Page 6 of Filthy Rich

I’m proud of you—just don’t forget you’re not their good boy. Not really. You’re a cowbird, and I won’t be stuck in here forever. That’s a promise.

-Dad

“So who’s driving to karaoke later?” Precious Patty actually looks at me, as if I’d let her ride with me.

“Please tell me Regina George is kidding,” the guitarist mutters.

The understated snark makes me smile, but it’s momentary, because Eddy seems to be serious about the vocals. “Obviously you can’t change significant album details now,” I say. “You already signed all the contracts. Patrice is doing the videos, and that’s enough.”

“It’s because I’m just that awesome,” Precious Patty says. “I offered to do it for free, so they don’t need to change anything. I’m doing it out of the goodness of my heart.” She tosses her head. “I’ll do all the work and she’ll still get paid—no breach.”

“But we already recorded most of the songs.” Bea looks like she’s seconds from a full-on explosion.

Before she can say a word, Octavia grabs Bea’s wrist and shakes her head. “Let’s just talk about it later. This isn’t the place.”

Bea’s head snaps sideways. “What?”

“Not here.” Octavia shakes her head tightly, her eyes narrowing.

She doesn’t want to make a big scene here, on set. It’s the grown-up, mature way to handle things, which I respect, but I doubt it’s going to work with Bea.

Only, my sister’s brow furrows, and she sighs. “Fine.”

Fine?

Really?

I’ve never seen my sister stand down like that. It’s as if. . .is Octavia the boss between the two of them? Is she the one who cares less? The one willing to walk away? I didn’t realize that until this moment.

“I can drive, if I need to,” Precious Patty says. “I have my Land Rover. I can even fit. . .” She glances at Octavia. “Whoever.”

“I’ll take Octavia,” I say. Because there’s no way she’s riding with Patty.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Octavia says. “I’m sure I can ride in the van with?—”

“No, you’ll come with me,” I say. “We have some things to discuss.”

“What could you possibly need to talk about?” Precious Patty asks.

“Fine,” Octavia says. “It’s fine.” She walks toward me.

Bea might rip Patty’s head off if they ride together, but it would be far worse for Octavia. She’d sit silently while stupid Patty is awful over and over.

Bea smiles as if she understands. “Yes, you two go together, and we’ll find our way over too. We can all talk once we’re there.” I’m pretty sure she’ll be calling Easton the very second we walk out the door. Her future husband’s as good as anyone I’ve met at manipulating, wheeling, and dealing. I’m sure he can get this worked out.

Only, as we reach my car—I only have one car in California, my white Mercedes—my phone dings. I set my alerts to ping whenever I have any official emails from the network or studio people. This one announces the official change for music on the movie soundtrack from Octavia Rothschild to Patrice Jouveau, and the tone’s excited.

That straight up ticks me off.

“Everything okay?” Octavia asks.

I toss my head to tell her it’s unlocked.

Once we’ve both closed our doors, I shake my head. “Not exactly. It looks like we were the last to find out about this switch. If I had to guess, I’d say they pushed it through without any of us knowing for a reason.”

“Easton would be upset too,” she says. “But you guys shouldn’t worry about this. I’ve been concerned about my involvement and the impact it might have on the project since the start.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “It’s messed up, Octavia. You know it is.”

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