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He listened to it all the way through twice, just to hear the most important part again.
She was okay. There had been a fire at the vineyard, but Frankie was okay. Some smoke inhalation, but they’d let her go home from the hospital already.
He listened to the one from Trina. The event barn was a total loss, and some external cameras had melted. A few acres of the vines would be impacted, but the main house was untouched. And Frankie was okay.
The call from Dom was to the point.
"Frankie is fine. But this had better not fall on her shoulders with the network. I'm trusting you to stand up for her."
He needed to double-check the contracts.
He needed to hear her voice.
He called her and it went straight to voicemail.
"Hey, it's me. Jake. I just heard about the fire. Please call and let me know you're okay. I'm in LA, and I will take care of everything. I promise. I…I miss you." He'd almost slipped and said I love you, but no woman wanted to hear that for the first time in a voicemail.
He searched for news on his phone. The fire was only fifteen percent contained and still moving, but the wind had shifted, blowing the flames farther down the valley. The mountains were creating a natural funnel. But Frankie was okay.
He could fix everything else as long as she was okay.
It was more important than ever to make things right. He’d spent too much time bending over backward to make the production company happy. It was time to focus on what would make him happy. And that was Frankie safe and sound and back in his life.
Pulling up the available flights back to San Jose, he cursed. All of the flights that could get him there and back in time to film the charity fundraiser were booked. Maybe he could fly standby…
He began throwing clothes back in his bags, and called Jo.
"How is she?" he asked as soon as Jo answered.
"She's fine, Jake. She can't talk right now. Doctor's orders to rest her throat, but she's fine. Her phone got fried though, so if you need to tell her anything you should call me."
"Does she need anything? I'm on my way to the airport to see if I can catch a flight, but I can make some calls if I need to on the way."
"No, Jake. We've got her covered. Stay and do what needs doing."
Jake slumped against the door jamb, his overnight bag bouncing against his knee as he dropped it to the floor from his limp hand. He couldn't help but wish she needed him, just a little.
And then it hit him. She did need him. He could make sure she didn't have to worry about a thing. He would handle the network end of the fire and recovery in person, and she wouldn't have to deal with any of it.
"Okay. Tell her…tell her I called. Tell her I miss her."
"I will."
After a restless evening spent pouring over contracts, Jake finally fell asleep, but he was tortured by dreams of Frankie separated from him by a wall of flames. In the light of morning, he had a moment of clarity.
Normally, his pristine home brought him peace and comfort. Everything was exactly where he wanted it. He’d personally worked with the designer to make it reflect his taste. This was his oasis. Usually.
This time his home felt empty. The beach chic decor looked indulgent. His kitchen was quiet—no clicking claws announcing an imminent pounce, no cold nose from Buster trying to steal his dinner. He’d turned to comment on an email update and realized no one was there to hear him. His king bed that had so often been a refuge was empty without Frankie.
He hadn’t even made coffee this morning.
This place didn't feel like home anymore without her.
Jake slouched on his couch and dropped his head back on the hard wood back rail, staring at the ceiling. He hated this. He’d finally found the woman who made everything click, and he'd blown it. He had to make this right.
True, he’d made a few accidents happen on set. No one got hurt. And every time he was able to show her being a badass boss and fixing it. He’d only done what any self-respecting reality showrunner would do. He’d gotten his shots.
But he'd lost the girl.
