Page 8 of Filthy Rich

“I’m not just saying that,” I say. “If you give people a chance, they’ll notice your special beauty, too.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “My special beauty?”

“Okay, so I may not be Mel Gibson in Braveheart, but I’m trying to get you to fight. If Van Gogh had kept fighting, we might have so many more epic paintings that they’d be in every Holiday Inn across America.”

“I’m not about to commit suicide, but I don’t want my songs played in every elevator in the country either.” Her smile’s wry.

“It’s not a perfect analogy.” I hate how wrong this is all coming out. “But what I mean is?—”

“I think I know what you mean, but Jake, this movie soundtrack isn’t an end,” she says. “It’s a beginning. I just started working with Bea, and?—”

“But it’s a big chance,” I say. “It’s the kind of start that can change everything. I know that, because one of Bea’s songs changed my life.”

“I heard that.” She compresses her lips. “Well, I’ll be curious to see if they even care what we think. . .” She looks up at me and meets my eyes. “Please don’t go cutting off your ear to spite, well, anything. You have nice ears, and that would be a true tragedy.”

I’m chuckling as we get out of the car.

“Did you two talk about whatever it was you needed to discuss privately?” Precious Patty’s glaring.

“How did you get here so fast?” Octavia asks. “Jake drives fast, and didn’t you have to change clothes before you left?”

Patty shrugs. “My driver knows LA.”

“Well, we’re both very happy you made it,” I say. “We can’t wait to listen to you sing the songs you’re trying to steal from Octavia.”

Patty frowns. “You know, this wasn’t even my idea.” She tosses her hair. “We can talk about it more inside.” She glances to the left and beams at the people who are pointing and snapping photos of us as we pass.

Once we reach the entrance, a member of the staff’s waiting for us. “We have a private VIP karaoke room this way.” The hostess is smiling, and Patty follows her with her nose up, like she thinks she’s royalty or something.

“I’m going to apologize in advance,” I whisper to Octavia. “But there’s no way I can let this go—especially because of her. If you think she really had nothing to do with this change, you’re wrong. Precious Patty is a complete diva, and--”

“Precious. . .” Octavia laughs. This time, it’s big enough that her entire face changes, and I love it. Yes, her skin is different. Yes, it moves differently than most faces I’ve seen, but it’s also really stunning, like it was sculpted by a master. I wish she could see that. I wish people in the world hadn’t treated her so badly for so long that it skewed her perception of what beauty actually is.

People liking roses isn’t what makes them beautiful.

No matter what anyone thinks, they are beautiful.

And there are an awful lot of lesser-known flowers that are more beautiful.

“Shh,” I mock-shush her as we enter the room. “Can’t let her hear.”

“Who?” Patty looks up from the booklet on the coffee table. The room has a large, u-shaped sofa, and there are several booklets on the massive coffee table in front of it. I’m assuming they have the different song selections that Seoul Town offers.

Luckily, before I have to clarify anything, Bea, Morgan, Q, and Everrett blow into the room like a hurricane. Eddy somehow peeled off, but at least the whole band’s here. “I gave the front desk the music files Eddy sent.” Bea’s eyes are glinting. “But the guys and I were talking.” She glances at Morgan. “Well, the guys, the girl, and I.”

Morgan rolls her eyes. “Just say the guys. Doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

“Anyway,” Bea says. “We think you should let today be an audition.” She folds her arms. “If you can’t sing the songs well, the whole production will suffer. So today, after you sing, we’ll decide if you can take Octavia’s place.”

Patty looks upset. “But you aren’t the ones who make that decision.”

“But you must want what’s best for the movie, and you could surely go back to your agent and beg off.” Bea glares. “Right?”

Patty smiles. “It won’t be necessary. You’ll see.”

“I guess we will,” Bea says. “Because in more than twenty years, I’ve never heard a voice like Octavia’s.”

“This isn’t an opera.” Patty glares.

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