Page 63 of Filthy Rich

“I can’t believe you would?—”

“Can it, Hornet. We both know it’s true.”

“Fine.” She huffs. “So I’ll tell her you’re fine?”

“Maybe don’t tell her I punched him.”

She laughs. “Too late. She sent me the ‘100’ emoji, so I think that’s old person code for ‘no problem. More punching, good.’”

“I figured she’d worry more about the prospect of me joining his cabal.”

“Exactly,” Bea says. “Have fun at lunch. . .without me.” She sniffs.

“Hand the phone back to Octavia.”

“Oh, fine.” She doesn’t even sound like she’s really annoyed.

“Hey.”

“I don’t actually have anything else to say,” I admit. “But I didn’t want to hang up without hearing your voice one more time.”

“It’s my best feature.”

I can’t argue with her, because her voice is amazing, but that feels like a trap. “Your voice is obvious, but I’d actually say it’s your eyes.” As I say that, I realize I do think that. Everyone can hear her voice, but only I get to study the flecks in her eyes up close.

“Aww, well, thanks.” Someone’s calling to her in the background.

“Alright, go. I’ll find a good spot and text you.”

“See you soon!”

I search for a new, hot place for a minute, but I’m not great at this stuff. I decide to just go with what I know and text her the address of the Clark Street Diner.

I’m happy to come pick you up if that’s easier. Send me an address. I’ll even bring the nice car this time. :P

She doesn’t text back for more than forty-five minutes, but then she’s pretty curt.

They’ll drop me off—I can be there in twenty.

Since I’m a solid twenty-five minutes away, maybe more, I race to my car and take off. Thanks to LA traffic, I can’t even speed to pare down the time. When I finally find a valet parking attendant, I fling my keys at him. Even so, Octavia’s standing in the corner, waiting, when I arrive.

“Sorry,” I say.

“They don’t have any tables,” she says. “Did you see my text?”

“Jake!” The manager, Philippe, rushes over. “Corner?”

I nod.

“Oh, right.” Octavia rolls her eyes.

“It’s my favorite place for a patty melt,” I say.

Octavia frowns as we follow Philippe. “That’s not on the menu. I’m pretty sure?—”

“No, it’s not.” Philippe gestures to a table with a smile. “But it was, and we’ve always got one ready for Jake.” He turns to Octavia. “He’s been so good about choosing us for ordering in on movie sets. We try to give him anything he wants.”

“Plus, Philippe’s daughter’s a little obsessed with me, and I’ve come to two birthday parties,” I say.

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