Page 71 of Filthy Rich

“While she changes,” Cordelia mutters, “I’m just going to go kill myself.”

“What?” Bea looks as confused as I feel.

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Grumpy-turned-Sunshine-Bear-whose-name-is-really-Cordelia-but-I-will-refuse-to-use-it-in-my-head says. “Meanwhile, I’m still single.”

The jealousy from her almost makes me smile. Perfect Cordelia’s single. Not for long, I imagine. “Okay.” I throw my hands up in the air. “That’s enough silliness. I’m going to change.” Only, no matter how I turn, I’m going to walk right past Jake with my burned shoulder. While I’m trying to work out how to back up in this dress, he walks toward me.

And he picks up one side of the dress—the left.

I suppress my cringe and force a smile. “Thanks.”

“A true pleasure,” he says. “You are literally the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life.”

Bea makes retching sounds, but she’s smiling. “You two really are disgustingly adorable.”

“You have to get this,” Jake whispers. “It’s perfect for the album cover because it looks like it was made for you.”

I gather up the right side, and he helps me into the room much more elegantly than Bea did before. The fact that I’m wearing the dress now probably makes the process much simpler, but still.

As he releases the gathered skirt folds, he leans close to me, his face pressed against my left side. “I mean it. This will make the album. It makes me want to refilm our music video.”

I roll my eyes. “Did Bea fail to mention that it’s seventeen thousand dollars?”

“So what?” Jake asks. “You’re worth a hundred million.”

“That’s so corny.”

He sighs. “Well, get changed and I’ll try and convince you over lunch.”

He and Bea both try, and both fail utterly to make any headway.

“How did you get away for lunch?” I ask. “I thought you were working basically all day and most nights this whole week just to try and get caught up.”

“Bea actually called my director and said she hurt her ankle and was in the hospital.” He sounds pretty ticked. And then he smiles. “It was brilliant.”

I can hardly believe it. “So the entire crew’s waiting on you, and they think Bea’s injured?”

Jake shrugs. “This was important.”

“Hardly,” I say. “Because under no circumstance are we buying that dress. Neither of you is going to do it, either. It’s too expensive, and it’s not practical, and most of all, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Because of her face,” Bea mock-whispers. “She thinks she looks bad.”

“I don’t think I look bad.” I don’t bother saying that I know I do. “But you know when you see people wearing something that’s too small? It’s just not flattering on them. That doesn’t mean they’re fat. It just means that outfit isn’t their best option.”

“But that was flattering on you,” Bea says. “So stop with all that.”

Jake holds out his phone and points. “You looked. . .like some kind of pop legend.”

“At least that’s better than what Bea said.”

Bea frowns. “What did I say?”

“She said I look like a Picasso.” I can’t help myself. I wiggle my eyebrows.

“Oh, shut it,” Bea says. “You got me.” She glares Jake’s direction. “I one hundred percent did not say that. I said she was a masterpiece.”

“Picasso was probably the most famous painter of all time,” Jake says. “I won’t even laugh at that joke.”