Page 91 of Filthy Rich

And I need to get over it.

I try.

I really try.

At least I don’t mope around and stop living. Quite the contrary. Bea and I start working on new songs. I work with her on wedding details. We go to lunch. We make appearances, and we talk with the other members of the band.

To my surprise, they all opt to stay with us, moving to New York to work with us on the next album. Sales are better than anyone had any hope they’d be, with the movie not releasing for another six weeks yet.

Life’s truly good.

Which makes it harder, knowing how much better it could have been, if only I hadn’t badgered or irritated or weighed Jake down. I spend way too much time running through the possible areas I could have gotten things wrong. It’s a little embarrassing, or it would be if anyone else knew. I have lists all over my place.

But one week before Bea’s wedding, I wake up, I gather up all the lists, and I throw them out. “It’s time,” I tell myself. “Time to move on.”

I refuse to think about Jake. Every time I do, I sing Yankee Doodle Dandy. At least, for the first day. The next morning, I decide I should get something useful out of it, and I switch to pushups. Five pushups every time I think about him.

My arms are going to look amazing in another week or so.

It’s not like I can do anything truly stupid like drive past his apartment. Bea’s living there alone now—he had someone pick up all his stuff within a few days of our arrival back home—but it bummed me out, knowing there wasn’t even much chance of us inadvertently bumping into each other.

That didn’t stop me from coming up with other, more implausible ways we might meet by chance, not that it would matter if we did. It’s just what happens in all the movies.

I’m just hoping it’s more of a Sex and the City encounter, and less of The Way We Were.

Once Bea and I get our list of songs pulled together, I have to go into the agency office and sign the agreement. Just in case Jake might be there—we are agency siblings, after all—I get dressed in my favorite sweater, and I pull on my fur-trimmed jacket, imported from Amsterdam.

No harm in being prepared.

I’ve been doing the pushups, and I’ve been doing much better about not just randomly thinking of Jake, but I know this is the moment in the movie that I’d meet him, so I can’t help it. I look around from the moment we enter the building, until we’re escorted downstairs. Pathetically, I even make a stop at the coffee cart, desperate for a few more moments before we have to exit the building.

Bea sighs. “I kind of?—”

“Hoped we’d run into Jake?” I hate how disappointed I sound. “I’m sorry.”

“He was supposed to be my best man,” she whispers. “But he hasn’t even RSVPed.”

I’m filled with such sorrow, and frankly, embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.” I take Bea’s hand. “I’ve only been thinking about myself. He’s your brother, and he hasn’t RSVPed to the wedding yet.” I wince. “I’m so very sorry if it’s my fault?—”

She shakes my hand. “Don’t you ever say that. It’s not you—his stupid father is messing with him. Nothing else.” She hugs me tightly, which makes me feel way better.

Unfortunately, it also makes me spill my coffee. Blessedly, it’s an iced coffee, and it only dumps on me.

Unluckily, it’s an ivory blouse.

“Shoot,” I say.

“I’m such an idiot,” Bea says. “I can go get you a shirt, and you can go hide in the bathroom until I come back.” She points at the restroom sign. “I’ll be right back.”

Before I can argue with her, she sprints for the exit. She’s such a good friend. I drag myself to the back of the building, and I find myself sort of stuck. If I want to have any decent chance of cleaning my blouse, I have to take it off, but then I’m standing in the middle of the bathroom nearly naked.

There’s a pretty steady run of people coming and going, and they’re all talking about someone’s speech, so I’m guessing it’s people at a conference or a presentation of some kind that’s brought all these people to the building. I wind up compromising by dousing paper towels and using them to try and dilute and blot the unsightly stain.

It doesn’t really work. Mostly it just spreads it.

Thankfully, Bea should be here with my new shirt soon, and the flow of people has almost stopped. A moment later, there’s just one person in the bathroom, when I hear her call out, “Is there any toilet paper out there?”

“Oh, no.” I say. “Hang on, I’ll check.” I examine all three of the other stalls, and find a total of three squares. Clearly the building wasn’t prepared for this kind of traffic today. “Um, I can’t find much more, but I can get you a paper towel.” Only, I fail at that, too. I used so many trying to blot my blouse that the last woman to dry her hands finished them off.

---