Page 33 of Filthy Rich

Eddy chucks a pillow at me. “Jake, the point is that people either love her, and they get mad when you break up, making you the villain, or they hate her, and the longer you’re together, the more your career nosedives. We brought her in because you insisted, but so far she’s been the biggest liability of this entire movie. She almost destroyed our lead’s image yesterday.”

“You’re blaming Octavia for Patty being horrible? That doesn’t seem a little unfair to you?”

Adam stands. “It’s cute you think that ‘fairness’ matters.”

I walk toward the front door. “My contract has no stipulations on whom I can date. Your angelic lead Patty caused her own problems by being a raging villain, and I have no intention of not dating Octavia because you two disapprove. So if there’s nothing else. . .” I open the door. “I’ll see you on set tomorrow.”

“You used to be easy.” Adam glares. “But now, you’re not great to work with, Priest.”

“I could say the same for you.” If he thinks I’m scared of him because he came all the way to my apartment to try and bully me into dumping a perfectly sweet woman, he’s wrong. I’m not scared. There are other producers in LA, and there are other roles. I’m the good guy here, and I won’t be pushed around for it.

I’m not Octavia.

“We came to make you an offer,” Eddy says. “Before we go, I’ll at least share it with you.” He walks to the door, and then he turns around. “We’ll agree to double the promotion budget for the album, and we’ll even feature Octavia in all the videos and materials. It’ll be great for her future and the album’s earnings.”

“Why?” I can’t help my scowl. “Because if you convince her not to date me by dangling this in front of her, you’re just going to piss me off more.”

“We’ve said our piece on that. The rest is your call—as you pointed out, our contract doesn’t give us the right to stop you.” He narrows his eyes. “Our offer for additional promotion has another stipulation.” Adam pulls an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit. “All Octavia has to do is promise not to post any more videos on social media between now and when the movie releases.” He leans closer and shoves the paper at me. “Not so much as a Happy Birthday song for a friend. Nothing that isn’t approved by our office.”

“Wait, you think she’s been posting videos from the set?” I can hardly believe it.

“Another one went live from the music video filming, and it wasn’t pretty. Who else could be releasing these?” Adam asks. “They’ve all been hugely positive for her.”

I shake my head. “It’s not Octavia. Trust me, it’s not.”

“Then she won’t have any problems with signing this,” Eddy says. “Get her to do it.”

But after he leaves, I can’t help wondering, if it’s not Octavia, and I’m sure that it’s not. . .who is posting them?

And why?

Chapter 9

Octavia

My sixteenth birthday was perfect in every way.

My mom forgot about all her stuff and actually planned a real party for me. She was doing a play at the time—Cyrano de Bergerac—but she skipped a rehearsal or two so she could finalize the details of a perfect night for me. I had never felt quite so important and loved. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so it wasn’t a big party, but Mom made it a masquerade, and I got to cover my face entirely for all the photos. For once, I was happy to be in them with my friends.

Mom had bought me a beautiful black mask made of filigreed black lace and spruced up with a big, startlingly red flower on my burned side. A spray of vivid red feathers effectively covered nearly every burned part of my face.

My mom spent almost thirty minutes curling and arranging my hair.

And my parents finally gave me the gift I’d always wanted: eight horseback lessons at a local barn. By the time the party started, I felt like an actual storybook princess.

Of course, after it ended. . .

“I hope you had a lovely time,” Mom said, after my last friend, Rebecca, was picked up.

“Oh, I did.” I sighed as I sank into my favorite spot in the worn sofa of our living room. The plaid fabric was threadbare, but it was so comfortable. I could take my mask off now, but I didn’t. I just sat there, marinating in the joy of the moment.

“Actually, though, sweetheart, your mom and I have some news we wanted to share.” Dad perched on the hard leather chair opposite the sofa, cracking his knuckles and biting his lip.

I straightened immediately. When Dad cracked his knuckles, something was wrong.

“Don’t worry, though.” Mom sat on the other leather chair, separated from Dad by a large wooden end table. “It’s going to be good news, I swear.”

It sure didn’t seem like it. “Okay. What is it? Are we moving?”

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