Page 52 of Filthy Rich

Morgan’s shoulders slump. “But if you don’t want it, then?—”

“They’ll find someone else,” Bea says. “You can’t throw a rock in this town without hitting a wannabe actress.”

“None of them would be as good as Octavia,” Morgan mutters.

“What else are you going to ask for then?” Q asks. “If you had to negotiate for this and she doesn’t want it, then what?”

“I’m not sure.” Morgan frowns. “But something. They want to control my content, which is ridiculous. I post the truth.”

“A truth that was stolen from their security feeds through use of an undeclared relationship,” I say. “Aren’t you worried they’ll fire your boyfriend?”

She snorts. “My boyfriend? As if. Have you met AJ? He’s a total dork.”

“But you said?—”

“I could tell you were calling with an agenda,” she says. “Geez.”

I don’t want to think about what that means. It might lower my opinion of Morgan, and right now I like thinking she’s a warrior. “Let’s get to work,” I say. “We have songs to finish.”

Good songs, thanks to Bea.

“This movie soundtrack’s going to be amazing,” Everett says when we finish.

All of us exchange a glance.

He frowns. “I do talk, when I have something to say.”

“I guess you just haven’t had anything to say for weeks,” Q says.

“Never had much space to talk in this room.” Everett shrugs. “Then it kind of became my thing, so I leaned in.”

I think about that while they get machinery and instruments put away. How often do our perceptions of other people shape people’s future action? How often do our preconceptions become reality because we made assumptions and they get boxed in?

We all go to lunch to celebrate, and then we help Morgan read through the agreement the studio wants her to sign.

“It’s basically just a right of refusal for your posts,” I say. “And for that, they’re doubling your royalty share for the songs.” I shrug. “I think it’s fair.”

“I’d be making the same thing as you and Bea. Doesn’t that upset you? I’m just hired talent.” Morgan’s frowning.

“It’s not coming out of our cut, though,” I say. “And you kind of saved our involvement in the project. Patrice was demanding that she take over the vocals. We’d have been out, except for behind the scenes.”

“Ooh.” Morgan beams. “Maybe I should insist that all of us get to make a cameo on one of the music videos.”

“All of them,” Q says.

“Count me out.” Everett grimaces. “I don’t do video.”

“Video killed the radio star,” I sing. “But you have a nice face, Everett.”

He smiles, his white teeth bright against his dark brown skin. “That’s the problem. I have too many ladies after me as it is.”

We’re all laughing when Bea gets a call. “Hey, Mom,” she says. “We just finished recording.”

There’s a pause.

Everyone quiets down, like we’re all listening. I can’t tell whether we’re being quiet in a rude way, to try and eavesdrop, or a polite one, to keep from distracting her.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll probably be coming home pretty soon. We may be in a music video, though.” She winks at me. “And we have some promotional footage to record and some photos for the album to take, but probably in a few more days or a week.”