Page 45 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

Gigi is in full performance mode. She’s talking fast and loud to Blaire. I round the corner just in time to catch her dramatic retelling of whatever Reid said to her while they were in the studio.

“He told me I had ‘dangerous energy,’” she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Like, what does that even mean? I don’t know, but I’m obsessed with it. He’s so intense. I love that.”

She’s nestled into the couch, wearing one of those lounge sets she saves for “casual domestic elegance” (whatever the hell that means) and holding a half-empty glass of white wine.

They don’t greet me and I don’t acknowledge them. I head straight to the kitchen and open the fridge. There’s nothing edible that won’t take at least twenty minutes to make. There’s wine, but I feel like that might not be the best idea right now. I barely ate at Miles’s house since the food tasted worse than it looked. And wine on an empty stomach is historically a bad choice for me.

I head back to the living room with a huff and catch the tail-end of whatever nonsense Gigi’s spewing now. “I swear, he looked like he was about to pin me to the counter.”

Blaire’s perched nearby, scrolling absently on her phone, only half listening to Gigi.

“God, you have to make this happen, Lola,” Gigi adds. “You’re, like, the key to all of it. I mean, obviously he’s into me, but you’re the sister of the guy they’re all besties with or whatever. Reid would totally be mine if you just gave him the green light.”

My fingers tighten into fists.

“Lo-laaa,” she says, drawing out my name, “come on. Don’t be weird about this. It’s not like you’re into him. You’re not, right? You better fucking not be, because he’s mine. He's Reid fucking Morgan. I deserve him, and you…”

Before I can figure out how to answer without lighting the whole house on fire, Blaire cuts in from the armchair.

“She’s intosomeone. I mean, she spends enough time talking to the hotties next door. One of them is definitely on her radar.”

My stomach flips.

Gigi snorts. “That’s just because of Wes. Duh.”

“Sure,” Blaire says, still scrolling. “Although, I did see you and Jude whispering at the BBQ, Lola. Didn’t he follow you upstairs? And what was Reid doing at your studio anyway?”

My throat goes dry.

Blaire lifts her gaze, lips tugged into that soft, syrupy smile she saves for when she’s about to say something shitty but play it off like she doesn’t know better. “Must be nice having so many strong male figures around, especially when things are…slipping.”

She glances back down at her phone, thumb moving in slow, casual strokes.

“By the way,” she adds, “did you see Sierra James’s new promo launch? It’s gorgeous. She rolled out this full campaign with a celebrity client and everything. I think one of her newinstructors used to teach for you, right? What was her name again?”

I don’t answer her and they just continue to talk like they didn’t really expect me to. I don’t care. I head back to the kitchen.

The fridge hums when I open it again. This time, I don’t bother searching—I go straight for the wine. I grab a glass from the cabinet because it makes me feel a little better than drinking straight from the bottle.

I chug half the glass in one gulp before I lean against the counter and sip slower. My eyes stay locked on the tile backsplash as my mind spins in too many directions to track. I think about the studio. I think about Sierra’s new campaign. I think about Blaire’s face when she said “slipping”.

Whoops, my glass is empty. I pour more.

Halfway through the next glass, the wine starts to feel warm in my veins. But I am still too sober. Because I have not drunk anywhere near enough to forget the bills piling up or the fact that I let Reid touch me this morning and then watched him laugh with Gigi like nothing happened.

When the bottle’s empty, I rinse it and drop it into the recycling. The sound echoes too loudly in the quiet. I stand there a second longer, debating with myself.

Then I reach for the tequila.

This time I don’t bother with a glass. I take a sip straight from the bottle as I slide down to the floor. I tip my head back against the cabinet and try to breathe through the anxiety. But it doesn’t work.

Something has to give soon and I’m really hoping it’s not my sanity. I’m not holding out hope, though. It’s already slipping. How else do you explain that I am falling for three men who live across the damn lawn?

Maybe the problem is that I want too much. I want a successful business that supports me enough that I can move out of this house. Sure Icouldmove in with Wes but that sounds like a legitimate nightmare. Although is it more of a nightmare than living with two frenemies who seem to be rooting for me to lose in life?

And I want three men without having to choose. Maybe I’m just selfish but each one makes my heart ache for different reasons. Well, Reid just makes my head ache. But Jude and Miles are different. They see me in ways I don’t even see myself. With them it’s not just lust, it’s comfort. I can see a real future with both of them…if I had the time to build one.

I press my forehead to my knees. Eventually, I stand.