Page 90 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

She blinks.”Who are you and what did you do with Reid Morgan?”

I laugh. “I can get a couple good shots—spotlight you and the space, keep the momentum going.”

She hesitates.

“I won’t get in your way,” I promise. “You do your thing. I’ll just be around.”

“Okay. But you have to actually work. No pulling your usual shit and stirring up trouble or riling me up.”

“No promises.” I smirk and roughly grab her around the waist, threatening to pick her up. She squeals and pretends to push me away.

Poor Gigi never stood a chance. I already made my choice long ago.

And it’s Lola. Every damn time.

Chapter 27

Lola

I’m so glad I reworked the schedule to build in some midday downtime. I couldn’t keep up with the pace—mentally or physically.

The schedule was built with support in mind. I used to have three instructors. Most of my time went to private clients and small group sessions, or just filling in the gaps. Trying to do the work of four people completely alone? Yeah, that was not even remotely sustainable.

Reid’s been helping out where he can. It’s weird having him around all the time, but…I kind of like it? We’ve never been around each other like this before. In the past, it always ended in some verbal sparring match that spiraled until we were both pissed off and saying shit we didn’t mean. Now, when we get worked up—we just have sex.

So yeah, that’s progress. Is it healthy progress? I don’t really care. I’m having orgasms. Lots of them.

I prop my feet up on my desk and slouch down in my chair. I don’t have any errands to run today and the studio is already cleaned and restocked. The boys are all busy, so instead of an orgasm break, I’m mindlessly scrolling through my social media.

I scroll past a protein powder ad, two influencer reels I have zero interest in, and a new exercise routine that supposedly takes off ten pounds in ten minutes. Then I see Gigi’s latest post.

My feet fall from the desk as I sit ramrod straight. This bitch…

She’s posed in front of the stove in our kitchen, holding the mug I bought last fall from a pop-up market. The same mug she once called fugly and said didn’t “work with the aesthetic” in our kitchen. Her hair is in perfect waves, her makeup looks airbrushed, and it all looks a little suspiciously “put together” for something that’s supposed to be candid.

All very on-brand for Gigi.

It’s not the mug or the filter that has me ready to breathe fire. It’s what she’s wearing.

Reid’s jersey.

And literally nothing else.

The caption reads:“You can’t steal what was never yours”

She didn't tag anyone, but she didn’t have to. All of San Diego knows who that jersey belongs to.

And it’s perfectly clear who she’s talking about: me.

My stomach does that slow, sinking twist that always feels so godawful. The likes are climbing by the second. The comments are rolling in, all in support of Gigi and Reid.

Is that who I think it is

Omg stopppp. You two are

I knew it

Power couple energy.