Chapter 56

In Jake's penthouse, the question lingered. I turned away and sank onto his sofa. Jake remained standing. He said nothing.

"Seriously," I said. "Why am I here? Is it only for me? For my safety, I mean?"

"Does it matter?" he said.

"Of course it matters."

"Why?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

"Go ahead." He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "Humor me."

"Okay," I began, "let's say that everything in my life was fine. Let's say no one was 'looking' for me, or for anything like that. What then?" I glanced around. "Would I even be here?"

When my gaze returned Jake, I knew the answer. And from the look on his face, so did he. The silence stretched out beyond the point of discomfort, but I refused to break it.

Finally, he spoke. "You want the truth?"

Did I? I wasn't so sure. Bracing myself, I nodded anyway.

"No," he said. "You wouldn’t be here."

My heart sank. I knew it. I had known it all along. So why had I let myself get caught up in some stupid fantasy? This wasn't real. I had known it wasn't real. I looked around the penthouse. My gaze landed on my two crappy suitcases. I felt so adrift, so lost, and more than a little foolish.

And then Jake spoke again. "But," he said, "that only means one thing."

"What?" I asked.

"I wouldn’t know what I was missing."

Bleary-eyed, I looked up at him. "Huh?"

He looked around, letting his gaze drift from one luxury to another. "It's different with you here," he said. "The place is different. I'm different. Everything's different."

Something in his voice made my heart give a little flutter. "You said that when I first got here," I said. "But you never said what you meant."

He remained standing, and part of me wondered if he'd turn around and walk out the door. But he didn't. Instead, he took another long look around and asked, "You know how long I've been living here?"

"How long?" I asked.

"Maybe a year, year-and-a-half. But you know what?"

"What?"

"It's never felt like home."

"Never?" I said.

His gaze met mine. "Not until you showed up."

The words felt like a dream. Yet somehow, I managed to say, "Technically, I didn't show up." I smiled through my confusion. "You practically dragged me here. Remember?"

"Best thing I ever did."

I caught my breath. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "But when all this is over, there's something you've got to do."

"What?" I asked.

His voice was almost a whisper. "Leave."

I did a double-take. "What?"

His muscles tightened, and when he spoke again, it was like the words were wrenched from his gut. "I said…" He visibly swallowed. "You've got to leave."

Dumbstruck, I stared up at him. "What exactly are you saying?"

He pulled his gaze from mine and looked out toward the panoramic skyline. "It's all fucked up," he said. "My life. Me." He blew out a ragged breath. "And you see how things end up with the girls I—" He stopped short, as if unwilling to continue.

Sudden anger made me blunt. "With the girls you 'fuck'?" I stood. "Is that what you were gonna say?"

"No." he said. "Not with you."

I crossed my arms. "Really? But isn't that all just semantics?"

"No. Because you're not like them." His voice hardened. "And I don't want you to be."

Somehow, it felt almost like an insult. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean," he said, "I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to hate me." His voice grew quieter. "And more than anything, I don't want to hurt you."

Well, that was rich. "Then why are you saying all this?"

"Because it needs to be said."

I stared at him. "First you offer me a job, then you give me this pretty little speech, and then you tell me to leave? That is so messed up."

"I know," he said. "But it wasn't a speech. It was the truth. And about the job? It's still yours if you want it."

The arrangement sounded all-too familiar. I made an ugly sound. "Oh, so I can be the new Bianca? The psycho ex, still on the payroll?"

"She's not my ex," he said. "We had a couple nights of fun. No big deal."

Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better. A couple nights of fun. That sounded familiar too. A scoffing sound escaped my lips. "You're insane. You know that, don't you?"

"Hell yes, I know that. You think I want you to leave?"

"Yeah. Actually I do." My voice rose. "Because you just told me to." I took a long, steadying breath. "You know what? Forget it. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" he asked.

"Because," I said, "it's not like I expected to stay. I don't even know why I'm arguing about it."

I glanced at the nearby suitcases. Well, at least I was already packed. That was good, right?

Jake said something too quiet for me to make out.

I turned toward him. "What?"

His eyes were haunted. "I never meant to sleep with you."

God, how humiliating. "Oh. That's nice."

"No. It's not. None of this is nice."

"I was being sarcastic," I said.

"And I'm not," he said. "Look, I know you don't believe this, but you're important to me. And I don't want to fuck this up. Luna, you're too good for all this. You know it. I know it."

"Oh," I said, my tone growing snotty, "so it's not me, it's you? Is that what you're saying?"

"Luna," he said, "listen."

"No," I said. "What is this? A pre-emptive strike? Like you're breaking up with me in advance?"

"Luna," he repeated.

"What?"

"I love you."