Page 25 of Filthy Rich

Her total cluelessness decides it for me.

I slip my fingers through Octavia’s delicate ones and take advantage of her surprise to tighten my hand around hers. “Oh, that’s not at all what worries me. Octavia hates being in the limelight, so I’ve listened to her, but I’m done with it.” I tug Octavia along with me as I round on stupid Patty. “Octavia Rothschild’s the most talented singer I’ve ever met, ever heard, and we just started dating. The only reason I’ve bitten my tongue until now is that she doesn’t like to make a scene.”

That news hits just about like I expect it to. I’ve been in a lot of movies now, and so far the studios have loved me, because I’ve never had a single confirmed girlfriend. Lots of rumors, and lots of interest, but not a single actual scandal.

When I turn toward Octavia’s beautiful face to see how she’s taking my proclamation, I feel something strange.

Pride.

Unsurprisingly, stupid Patty laughs. “Her?” Her giggle’s so annoying and high-pitched that I can’t fathom how any man in America could find her attractive. “You want people to believe you’re dating her?” She snorts. “So I came in for a fake apology, and you go straight to fake dating.”

I swear, one of these days, I’m actually going to strangle her. It’s like she can’t help herself. But this isn’t about Patty’s idiocy. It’s really not. I force myself away from the moron and turn to look at Octavia.

She’s not watching Patty. She’s looking up at me, and she looks. . .unsure. Her eyes are wide, confused. It guts me, really. I wanted to strengthen her position, not confuse her.

It won’t hurt her, I promise myself. “Sorry, Octavia,” I start. I want to promise her it will go well. I want to tell her that this will make things easier on her. But I’m worried I might be wrong.

In that moment, she looks so gorgeous, so trusting that I act without thinking. My head drops, my hand slides to cup her cheek, and I drop my mouth over hers.

I’ve probably had more first kisses than most guys the world over.

It’s a common part of an audition—at least, for beginning actors it is. Sometimes once I’ve been cast, I have to kiss a dozen different women to see whether the directors think we have chemistry.

I doubt many men are technically better at kissing than me.

But it’s like anything you do for work. When you’ve made a hundred copies. . .or filled two thousand coffee cups. . .or mopped a million floors, it gets a little boring. I expect to feel what I always feel during a first kiss when my mouth presses up against Octavia’s.

Nothing.

But that’s not what happens.

On what might be my four hundredth kiss, for the first time in my life, I feel. . .everything.

There’s an explosion in my chest.

My arms and legs feel light and full of energy.

I want to dance around and sing a ridiculous Disney song.

Birds should be singing, and fireworks exploding in the sky. As her mouth moves against mine, as her body softens against me, I realize something is making noise. Only then does my brain kick into gear, reminding me what the noise is: the flashes of cameras.

Shoot.

We’re still on set.

By the time I release Octavia, Bea’s standing right behind me, and her wide, wide eyes tell me better than anything else could what I already should have known.

This changes everything.

Chapter 7

Octavia

The hospital has these little charts.

They used to have numbers on them from one to ten. Now they have little smiley faces that are green, and then a bunch of other faces, changing colors as they go all the way down to a bright red angry face. When you present in the ER or your doctor’s office for some complaint, they always ask you how you’re feeling. You can point at the chart and let them know if you’re green or red or something in between. Part of their job these days is supposed to be to manage your pain.

Maybe it’s because it happened a long time ago. Maybe it’s because our insurance sucked, so I was pretty much always a charity case. But when I was small, during the months I spent in the hospital after my burn, they didn’t ask me about my pain level, not even when they were debriding the wound. They just threatened to sedate me if I screamed too loud.

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