Page 35 of Filthy Rich Brother’s Best Friends (Filthy Rich Harems #5)

Lola

T oday has felt so much longer than twenty-four hours. By the time I walk through the front door, I’m running on fumes.

My feet hurt from being on them all day. My stomach is still empty because I skipped lunch. I had to take on a few private sessions in the gap I normally save for my midday break to make sure I could pay rent this month.But, damn, I have to remember to start eating more.

All I want is ten uninterrupted minutes to eat something that doesn’t come in bar form.

Instead, I round the corner into the kitchen and stop short.

There's a ring light on the counter. I can see the top of the tripod and the phone balanced on top. It’s all trained on Gigi. She’s doing that breathy, fake-relatable thing again as she spews more bullshit to her followers.

And she’s wearing one of Reid’s shirts.

It’s the gray button-down he wore when he stayed over the other night. I found it tangled in my sheets the next morning. He left it here, which makes it mine. I’ve been wearing it every night because it smells like him and that’s the only thing keeping me sane in this house lately.

I’ve taken a lot of shit that I’ve let slide with these two. But I’m not holding my tongue any longer.

“Take it off.”

She doesn’t even bother to look at me as she responds. “It’s not yours.”

“It was in my room.”

“It was in the laundry,” she says, adjusting the camera angle and staring at herself in the screen. “Which makes it fair game.”

My jaw ticks. “It was under my pillow, Gigi, and you fucking know it.”

“That’s weird,” she says, still not looking up. “Maybe unpack that with your therapist.”

“Gigi, you do not want to fuck with me right now. Take. It. Off.”

“It’s. Not. Yours.”

“It is actually. Since it was in my room .”

She laughs and I have never wanted to throat punch someone more. “It’s my house. Technically, all the rooms are mine.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

She turns back to the camera like that’s the end of it.

I can literally feel my blood start to boil. “That’s not how it fucking works and you know it. Take it off before I take it off for you.”

Gigi sighs, all faux-exasperation. “God, relax. I needed something cozy. It’s not like he’s yours.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“You’re acting territorial,” she says, eyes on her screen again. “It’s weird. We all know what’s going on is just casual.”

“We’re not talking about Reid.” I take a step toward her.

She starts adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Aren’t we? You’re getting really possessive over a temporary toy and it’s pathetic.”

“I’m asking you one more time—take the shirt off.”

She finally looks at me again. “You don’t get to dictate what I wear in my own house.”

“It’s not your shirt.”

“And he’s not your boyfriend.”

I’m about to go completely ballistic on her when Blaire’s voice cuts in. “Is there a problem?”

“She’s losing it over a shirt,” Gigi says, stepping into the glow of the ring light again.

Blaire takes one look at me and sighs. “Lo. Come on.”

I turn to her, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is actually. Because she went into my room, looked through my things, and then stole my boyfriend’s shirt.”

“Not your boyfriend,” Gigi sing-songs.

Blaire shrugs. “Then maybe you should’ve done your laundry.”

I see red.

“You think this is about laundry?”

“It’s a shirt, Lo,” she says, folding her arms. “You’re making it a whole thing when it doesn’t have to be.”

“It is a whole thing,” I snap. “She went into my room. Touched my things. Put on something that doesn’t belong to her and then filmed content in it like she owns the place.”

“I do own the place,” Gigi says, smiling now.

I take a step toward her. “Your parents own this place.”

“Oh my god, this is exhausting,” Gigi groans, pulling the shirt tighter around herself. “ You’re exhausting. What has gotten into you lately?”

“No,” I say, pointing. “You don’t get to flip this. You don’t get to invade my space and then call me dramatic for having a reaction.”

“You are dramatic,” she fires back. “Every day it’s something. You storm around here with your sad-girl energy, sulking through the kitchen, acting like everyone’s out to get you.”

“Maybe that’s because you are.”

She snorts. “Please. No one’s thinking about you that hard.”

“Honestly, Lola. It’s like you don’t appreciate everything we’ve done for you. We didn’t have to keep things quiet as long as we did. Everyone can see you’re whoring around with the guys next door. Do you seriously think we don’t see through your gold-digging bullshit?” Blaire huffs.

I stare at her.

“You’ve been mooching off of us for years and we’ve let it slide. You should be thanking us for not telling your brother sooner,” she adds. “We didn’t want him to worry. But someone had to protect him from watching you spiral. Again.”

I swallow the urge to punch both of them. Instead, I reach for my keys and walk out of the kitchen and out the front door. I can still hear them throwing hate at me as I leave.

I walk next door. I know they’re home even though there are no cars in the driveway. I’m assuming they’re tucked away for the night in their four-car garage.

The porch light is on though and there’s a warm glow coming from the windows. I knock once.

The door opens almost immediately.

Jude takes one look at me and pulls me inside. His arms are around me before I can even say hello. I melt into them and a feeling of complete safety completely engulfs me. I have to bite the inside of my lip to not start crying.

I press my cheek against his chest. “Were you serious?” I ask, voice muffled. “About moving in?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”

“Because I can’t do it anymore,” I whisper. “I can’t live in a house where I’m constantly being attacked.”

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “Then don’t,” he says. “Move in. You’ll have your own room. Your own key. Your own space.”

His voice drops lower.

“But you’ll be with us.”

The knot in my throat swells and once again, I bite back the tears. I nod. “Okay.”