Page 15 of Filthy Rich

I force a smile. “Why are you here?” I tilt my head. “We’re blocking for the video you aren’t stealing now.”

“I was never—” She inhales sharply and nods. “No, I know. I do.”

I lift both eyebrows.

“But—I guess I wanted to check in with you and make sure you’d support me.”

“Support you?” I can’t do it. I can’t force a smile right now. A blank stare’s the best I can manage. “Yesterday, you called a good friend of mine—a talented genius friend of mine—ugly. To her face.”

She coughs.

“You’re one of the most beautiful women in America in terms of your face and general figure, and you’ve made quite the career on that. The fact that you felt the need to call names—of anyone—is truly. . .” I shake my head. “It’s appalling, really. I didn’t want your agency to sue me, so I didn’t say everything I felt, and I had no idea that video was going to be exposed. But Patrice, if you think I’m going to somehow intercede with the public or even with the Devil himself on your behalf, you’re delusional.”

All the blood has drained from her face. “You’re such a hypocrite, Jake. You’re better looking than everyone else just like I am, and I was just saying what everyone else was thinking.”

“Don’t try and pretend your twisted brain bears any resemblance to everyone else’s,” I say. “I think Octavia’s one of the prettiest people I have ever met, and not only her appearance. She’s been through something painful, something miserable, and now everyone she meets points it out. I’m guessing you didn’t even think what it must have felt like for her to have been burned like that. To you, the reminder’s ugly.”

Patrice drops her voice, like she can’t risk a repeat of yesterday. “To literally everyone, it’s ugly.”

“I think it shows how strong she is. Have you ever heard of raku pottery?” I arch one eyebrow. “I’m thinking you’re not much of a pottery person.”

“What?” Patrice huffs. “What does that have to do with?—”

“Raku’s a style that began in Japan, and the word means ‘happiness in the accident.’ They plunge the fired pieces into water, and then they set the outside of them on fire, letting various things, like paper or sawdust, burn on the exterior. It makes for different and varied colors and textures, and it’s my very favorite style of pottery, because it’s not always the same.”

“You’re saying she’s pretty because she’s different?” Patrice bunches up her nose.

“I’m saying she’s pretty.” I snort. “Period.” I step closer and narrow my eyes. “You just can’t see it, because in addition to being ugly inside, you’re too stupid to have an eye for real beauty.”

“Okay.” Patrice shakes her head. “Now who’s delusional?” She tosses her hair. “I’m just here to apologize so I can get it on video and move on from this dumpster fire.”

“Great timing, then.” Octavia’s voice is both loud and clear from the far side of the room.

I spin around as fast as Patrice, hoping she hasn’t been there long. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me comparing her face to clay that’s been set on fire.

“Oh,” Patrice says. “I didn’t realize?—”

“It’s fine.” Octavia’s smile is tight. I’ve noticed that she usually smiles small enough that the shift doesn’t pull on the burn. I wonder whether she’s practiced in the mirror just how big she can smile without interference. I bet she has.

Patrice looks pretty flustered, but she recovers quickly, gesturing at the guy wearing slacks, a white polo shirt, and thick-rimmed black glasses beside her. He surreptitiously whips out a camera and taps on it.

As if she’s filming, Patrice steps forward with halting steps. “I am so, so sorry for yesterday.” She sighs. “When your whole job depends on your face, you start to obsess about it, and all the insecurity I felt about myself had to go somewhere.” She shakes her head slowly. “Then two days ago, I was super nervous about the scene, so I binged a whole Twinkie. That made me break out for yesterday’s shoot, and I thought my agent was going to spank me, I swear. It’s so hard doing what we do.” She turns back toward me and bites her lip.

Does she think she’s cute? Ugh. She’s revolting.

“Anyway, I was so insecure about my breakout and all the makeup they had to use to cover it up that I went crazy yesterday. Add to it that I just started my period today—” She coughs. “I hope you can forgive me for saying what I was thinking about myself to you. Clearly you’re true beauty.” She smiles and bats her eyes. “That scar shows you have both bravery and strength, and I’m so in awe of the person you are.”

She stole my words to save herself.

Precious Patty is a truly terrible person.

Octavia dips her head a bit and says, “Of course. No offense taken. All’s forgiven.” She smiles big enough that it does pull on her burn, and then she extends her hand. “Friends?”

Patrice’s eyes widen, and then she blinks. “Of course.” She holds her hand out slowly, and I can’t tell whether she’s shocked or put off. Either way, once the handshake’s done, the guy taps on the phone, and Patrice yanks her hand back. “Sorry. I don’t shake very often.”

Octavia shrugs. “If I’d known, I’d never have suggested it.” Something about the way she says it has me pulling up “patrice jouveau phobias” on the search bar of my phone.

What do you know? A dozen hits where Patrice refuses to shake someone’s hand. It makes me laugh out loud. I guess Octavia took the injunction to know thy enemy to heart.

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