Page 30 of Filthy Rich

“Sure,” I say. “A mouth, and I appreciated the sentiment.”

“You did?” Jake’s grinning now.

I take the box. “I like cake, too. Even if I can’t eat it right now, having recently consumed half a gallon of ice cream.”

“And does taking my peace offering indicate that you’re not mad at me?” Jake arches one eyebrow.

“Sure,” I say. “I’m not angry. I think I understand why you did it, and?—”

“Actually, that’s why I came by, really.” Jake steps closer.

Bea inhales sharply.

“To tell me you were defending me.” I nod. “I get it, believe me. And I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you don’t have to do it anymore. We can say whatever you want—break it off officially whenever is best for you.”

Jake shakes his head. “I did get mad at Precious Patty and the studio, and I did want to protect you, and when I said we were dating, I thought maybe. . .” He sighs.

“See?” I say. “It’s fine.”

Jake steps closer still, his broad chest awfully close to my face. “It’s not that, though. Because when I kissed you. . .” His eyes trail up, up, up until he’s looking right at me. “I liked it, a lot. More than I thought I. . .” He swallows. “It was surprising.”

I have no idea what to say.

“And when I thought about how I wasn’t really dating you. . .” He shakes his head. “I wanted it to be true. So I came over to see if maybe you would want to go on a date.”

“Right now?” Bea’s voice sounds a little choked.

“Not now, idiot,” Jake says. “I have to go in to film a scene in an hour.” He clears his throat. “But tomorrow night, I’m off.” He lifts both eyebrows. “We could maybe go somewhere and talk without my sister’s commentary.” The side of his mouth curls up.

My stomach lurches, and I can’t believe it when I say, “Sure. I’d like that.”

As if the idea of me dating Jake Priest for real isn’t the most ludicrous thing in the world. As if the kiss we shared really meant something. As if it’s not really just an extension of a publicity stunt.

Probably to protect me.

If we do go on a few fun dates, it’s definitely going to hurt more when reality really sets in. There’s no way someone like Jake really likes someone like me. And there’s no way America will ever accept it. And and and.

But he is standing right in front of me, and that was the singular best kiss of my entire life. It was better than I ever imagined a kiss might be. So. . . Instead of being smart and telling him it’s a bad idea, instead of calling off the insanity, instead of making the smart move, I just smile as he leaves, and I keep right on smiling as Bea squeals. And then, after I go to sleep, I dream of kissing him again. And again. And again.

Chapter 8

Jake

Dear Jake:

You probably don’t remember the time we went to Vegas to meet with a friend of mine. You were only four years old. But when we were there, you saw a sign. You could read just well enough to see that it said the slot machines paid out 99% of money paid in. The actual numbers are closer to 85-95%. How they can lie like that in print is a mystery to me. The bigger the company, the more they get away with their lies.

But Jake, what you must have forgotten was the lesson I taught you that day. Only suckers play those odds. If you’re going to put your money in a slot machine, over time you will lose. Wanting a career as a singer or an actor is worse than playing slots.

So don’t ever write me a letter telling me that you’re a talented singer or even worse, that you have promise as an actor again. Not ever, you hear? The Priests aren’t chumps, and we aren’t suckers. Don’t waste your time or the Fansee’s money on something that stupid. Skip the lessons and pocket the cash. We’ll need it when I get out to run the big con on those idiots. I’m lining things up—don’t worry. It won’t be much longer now.

We’ll get our revenge and then some.

-Dad

Moments after I leave the set, still floating when I think about my date with Octavia, I get a call. It’s a strange call. My agent almost never calls me unless we’re negotiating a new contract, and I like it that way. He’s a horrible person, as nearly all agents are, but he and I see eye to eye in a way few people really can.

“Priest,” he says. It amuses him to call me by my ironic last name. He knows I’m the opposite of Godly.

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