Page 2 of Filthy Rich

No, Bea just clings on, torturing me in new ways every day.

She is talented, though. She’s probably more talented than anyone I’ve ever met. In fact, just this morning she came up with yet another song, one that the studio’s dying to get down. “It’ll be perfect for the kiss scene,” I finally agree. “It hits just the right tone, and that melody.”

“I think it should be piano only,” Bea says. “They made us add drums, bass, and guitar to everything else, but this one has to be soft, understated, and flowing. Only piano can get that right.”

Our guitarist, Morgan, is already opening her mouth to argue.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddy says. “We promised her one song that’s just piano in the contract, and the first kiss is a good place for it.”

Morgan’s eyes flash, but she says nothing. She’s a bit of a diva, but she can really play guitar, so I try not to hold it against her. Most artists can’t get out of their own way.

“They’re filming this right now,” Eddy says. “The kiss scene, I mean. So when I said you nailed the music, they asked you to come watch. Jake thought it might help you get the tone right or tweak the words or something.” Eddy shrugs. “He said it’s part of your process.”

“I already read the scene,” Bea grumbles. “Why do I need to go watch him being all weird and fake?”

“Does he look fake to you?” That surprises me. He seems exactly the same in person as he does on screen.

I might be a bit of a Jake Priest fangirl in the privacy of my own home. As long as Bea never finds out, or worse, Jake, it should be fine. How could anyone not have a harmless crush on someone like him? Between his huge dimples and his big, shiny teeth. . . It’s like he was made for the big screen. His well-defined muscles don’t hurt, either. I always assumed that people like him would be just awful in person, but he’s not. He’s funny, personable, and kind, and he would do anything for his sister. That goes a long way with me, because I’m an only child, and I always wanted a sibling.

“Not so much fake as just. . .hollow. I can’t really describe it. The part of him that makes him Jake just. . .” She shrugs. “It’s like it’s not there when he’s acting. It’s annoying enough to me that I don’t really like watching his movies.” She grimaces. “If any of you repeat a single word of that, I’ll chop you up into small pieces and feed you to that stray dog that keeps lurking just out of reach behind the hotel.”

Watching Bea try to act threatening is cute. It’s like a rabbit brandishing a long twig. My lip twitches, but Morgan outright laughs. “Yeah, we’ll be sure to keep that one a secret. Can’t have you hacking us up.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Eddy gestures at the door.

There’s a studio van idling on the curb. I sigh, like I’m annoyed, but really, I’m a little shaky with excitement. We’ll be on set with Jake Priest and Patrice Jouveau. Honestly, if I had to pick someone to date the practically-perfect-Jake-Priest, it would be her. They both have wide, cartoon eyes. They both have beautifully symmetrical faces. They both have a presence about them, and they both pull some real fandoms.

There’s been a lot of chatter online about this movie, mostly because we’re all wondering whether the universe might explode when they touch. Two perfect people in one small space. . .finally having their first kiss.

I can’t help my shiver.

“Are you cold?” Bea asks. “I have a sweater.”

Even though it’s technically fall, it’s a perfect seventy-two degrees in LA, like it is eight or nine months out of the year, pretty much. “I’m fine.”

Bea, however, is always cold. She puts the frumpy sweater on like she couldn’t care less how she looks on the set of a glamorous, Hollywood film. Then again, she has a beautiful face, and a gorgeous fiancé who adores her, so she probably doesn’t care.

Even if I was so frozen that my arms and legs would barely move, even if I was actively turning blue, I wouldn’t wear that chunky, ratty old sweater. But then again, when you have one glaring flaw that everyone you meet gawks at, you can’t risk even tiny faux pas.

I watch in partial awe as the scenery rolls past.

Massive mansions.

Dolled up women in designer dresses and monstrous heels.

Palm trees, rippling waves, and a cloudless blue sky for miles in all directions. It’s pretty surreal to be here. New York weather’s fickle and usually at least a little glum. We also don’t have beaches like this—not anywhere. And our women have waaaay less silicon in their bodies and a lot less sun-kissed gold on their skin.

As we finally pull into the lot and park, my heart accelerates.

Can I manage to be just another person in the crowd? Or will everyone notice my face, stare, murmur, point, hiss, and jeer? It’s usually about fifty-fifty odds which way it will go. Sometimes people avert their eyes, like I have some kind of gruesome injury they don’t want to see, but honestly, that’s better than the unkind remarks, the rude questions, or the protective words and gestures they make to move people away from me.

A gorgeous monstrosity.

Bea named me well.

I’ve been waiting, ever since this madness began, for my face to ruin everything for me, for Bea, for Jake, and for the movie, in that order. It’s just a matter of time before it happens, but no matter how many times I’ve warned Bea, she ignores me.

I can’t tell whether she’s oblivious or willfully ignorant.

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