Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(18)



“He’s a real winner,” Andrew says with a roll of his eyes. He sits up and gives her a sharp look. “Don’t make excuses for him. I’m not saying Zack’s a good guy, but at least he’s trying to apologize. Creed doesn’t give a crap about how he hurt Marnye.”

Miranda sighs, and nods her head.

I hate to come between her and her brother, but if she sticks with me, it’s going to happen one way or another. I’m not even going to have to take her away from him. He’ll do that all on his own. I close my eyes and remember rule number five on my list: Let them hang themselves with their own rope.

“I won’t make excuses for him,” she says, meeting my eyes. I nod and then grab my new dress off the chair in the corner.

“Let’s get going: I want to make an entrance.”

And so it begins …



The favor I asked from Andrew was simple: let me borrow his car for the year. Technically, no student is allowed to keep a car without special permission. But they all do it anyway. Last year, they literally just tossed caution to the wind and parked in one of the staff lots. This year, with all the new security and scrutiny, they’ve all paid to have their cars delivered to a lot just off the campus property. Getting to it means sneaking through the woods in glittering party dresses and trailing perfume. I swear, there’s so much cologne and body spray in this copse of trees, I feel like I might choke.

“I think every freaking student in the school is here,” Miranda whispers as we walk across the wet grass in flats, our heels clutched in our hands, purses slung over our shoulders. I’ve embraced the Burberry Prep lifestyle: I’m wearing a dress that costs too much money for me to fathom, and I’ve got the heels that Creed bought me. All in all, including the jewelry I borrowed from Miranda, I’m wearing over five thousand dollars in clothing and accessories.

I almost gag at that thought.

Also, pretty sure I’m the most frugally dressed one there anyway.

“It’s like a mass exodus,” Andrew whispers, passing me his keys. I can see the bright glare of phone screens, and the sparkle of jewelry and dresses winking at me from various spots in the trees. If the staff doesn’t know what we’re all up to, I’d be surprised. Then again, how can they really bust every student in the academy? The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and I look around, expecting that Kyle guy to appear out of the shadows.

“It isn’t like one,” Miranda whispers, biting her lower lip, “it is one.”

We hit the edge of the trees without encountering any of the Bluebloods, and I have to whistle at the shining red beauty of Andrew’s car.

“Holy crap, Andrew,” I whisper, running my hand over the hood. Telling someone you have a red Lamborghini, and actually seeing it in person? Two totally different things. Like, I’m not even into cars, but this one … hot as hell. “What does your family do again?”

He tucks his fingers in his pockets and shrugs his shoulders, crinkling his academy jacket.

“We manufacture vehicles,” he says, and then grins at me. “Pretty much any car made in the USA or Italy has the Payson stamp on it somewhere.” I smile back, but actually, I already knew the answer to that question. I studied every Blueblood on that list, their family, and their net worth. I know who’s the richest of the rich, and who’s just hanging on by a thread.

Raucous laughter rings across the lot, and I lift my head to find Zayd with his head thrown back. He’s howling over something Greg’s just said, his arm around Becky’s waist. My blood boils hot as they all pile into a blue Jaguar F-type convertible, gravel churning as they take off out of the parking lot with no regard to anyone else. I cringe as Zayd just barely misses smashing the front of his car into Valentina’s Porsche.

“Idiots,” I mumble as I spot Zack’s orange McLaren parked across the way. He’s leaning against it, watching me. “Stalker,” I add, flipping him off before I unlock the doors to the Lambo and move around to the driver’s side. Before I climb in, I see Tristan and Creed standing next to a Bentley Bentayga, basically this super pretentious white SUV. As if they sense me looking their way, they both turn in unison, gray and blue eyes locked on mine.

I smirk at the Idols, twirl Andrew’s keys around my fingers, and slide into the driver’s seat.

“Creed got a car?” I ask as I shut the door and watch through the tinted window as Tristan takes off for his dad’s Ferrari Spider, and Creed climbs into the Bentley. I swear, every rich person gets a car for their sixteenth birthday. “And did Tristan steal his dad’s car or did he give it to him?”

“My dad offered us a choice: car or money in our trust. Creed chose the car; I chose the cash. Oh, and Tristan stole the Ferrari again,” Miranda adds with a shrug. “He’s been driving it all summer. His dad has so many cars, he probably didn’t notice. Or care. William Vanderbilt doesn’t exactly pay a lot of attention to his son.” She checks her phone and then squeals so loudly in my ear that I jump. “Don’t go anywhere yet!”

Miranda scrambles out of the back, crushing Andrew with the front seat as she pushes past him. She’s not two steps out of the vehicle before she’s throwing her arms around a girl that I vaguely recognize as Jessie Maker, the same girl I saw her with last year. They hug so tight it looks like they might break each other’s ribs, and then they pull back and just grin at each other.

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