Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Working Girl came with me,” Zayd adds, not bothering to stand up. He’s leaning back in his chair, ankles crossed and feet resting on the table. He’s balancing on two chair legs, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s going to topple over. “And I also don’t answer to Harper. I don’t answer to Tristan either. Don’t talk to him like he’s the fucking king of the academy.”

“Harper and Becky are coming back early, thanks to you,” Abigail continues, lifting her chin. She doesn’t acknowledge me whatsoever. Valentina stands by her side, eyes narrowed, attention focused on my face. She wrinkles her nose like I’m the scum of the earth. “They’ll be here on Friday instead of Sunday.”

“Tell them not to bother,” Creed drawls, waving a hand around. “Charity here has earned herself a get out of jail free card. Until January first, she’s off-limits.” He also doesn’t bother to stand up, leaning back and lounging like he’s on a chaise instead of a hard, wooden chair.

Abigail’s mouth opens, but Ebony’s already grabbed Jalen’s hand and pulled him away before it gets ugly. Abigail’s boyfriend, Gregory Van Horn (yes, the same asswad who called me out on my first day) steps up to take his place beside her.

“We all agreed on this: she’s trash. She doesn’t belong at Burberry Prep. The other students are already talking about it, how the academy’s losing its prestige. With every peasant we let in the door, there are a dozen more clambering to get in.” Gregory ruffles up his shoulder-length brown hair and puts his arm around Abigail’s waist. “We all worked hard to be here. Our families worked hard for their money to send us here. And just because we have resources and she doesn’t, we’re automatically required to share? That’s fucking communist-fascist shit right there.”

I’m pretty sure Gregory Van Horn doesn’t know the meaning of all the words he’s just used.

“I worked hard to be here, too,” I blurt, and everyone turns to look at me, including the senator’s son, John Hannibal, who’s just waltzed up with a second-year girl on his arm. She’s in uniform … sort of. Her top’s unbuttoned, a lacy bra showing underneath. And her white skirt is rolled up so short that I’m surprised I can’t see her panties.

“Did we give you permission to talk, Working Girl?” Abigail snaps, and Tristan holds up a hand.

“I said, she’s off-limits,” he repeats, voice growing even colder and darker. There’s an unspoken threat there, too. Keep talking, and I will end you. I can practically hear him say it.

“So she gets to cheat her way to the top of the class, fuck Mr. Carter for first chair in harp, and suck up to Kathleen Cabot’s daughter looking for more free lunches? I know you enjoy having pets, Tristan, but you’re taking this one a little too far, don’t you think?” Abigail turns to me, her eyes flaring with heat. I remember her at the Halloween party, glaring at me while Zayd held me in his arms. “You might be fucking the Idols, but it won’t last. You’re called the Working Girl for a reason, right?”

“Abigail,” Tristan says, his voice softening. He’s a good actor, this one, and if I hadn’t seen him talking to Lizzie before then I might’ve believed his

tone was genuine. “Come here.” She blinks at him, and Zayd chuckles. He knows something I don’t. Creed, too, based on the almost-smirk resting on his lips. “I said come here.”

She hesitates again, glancing at her boyfriend for comfort. He crinkles his brows, but doesn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?” Tristan continues, smiling. It’s such an awful expression on him. I thought before that maybe it was because there was no joy in it. Now that I’m really looking, now that he’s focusing it on someone else so I actually have a moment to think, I realize that it’s scary because he does find joy in tormenting others. “You didn’t have any problem coming for me before.”

Abigail’s mouth drops open, and Gregory lifts himself to his full height. “More Burberry Prep bullshit,” Zack mutters under his breath. He reaches

down and takes my hand, burning a trail of fire up my arm. Creed notices and narrows his eyes, same with Andrew. Well, he doesn’t narrow his eyes but he does raise his brows. I pull my hand from Zack’s grip and cradle it against my chest.

“What’s he talking about?” Greg asks as Abigail’s eyes lock on Tristan’s face. She looks scared … but hopeful, too. Greg’s brown gaze darts between the two of them. “Abi?”

“Aren’t you going to tell him?” Tristan asks, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t exactly ask you to the winter formal if he doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Greg asks, and Abigail’s eyes go dark.

“Stop it, Tristan. Save your lies and your bullshit for the Working Girl.” “Abigail and I slept together the night before the Halloween party. Didn’t

you know that? I figured you two had an open relationship.” Tristan tucks his fingers into the pockets of his slacks, his smile growing as Greg’s eyes widen with rage. He takes a step closer to her, and Greg rushes him. With an effortless sidestep, he moves out of the guy’s way, and Greg ends up crashing into Zack.

Zack shoves him to the floor, and watches the drama unfold with impassive distaste.

Tristan moves up to Abi, cupping the side of her face in his hand. Her angry expression softens, and her eyes go half-lidded. When he leans in close to whisper to her, her cheeks redden with pleasure. But as he continues talking, her eyes begin to widen and her mouth turns down in a terrified frown. Tristan pulls back and runs his thumb over her lower lip.

“When I said that Charity was off-limits, I meant it.” He releases her, and Abigail spins away, taking off across the casino with Valentina chasing after her. John helps Gregory to his feet, holding him back when Greg tries to rush Tristan again.

“You son of a bitch!” he snarls, tearing from John’s grip as Zayd howls with laughter. Creed watches the entire thing like one might watch raindrops fall outside a foggy window. He’s bored, couldn’t care less. This time, I’m pretty sure he’s not pretending. He truly just doesn’t care about Abigail and Greg. “I’m going to-”

“Going to what, Gregory?” Tristan asks, smiling at him. He’s so wicked, spinning his little webs. I wonder how he ever managed to snag a girl like Lizzie Walton. Her demeanor is essentially the opposite of his. “Defy me? Start a social war? Go ahead. We both know who’ll win.” Tristan puts his hand on Greg’s shoulder, and he shoves him off. The move doesn’t seem to bother Tristan; he just smiles wider. “You have two choices: fall in line and go find your philandering girlfriend, or declare war on me. Go ahead, I’m waiting.”

Gregory stares at Tristan for so long that I actually wonder if he’s going to do it, throw a bomb in the social scene of Burberry Prep Academy. If he hadn’t treated me so horribly before, I might feel sorry for him. Tristan’s a formidable opponent. My skin prickles, and a sheet of ice settles over my soul. Holy shit. I don’t think I’d quite grasped the kind of man I was up against.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“Fucking asshole,” Greg groans, sounding like he’s on the verge of tears. He shoves John away when he steps forward to help, and then stalks off through the gathered crowd. Nobody says a word, and soon the laughing and the drinking and the gambling starts up again.

Tristan sits back down at the table like he’s just popped over to the bathroom for a moment and come back.

“Shall we start another round?” he asks as Andrew rises to his feet.

“I’m going to take off. Marnye, I’m free tomorrow if you want to have lunch?” I nod and he smiles, a genuine sort of expression that’s almost jarring after looking at Tristan for so long. “I’ll text you.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch my arm and stops short when he sees Zayd staring at him.

After he leaves, I take my seat again.

“You hanging around, too, asshole?” Zayd asks, grinning. He just eats up the drama with a spoon. “Because if you’re panting around Charity here looking for an easy fuck, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I already asked this morning, and it was a no-go.”

“You’re beyond rude,” I grumble, watching and waiting to see what Zack’s going to do. He doesn’t say anything, just sits back down and levels his dark eyes on Zayd.

“I don’t play by your rules, Kaiser. Remember that.” He nods his chin at Tristan. “Deal the cards, and let’s go. I’m playing for Marnye again.”

“Same stakes?” Creed asks, turning his eyes to me. “Only … I want to add in a caveat that Charity won’t tell Miranda a damn thing. Seems fair to me, considering what’s on the table.”

“Agreed. If Working Girl’s going for such a huge pot, then I want something better than a borrowed car.” Zayd pauses and taps his tattooed fingers on the table. “I want a kiss. A real one. Tongue and all.” He smirks at me, and I glower back at him. “What? I’m not asking for much. It’s just a kiss.”

“Fine.” I don’t intend to lose, so I don’t care. “Deal the cards.”

He pauses as Lizzie strides up to the table, the tall guy from last night trailing behind her.