Page 29 of Filthy Rich

There’s a knock at the door of our room. “Shoot,” I say. “There’s someone here. I have to go. Should I call you back so we can work out some kind of story to get out of this?”

“Sure,” he says. “Call me back.”

I hang up the phone and point at the door. “You get it,” I hiss.

Bea shakes her head. “Not a chance. I’m in pajamas here.”

“So am I!” I protest. “But you look lovely in yours.”

“Lovely?” Bea squeaks, and then she disappears into the bathroom. Her voice is muffled when she shouts, “You look adorable. You can do it!”

“Coward,” I shout.

It’s probably just housekeeping running late or something. It’s only three in the afternoon. I check my pajamas to make sure they’re not too appalling. I’m wearing a pink t-shirt and blue plaid pants. Other than an ice-cream blob on my left boob, I’m fine. And really, is anyone from housekeeping going to care? Let’s hope not.

I yank the door open. “We don’t really need any—” My mouth dangles open.

Jake’s holding a box and smiling at me. “Surprise.”

I am going to kill Bea. She had to know.

“I know you didn’t say I could come over, but I thought after the shock I gave you earlier, you might want some sugar, and. . .” His eyes cut past me and widen as he notices the multitude of empty ice cream cartons.

“Your sister had the same idea.” I smile. “But that was very nice.”

“I’m sorry.” Jake’s hands droop, the box with the words ‘Cake Monkey’ emblazoned on the top tilting a little.

“You’re sorry?” I can’t keep my lip from twitching a little. “For what, exactly?”

“All of it,” he says. “Kissing you without warning. Telling people we were dating. I shouldn’t have just done that, but Patty was being so annoying, and I just thought?—”

“You didn’t think at all.” Bea storms out of the bathroom. “You’re such an idiot.”

Jake’s gorgeous face flushes. “Like you think things through before you do stuff.”

“This isn’t about me, though.” Bea drops her hands on her hips. “And what you did was rude. Octavia can defend herself.”

“Only, she doesn’t,” Jake says. “I watched you just say ‘okay’ when they were shafting you, and Patrice should have known what she was doing was wrong, but she didn’t. So I thought that if Octavia could get a little boost on social from?—”

“A boost from you kissing her?” Bea’s really on a roll now. Her eyes are flashing, and she tosses her hair, which is tantamount to pressing the big red button for her. “As if you’re God’s gift.”

“You gave me her number,” Jake says, his hands waving in response. “You said I should come over and try to make things right.” The box is now totally sideways.

I know it’s strange, but I’ve become almost fixated on the dessert box. What did he get? Nothing from a bakery is ever better for being turned sideways. If it’s cookies, maybe they’ll survive, but a cake?

It’s a goner.

The two of them have totally forgotten about the small, peace-offering cake, and I feel a little like it must.

Superfluous.

“What is that?” Bea follows my eyes to the box, finally noticing it.

“Oh.” Jake’s eyes widen and he rights it. “Cake Monkey makes the best cakes in LA, I swear. I had a gluten free one once, which is usually code for ‘tastes nasty,’ but I had no idea it was even gluten free. Like your singing, they’re the very best at what they do, so, anyway.” He holds it out to me again.

“Uh, thanks,” I say. “But for the record, I’m not upset. You don’t need to apologize. I get it—you were just trying to lend a hand.”

“Or a mouth, you dirty slut,” Bea mutters.

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