Page 11 of Filthy Rich

“Well, I’ve been tagging you in clips and album recording news, from our new band account, but forget that. Look at this one.” She purses her lips, taps something, and swivels the phone.

The video isn’t very sharp, but it’s clearly me. The camera zooms in on my face, and across the top, there’s fixed text.

WHO’S THE REAL MONSTER? YOU DECIDE.

It’s a clip from when we visited the set yesterday. Jake has just jogged over to say hello.

“My sister’s here,” he says. His voice sounds a little tinny, which means this video isn’t the best—was it something that was just rolling on set?

“Oh, your sister who’s doing sound, right?” Patrice practically saunters over next to him. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Not sound,” Jake’s saying, just as he did in my memory. “The soundtrack.”

Patrice scowls, but it quickly disappears. “Sound. Soundtrack.” I didn’t even notice in the moment that she waved her hand so dismissively through the air. “Right.”

“Sound is all the effects for the movie.” Jake glares. “The soundtrack is art.”

“No, I know, and you’re totally right. I said it wrong.”

“I hear today’s the first kiss,” Bea says. “Pretty exciting.”

“Not really.” Jake arches one eyebrow. “Should be as awkward as ever.”

Patrice’s laughter is high-pitched. Almost unhinged. “As if.” It’s strange watching this as a bystander, and not being there in the moment. It feels. . .different, probably because I’m not awed by famous people’s presences.

Though, I do remember what’s coming. “How long does this video roll?”

“Long enough.” Bea’s nodding slowly. “Keep watching.”

My talking made me miss some of it, but Patrice is just saying, “Honestly, you look Asian.”

Jake’s laughter sounds a little ruder than I remember. “You have a keen eye.” He shakes his head. “Adopted sister.”

“Oh.” Patrice arches one carefully groomed eyebrow. “So you’re not really related at all. You could—” It’s even more blatant with the way she’s glaring at Bea that she was implying they could date. I get it—Bea’s really pretty. If I were Patrice, and if I had an interest in dating my co-star, I’d see Bea as a threat. She’s someone he cares about, someone he likes a lot, and someone so gorgeous.

I wouldn’t try to undermine the other woman, but I’m not Patrice.

Jake opens his mouth, but before he can respond, Bea cuts him off. “You’re right. We aren’t really related at all.” She steps closer to her brother. “In fact, now that you mention it, we could get married. I had never realized that.” She turns and stares up at him, pressing her hand to his chest. “Oh, my darling Jake.”

Jake’s laughing, but he shoves her away.

It’s still funny the second time, but Patrice looks upset. I don’t recall snorting, but the noise definitely attracts Patrice’s notice.

“Bea’s fiancé’s one of the film’s investors.” Eddy’s speaking, but with the angle, I can’t see him, since he was right behind me. The fact that I can hear him makes me think someone smart tinkered with the sound to make it clearer, crisper, and cleaner.

Who posted this?

It’s the first time I’ve wondered.

Before I can give it much more thought, I’m talking on screen again—defending Bea and trying to excuse Patrice. “You probably just misunderstood.”

Patrice straight up glares at me. “And who are you?”

Again, like I did yesterday, I can’t help wondering why it upset her to have me step in and excuse her silly inference.

“This is our main talent.” Bea never hesitates to defend me. “She’s my best friend, too, Octavia Rothschild.”

It hits me in the feels again, hearing her call me her best friend. I’m sure it was another method of defense, since we’ve barely known each other a few months, but it still feels nice to hear. I’m smiling brightly, which is probably what pushed Patrice into it. My burned skin pulls funny when I smile. It makes a lot of people uncomfortable.

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