Page 26 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

Jude either doesn’t notice or isn’t returning that interest. My money is on the latter given how he was staring at Lola nonstop until she retreated upstairs after her interaction with Reid.

Gigi, meanwhile, is running the full theatrics on Reid. Everything about her seems artificial, from her oversized gestures to her candy-sweet smile. She keeps adjusting her top and laughing louder than the joke requires.

Unlike Jude, Reid is eating the attention up. He loves it—especially when it comes from pretty girls. We’re opposites in that sense. I hate being the center of attention; Reid lives for it.

But my favorite thing to watch is Lola. It’s always Lola.

Reid can’t help himself either. He may be subtler than Jude, but I watched his eyes flick in her direction more times than I could count.

Her body was in hostess mode, but her smile was too calculated. Every expression landed with a half-second delay. She was managing herself in real time, editing as she went. That means she was overwhelmed.

Other people wouldn’t notice. But I’ve known Lola long enough to know the difference between real and performance. And I’ve seen her like this before. Wes used to call it her “pretend chill.” It’s what she does when she wants to seem unbothered but is two seconds from spiraling.

Now that Lola is gone, I would rather be buried in code. There’s structure in that. This? I don’t have the time or patience for women who are trying to flirt their way into my bed or sleep their way into my bank account.

I’d call this party a complete disaster if it weren’t for one thing—Lola.

Lola’s the girl who used to bring fresh-baked cookies during my all-night coding sprints. She’s the one who mocked me for working too much, then stayed up with me—curled on the end of the couch, reading a book and keeping me company while I worked. She always called me “Tech Boy.”

I pretended not to like it.

I liked it more than I should have.

I likeher.

I always have.

I just never had a window to act on it. At least not without blowing up something that mattered. And by the time I thought maybe I had a chance, she was already hanging out with someone else.

Then, there’s the even bigger problem that she’s my best friend’s sister. Wes would fucking kill me if he knew I had these thoughts about his little sister.

Jude walks away from Blaire and she quickly moves in beside me. Her glass is empty, but she twirls it in her hand like it’s not.

“You’re very still,” she says. “That usually means one of two things. Bored or dangerously interested.”

I say nothing. God, this is painful.

She hums. “Let me guess which.”

I don’t take the bait. She’s testing for a reaction. Just because I don’t have interest in girls like her doesn’t mean I haven’t interacted with them before. They treat every conversation like poker—bluff, prod, wait. See who folds first.

I let the silence hang.

She eventually lifts the glass to her lips, forgetting it's empty. “You’re not nearly as hard to read as you think you are.”

That makes me glance over.

She grins. “There he is.”

I look away before she can land the next line. “I’m not trying to be hard to read.”

Jude returns and Blaire attaches herself to him once again, whispering something to him.

I think about Reid and Lola’s interactions from a few minutes ago—right before she stormed upstairs.

The moment she had showed weakness he had pounced. He got a reaction and doubled down, convinced it was proof he was winning something. I’ve seen it before many times. It’s a cycle. Push. Provoke. Repeat.

And Lola has always been his favorite target.