Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(29)
“You're right,” Tristan says, and that's it, just those two words. His uniform is as perfectly pressed as always, just sharp lines and creases that could cut. His tie is straight, his jacket buttoned, his hair smooth and shiny. But his eyes are disturbingly empty. Even his usual cruelty is missing. “I messed up.”
Mr. Vanderbilt sighs and taps his fingers against the leg of his immaculately pressed suit. Just like his son, there's not a single thread, button, or hair out of place. And there's no doubt in my mind that his suit costs more than my father's yearly salary.
“I'm still struggling to understand how my car ended up in a swimming pool.”
Tristan flinches, and my heart begins to race. If he hasn't ratted me out yet, he's not going to. But still …
“I told you: it was a senior prank.” His voice is cold, empty, dark.
After a moment, Mr. Vanderbilt goes to reach for something in his pocket, and Tristan flinches like he's been struck. But all his dad does is produce a black box with a little crown on the top. He passes it over to his son, and Tristan takes it warily, cracking the top to reveal a black and red Rolex watch. He turns it over and I see a custom engraved infinity symbol on the back.
Well, damn.
“A senior prank?” Mr. Vanderbilt asks as he takes the box back, removes the watch, and gestures for his son to hold out his arm. “And how, exactly, did the seniors get my car out of our garage in Los Angeles?”
Tristan says nothing, just lets his dad put the watch on for him.
“I haven't seen the class rankings posted yet. Have you?” Mr. Vanderbilt's voice just drips with menace; the high cheekbones and straight, ridged nose that look so regal on his son become villainous when he reaches out and snatches Tristan by the tie, yanking him close.
Tristan simply licks the blood from the corner of his mouth and stares his father down.
“You are a Vanderbilt, son. This country was built on our dime and our whims. Do I need to reiterate the shame you bring on our entire family, on the company, when you let yourself lose to commoner trash?”
My mouth drops open, and my entire body goes ice-cold.
Based on Tristan's lack of empathy, I just sort of assumed his family was awful, but seeing it in person? I'm gobsmacked. Despite my dad's many faults, I love him and he loves me. I can't even imagine being treated like this by him. Hell, I can't even imagine Jennifer treating me like this.
“I understand, Father,” Tristan whispers as his dad releases him abruptly, and he stumbles.
“Good. Then get out there and check the roster. If I don't like what I see, this isn't going to be a pleasant week for you, son.” Tristan nods, and then turns abruptly, heading for the door so quickly that I don't have time to scramble out of the way.
All I manage to do is back away from the door, so that it's somewhat plausible that I was just walking by.
Tristan freezes in place, and a hundred emotions work their way across his face before he shuts them all down and just stares at me with a storm gray gaze.
“Hey.” It's the only word that'll come out of my mouth.
After a moment, I hear Mr. Vanderbilt answer his phone, false laughter ringing out from the open door. Tristan pushes it closed with a palm, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that don't show on that stoic face of his.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn't bother. He was horrible to me, the worst of all the Idols. And yet … I can't control that small surge of empathy. Tristan turns on me in an instant, storming across the hall. I end up backing up, even though I don't mean to.
He gets right up in my face, jaw clenched, anger surging through him in waves.
Without a word, he reaches up and snatches the necklace from my throat, breaking the chain in the process. My heart is racing so hard and fast that I can barely breathe. When he turns and storms over to the trash can, I'm left gaping as he yanks the Rolex off his wrist and shoves both pieces of jewelry as deep into the bin as he can get them, staining the sleeve of his perfect white jacket with something red that I think is ketchup. But then he sniffles and I realize that blood is actually running from his nose. It drips onto his chest and sleeve as he turns back to face me.
“Do not talk to me, Charity,” he snaps, practically grinding his teeth. “Do not look at me. Don't even think about me. If you do, I'll break you worse than Zack did. And I won't be there to make you throw up the pills when I'm done.” He spins on his heel and storms down the hallway, leaving me gaping behind him.
What the hell was that all about?!
I flip him off behind his back … and then I dig through the garbage again.
I know things are going to get bad for me this week when I step into the courtyard with the stag statue and the fountain, and find Harper du Pont deep in conversation with my father. Shit, I took too long.
Moving as fast as I can, I close the distance between us and step up beside Charlie with a huge smile on my face.
“Dad.”
“Marnye-bear!” he says, giving me a huge hug. It feels so good to be in his arms that for a split-second, I forget that the queen bitch of Burberry Prep Academy is standing right next to us, her glorious brunette hair blowing in the wind. My jaw clenches, but I manage to maintain a grimace, if not an actual smile. “I was just talking to your friend, Harper.”