I start to stand, concerned, but she walks toward me, somewhat stiffly, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I need to go. I have some outside research that really can’t wait.”
I frown as she leaves. She didn’t mention that earlier when we were talking about our plans for the day.
When I look back at Toby, he’s still grinning like a fool.
“What?”
“Man, you are so fucking pussy whipped. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Shut your hole, dude.” But I can’t help laughing. He’s kind of right.
“I mean, you haven’t been able to get your head in the game all damn day. Next thing I know, you’ll be wanting to change up the show and turn into fucking Dr. Phil.”
“Watch it, asshole,” I say, pointing my finger at him, but still grinning good-naturedly. “I may change my mind about you and get someone else to guest host if you keep this shit up.”
I haven’t had a chance to tell Layla yet, but I decided to let Toby guest host the first episode after the hiatus. He’s been bugging me about it for long enough, and it was an easy answer for the moment.
I haven’t figured out how to handle the fact that I don’t want to play my part on the next episode now that Layla’s in the picture. I’m sure that would hurt her. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be cool with seeing her go down on some other dude, so I’m not going to make it a double standard, even if it technically is my job.
Toby holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll back off. God knows I’ve been after this guest host spot for fucking ever. Not going to ruin it now.” Yet he still gives me a sly look. “So when’s the wedding?”
I roll my eyes and lean back in my seat, clasping my hands behind my head and crossing my knees at the ankle, trying to go for a casual look. Hoping Toby doesn’t realize that his words just drove home all the crazy thoughts I’ve been having all day.
“Whatever, man.”
Toby scoffs, apparently unconvinced. “No, you don’t get off that easily. You’re trying to tell me that you aren’t serious about Layla? That you don’t have feelings for her?”
I shrug.
“Because from where I’m sitting, it’s pretty clear. You just handed over the next show to me, giving me the chance to go down on the hottest woman in America right now. So the way I see it, it’s one of two things.” He pauses, and I raise my eyebrows, going for indifference. “You’re either in love or you’re dying. Nothing else in the world would make you do this.”
I just sit there feeling shell-shocked, sure that it’s written all over my face. But I can’t keep up the charade when he’s just dropped that kind of truth bomb.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He’s right. I don’t want anyone else. Only Layla. Because I’m in love with her.
Layla
I’m trying my hardest to focus on the woman speaking to me over the phone, but it’s really hard to keep my mind from wandering. I keep getting this horrific picture of Jake and that actress, Meghan Mitchell. Just the idea of having to watch him go down on her has me feeling sick.
I mean, I know I don’t have to watch. I won’t be able to, honestly. But even knowing that it’s going to happen has me sick enough. I don’t know how to deal with it. I knew this was something that I’d have to deal with. I mean, it’s what he’s built his career on. I can’t exactly ask him to walk away from it. Especially when I’m not even sure how he feels about me.
I know he’s genuine at least. I’ve had my doubts wondering about the possibility of him just trying to use me to get the FCC case dropped. But those doubts are long gone after the last couple of days. Still, I don’t know if he cares about me the way I know I’m starting to care about him. I can’t just be like, Hey, Jake, I know your entire career was built on the success of this show, but how about walking away from it just for me?
Um, no. Even if the idea of him burying his face in some other woman’s pussy night after night has me sick to my stomach, I’d never ask him that. That’s just not okay. That doesn’t make it any easier.
“I just can’t say enough wonderful things about Jake,” the woman on the phone gushes. I swear she sounds like she’s giving an infomercial about the sex god that is Jacob Kent.
Trying to regain my focus, I continue with the interview. This was one of the integral pieces of my job looking further into this show. I originally thought I could get better insight into these women and how much Jake’s show fucked them up. It was my trump card in the game of toppling the cunning linguist.
But when I started these interviews a little over an hour ago, I was dreading them. I no longer want to stack up a case against him.
Which makes it a total relief that every single woman I’ve spoken to has done nothing but sing his praises.
“It may sound crazy,” the woman continues, “but he changed my life. Truly. I can’t imagine where I might be if he hadn’t taught me how to celebrate my own sexuality. It’s like there’s a whole other world out there I’m only just starting to experience. You might not get what I’m trying to say, but just believe me when I tell you it was life changing.”
No, I get it. Totally. Jake has changed my life too. Even though it’s only been a few short weeks, I can’t imagine my life without him now. I don’t even want to try.