regimen for filming, I indulged in toast.
And perhaps a little Nutella.
My first unrestricted meal after wrapping made me weep with joy.
By no means did I go hog wild between shooting, but a man needed bread. Besides cheese and bourbon, it was my go-to cheat food.
I had to make a conscious effort to stay as on track with my diet as possible. The world tour for the movie premier was coming up as well as promotional interviews.
“Five minutes.” The staccato tone came from my assistant, Meryl.
It was her job to make sure I wasn’t running behind to the various meet and greets, photo ops, autograph signings, and panels.
Meryl worked for Chet and handled any bad press (which thankfully was few and far between), negotiated on my behalf, and kept things going in a forward motion.
She was basically a woman armed with a master schedule, a phone, and military precision.
I liked Meryl. A veteran of the industry, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Liam lovingly called her Hetty, given her staggering 4’ 11” stature. It also didn’t hurt that she wore her hair short and blunt and was close to my mom’s age.
What she lacked in height, she made up for in her presence, though. It was a sight to behold whenever we’d make our way into one of the ballrooms: the sea of people would part automatically.
On more than one occasion, I called her Moses. She warmed to that nickname more than the one Liam gave her.
“You know these things always start late,” I tested. I was really digging the Nutella and I wasn’t ready to part ways with it.
The only response I got was a raised eyebrow. It was true Dwayne Johnson style and it said more than if she had given me a diatribe on her precise thoughts on my willingness to dally.
Unceremoniously, I stuffed the remaining piece of toast in my mouth, wiped at the left corner where I felt a random crumb, and stood.
“Ready when you are,” I declared after the food was washed down with a splash of juice.
Meryl clapped her hands together, signaling Nick and JJ, my bodyguards, to stand at attention. They each cleared their throats and eyed her much like a Doberman would hesitantly look at a chihuahua out of fear. They could bench press the woman, but they cowered in front of her.
