The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (134 page)

“The bad news is he wants me to have dinner with Charles and Fiona,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I would never force him to have a meal with Wallace and Claire. Mostly because my mother would probably come on to him after three glasses of pinot, but still. Ugh. Now I’m going to have to be all . . . polite.”

“I’m confused. Who are Charles and Fiona?” Sabine asked, neatly folding a cream-colored sweater.

“Dash’s parents,” Noelle said in a snotty tone, as if Sabine should have known that from birth. “The McCaffertys?” She watched Sabine with narrowed eyes as Sabine picked up another sweater and refolded it neatly. “What’s up, Frenchie? Are you dropping out? Hopping a Cessna back to island paradise?”

Sabine blushed at Noelle’s obviously hopeful tone.

“No. She’s deciding what to bring to New York next weekend,” I told Noelle, crossing over to my desk. I picked up my phone to check for messages, but there was nothing. Not from Josh. Not from Dash. “Sabine is coming with us.”

Noelle laughed as she pushed herself up from the bed, lifting her heavy hair over her shoulder. “Uh, no.”

Sabine shot me an alarmed glance.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, matching Noelle’s tone.

Noelle looked at me, incredulous. “Reed, it’s going to be hard enough to get Cromwell to give us four passes. There’s just no way.”

My blood started to boil in my veins. Why did Noelle always have to be so bossy? Couldn’t she let me make one decision without trying to override it?

“If we can get him to give us four, we can get him to give us five,” I said coolly but firmly. “I invited Sabine, and she’s coming.”

My tongue wanted to add an “Is that okay with you?” out of habit, but I didn’t let it. Instead I bit down on it until I tasted blood. Noelle glared at me, as if waiting for me to crack, but I didn’t. I simply stared back.

“Fine, Madame President,” she said finally. Then she turned to Sabine. “Just don’t get your hopes up. I wouldn’t want you to be crushed when the Crom says no,” she said in an overly sweet tone. Then she shot me a smile before turning and striding out.

“Do you really think he’ll say no?” Sabine asked me, her voice hushed. She had a light blue T-shirt clutched in her hands like it was a lifeline.

“No. I’ll take care of it,” I said, my voice solid even though my body was quaking from the effort of standing up to Noelle. I could talk a big game, but it wasn’t easy. Noelle was still the girl who had intimidated me all last fall and kept me guessing as to where I stood every single day. I had a feeling contradicting her would never be easy.

My iPhone sang out and my heart leapt. It always leapt at the sound of the phone these days, as if it was expecting Josh. Each ring was a chance that he was calling to make up. But when I grabbed the phone, it wasn’t Josh’s photo smiling out at me, it was Hunter Braden’s. How had that even gotten in there? I could only imagine that Vienna or Portia or someone had swiped my phone and captured the pic when I wasn’t looking. I took a deep breath and picked up.

“Hello?”

“Reed Brennan.”

The way he said my name made my already weakened knees useless. I sat down on my desk chair. How did he have this kind of power over girls? Was that kind of talent learned or bred? I wasn’t even sure if I liked the guy in a casual sense, but that voice. Incredible.

“Hi, Hunter.”

“You. Me. Dinner tomorrow night. I’ll come by Billings at seven.”

There was something about his bold self-confidence that left a sour taste in my mouth, but I figured he couldn’t keep that up all the time. Somewhere under all that product and naturally won tan there had to be a real person. Plus, Vienna and the others were right: Hunter was the perfect candidate for the Billings president’s boyfriend. A smooth, sophisticated, popular, rich, Dash McCafferty type. Only better. Because he wasn’t currently dating one of my best friends.

In the end, I’d had a great time with Jason—after we’d gotten over the awkward-kiss thing and decided to just be friends. Why not give Hunter a shot as well? He was the perfect guy to help me show the
world exactly how over Josh I was. I could move on, too. I could move on with the best of them.

“I’m in,” I told him.

“Of course you are,” he replied. “See you then.”

I turned the phone off but called up his picture again and considered it. A date with Hunter Braden. I was feeling more presidential by the second.

When I told Vienna that I had agreed to a date with Hunter Braden, she let out an ear-piercing shriek that definitely broke a few pairs of glasses all over campus. She spread the news quickly, and suddenly it was as if a housewide holiday had been declared. Plans were dropped. Club meetings skipped. Facials eschewed. By one o’clock on Saturday afternoon, every Billings Girl had descended upon my room, offering up color palette suggestions, wardrobe items, and some seriously dubious etiquette pointers.

“If you happen to get something caught in your throat, do not choke at the table,” Shelby told me as she laid out her collection of cocktail dresses on Sabine’s bed. “There is nothing less attractive than bug eyes and bread crumbs flying everywhere with your spittle.”

I stopped blowing on my freshly manicured nails, which Constance and Kiki had just clipped, buffed, and polished. She had to be kidding.

“She’s right. Choking will totally turn a Hunter Braden off,” Portia added, organizing several eye shadow palettes on my desk for Noelle to inspect. “It is T.V.”

I glanced at Rose for clarification. She was always translating for Portia. “Totally verboten,” Rose explained as she sifted through her own jewelry collection for something to lend me.

“You guys are too funny.” I laughed, shaking my head as I got up from Sabine’s desk chair. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy.

“This is serious, Reed,” Vienna said, placing both hands on my shoulders as Kiki and Tiffany tested perfumes on each other. “If it happens, get up and walk over to the bathroom and get one of the waiters to Heimlich you in private. You’ll thank us later.”

“Right. Unless I’m dead,” I replied.

That comment killed the chatter for a moment and I froze. But it only lasted a moment. When the Billings Girls were in a makeover zone, almost nothing could stop them.

“Okay. What are we thinking for our color scheme?” Astrid asked, holding a black silk dress under my chin, then a shimmery blue sheath.

“Watch her nails!” Lorna gasped

She and Missy—yes, even Missy was there—jumped up and held my arms out at my sides like a
T
so that Astrid could continue testing clothes under my face without messing up my manicure. I was starting to feel like a rag doll.

“I still say red,” Tiffany put in, stepping up to study me over Astrid’s shoulder. “Red is her color.”

“I think pink,” Shelby said, sitting on the foot of my bed. “Why don’t you ever wear pink, Reed. Don’t you own anything pink?”

My heart stopped beating. I looked at Shelby. Did she know something? Had she done something? Was that a teasing smirk in her eyes? Or was I just completely and utterly paranoid?

“Actually, she does have pink!” Sabine announced, bounding over to my closet. “What about that—”

“No!”

My mouth was open, but I hadn’t said anything. It was Noelle who had spoken and commanded the attention of the room. Sabine stopped in her tracks.

“Pink? Did you all let your
Vogue
subscriptions lapse? Pink is so last season and
so
not Reed,” Noelle said, dropping the eyelash curler she was toying with and walking over to stand next to me. “You girls can let her go now,” she told Missy and Lorna. Which they promptly did. “Look at her, ladies,” Noelle said. “She is no spring.”

“She’s right. You’re a total autumn,” London said seriously. Then her eyes lit up. “I know! Wear your Nicole Miller!”

“You have a Nicole Miller?” Noelle said, eyeing me with surprise.

“Yes!” I went over to my closet and whipped the dress out, tags and all, before anyone could see that the pink clothing hanging inside had once belonged to Cheyenne. I held it up for all to see.

“Not bad,” Noelle said, fingering the slippery fabric.

“I bought it for her,” Portia offered, happily raising her hand. She had bought it for me on the day I had been elected president of Billings. Back when I had been planning a Halloween ball in honor of
Cheyenne. Before Noelle’s return and the Legacy debacle and the ten million other things that had changed in the meantime.

“Ladies, I think we have the dress!” Noelle announced. “Now, who has shoes? Because I really don’t think Chuck T.’s are going to work.”

Everyone giggled and dove into their shoe boxes. Suddenly pairs of peep-toes and pumps and stilettos and kitten heels were whipped at me from every direction. Noelle shook her head at some, wrinkled her nose at others, and finally settled on a pair of Tiffany’s Jimmy Choos. Black with delicate straps. In about two seconds I was zipped up, strapped in, and whisked off to makeup with Astrid and the Twin Cities. Just before the bathroom door shut, I glanced back at Shelby to see if she was still watching me. See if she was gauging my reaction to her pink comment. But she had simply kicked back on my bed to check her messages, eyes glued to her phone as always.

It was just a coincidence. Had to be. Shelby Wordsworth had no reason to hate me. To torture me. Right?

“I can’t believe this restaurant doesn’t have a valet,” Hunter said as he parallel parked his gorgeous Bentley on a side street in the town of Easton. A couple inches of snow had fallen earlier that day, which made it harder to see the lines, and I felt for him. Parallel parking was so stressful. Doing it on a first date couldn’t be easy. “But it shouldn’t be too far to walk.”

“Believe me, I don’t mind,” I told him.

Where I came from a fancy dinner out meant not wearing jeans to the Steak & Ale. Yet here I was, decked out in thousands of dollars’ worth of couture, with a guy wearing a cashmere coat and leather gloves, looking like a movie star behind the wheel. Walking a couple blocks to the restaurant was not going to kill me.

“No, no. I’ll get that,” Hunter said, stopping me as I reached for the car door.

I giggled to myself as he got out, strolled around the front of the
car, and opened my door for me. Noelle said it all the time and I was starting to agree with her—there was no substitute for good breeding. He offered his hand, which I took—as awkward as it felt—and helped me out of the car.

“This is my favorite restaurant in town. It’s not easy to get a reservation here, but they always save a table for me,” Hunter said as he used his remote to lock his car.

“Must be nice,” I said as we turned up the sidewalk.

“It is,” he replied with a smile.

We walked carefully, avoiding patches of ice on the freshly shoveled walkway. I felt like I should be making conversation, but I was at a loss for the moment. The silence was just starting to feel awkward when we came around the corner onto Main Street and half a dozen flashbulbs flashed across the street.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” Hunter groused.

He ducked into the doorway of a children’s clothing boutique, which had already closed down for the night, and pressed his back to the brick wall.

“What? What’s going on?” I asked, looking up.

“Get in here!” he hissed.

I did as I was told, hopping up the one step and huddling next to him. “What is it?” I asked.

“Paparazzi,” Hunter said through his teeth. “Crap. Someone must have tipped them off that I was going out tonight. You date one socialite . . .”

“Seriously? You’re actually being stalked by the paparazzi?” I asked.

“Must be a slow news week for them to come all the way up to Connecticut,” Hunter said, then cursed under his breath. “My dad warned me about this. He said they were going to want to get pictures of whoever I dated after the heiress.”

“Which would be me,” I said, trying to make this sink in.

“Which would be you,” Hunter agreed. “Are they coming over here?”

Okay. This was surreal. I was being stalked by the paparazzi on a date. If the shallow chicks back home could see me now. Well, maybe they would when they opened next week’s
Us Weekly
. Weird.

“Reed! Are they coming over here?” Hunter sounded desperate.

I peeked around the corner. The four photogs were still hanging out across the street, probably waiting for our next move. “They look like they’re staying put.”

“Yeah, until I come out. I’m going to kill whoever did this,” Hunter said.

“Well, why don’t we get rid of them?” I asked.

Hunter scoffed. “No offense, Reed, but how? You have no idea what kind of people you’re dealing with.”

I glanced down at the pile of snow that had been shoveled up against the wall of the shop. The idea was so basic, but so deliciously evil at the same time. “Maybe not. But I do know that no one likes a face full of icy snowball. Also, water is really bad for cameras.”

Hunter followed my gaze and smiled wickedly. “I like the way you think.”

I crouched to the ground in the black designer coat I had borrowed
from Shelby, and Hunter followed my lead. Together we dragged as much snow into our little alcove as possible, remaining hidden from the photographers, thanks to the cars and SUVs parked all up and down the street. Quickly, silently, we cobbled together as many snowballs as we could. When we’d used up all the snow, I gathered a few balls in my arms and stood, pressing back against the wall again.

“What’s the plan?” Hunter asked, his eyes full of mischief.

“We fire at will until there’s no ammo left, then make a break for the restaurant. Hopefully they’ll be too disoriented to follow,” I whispered.

“I like it,” Hunter said.

I felt a flutter of pride in my chest. Hunter Braden liked my idea.

“On the count of three,” I directed. “One, two, three. Fire!”

Together the two of us jumped out of our hiding space and launched our snowballs. My first hit one of the cameras right in the lens, splattering all over its owner’s face. Hunter didn’t quite have my arm, but he managed to bean a couple of guys in the shoulder before we reloaded. There were a few desperate camera flashes while we grabbed more snowballs, but when we came up again, we managed to smack two more guys directly in their faces. The cursing and sputtering across the way was utterly ridiculous, and Hunter and I laughed the entire time.