Page 87 of Filthy Rich

It’s Octavia.

She’s even more breathtaking than I remembered. It’s like every time I see her—fragile and strong, smooth and raw, brave and scared, fury and forgiveness, all in one—it breaks me all over again. Tears actually well up in my eyes, and I have to shove them back down.

When I get out, she hugs me. “I know it’s only been a day since we saw each other last, and I know this is kind of silly, but I missed you.” She looks up at me with a half-smile. “And I know I shouldn’t say this, but the thing is, I always wondered how people could possibly know stuff like this, and now, for the first time, I get it.”

Huh?

“Jake Priest, I’ve been a fangirl for a long time, and I knew you had a gorgeous body, and I knew your dimples were amazing and your sparkling eyes made women swoon. I knew I could stare at your poster for an hour, but now that I know you, you’re not what I thought you were.” She rests a hand against my cheek. “I realized in the past day, while I was missing you, while everything reminded me of you, that I love you, Jake Priest.”

She giggles, and it’s not annoying at all. It’s light and bubbly and joyful.

“Why do I keep saying your first and last name?” She shrugs. “I don’t know, and maybe this is way too soon, but I?—”

“We need to break up,” I blurt. I hate myself for using what she just said to do what I need to do, but it will make things easier and more believable, and this has to happen. For her sake.

She freezes.

Then she laughs. “Ha.” She slaps my chest. “Good one. You almost got me.”

I shake my head. “It’s not a joke.”

She stiffens.

“I really like you, and you’re all the things I said, but this is just too much.” I step backward. “I just. . .can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

Her lower lip trembles, and I scramble around in my brain for any other way, but there isn’t one.

“I’m truly sorry.”

Before I can say anything else, she nods once, tightly, spins on her heel, and marches woodenly toward the lobby.

It feels. . .too easy. I know it’s awful, but I sort of hoped she’d argue with me about it. I thought. . .I really am the devil. I just dumped her and I’m sore that she didn’t push harder to keep me around?

Ugh.

“That was. . .” May’s baring her teeth on the other side of the car. “Really, really brutal.”

I glare. “What are you doing here? That was private.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “But I took my backpack and left my purse.” She points. “I didn’t realize it until I got to my room and. . .no swipe card.”

I try to release some of my anger, but I can’t seem to do it. “Well, grab it.” I hit the unlock button. “And get out of here.”

“Jake—”

I throw up my hand. “Don’t.” I do not have the patience to deal with anything else right now.

“But, Jake?—”

“I said don’t.”

“I lied,” she whispers.

“Huh?” What’s she talking about?

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Her eyes are darting all over, from me to the car, and back to me. “I told you that, because I knew you had a girlfriend, and I was desperate to do the movie with you.”

“You were that desperate to launch your career?” I practically spit the words out. “You shouldn’t have lied about it. It’s not like I can’t work with someone if they are single.”