Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(54)
“You are unfrigging believable,” he murmurs, and I can't quite decide if that's an insult or a compliment. I watch the four boys move away before taking Tristan’s seat at the table.
“You are not a part of the Infinity Club,” Ileana snaps at me, curling her gold painted lips up over her teeth. She's right: that tattoo on my hip burns as if it's being freshly etched into my skin. I am not a part of the Infinity Club and I never will be. Thank God.
“No, but I'm here as a sponsored guest. I can make a bet, too.” I fold my arms on the table, careful not to touch any of the knuckle bones. If there was some way for me to take them, and donate them to a museum or give them a proper burial or something, I would. As things stand, all I can do is throw out a silent apology to the souls that used to belong to these bits of ivory. “And trust me: you're gonna want to make this bet.”
“Really?” Harper drawls, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. Her blue eyes sparkle with hate as she takes me in. “And why exactly would I want to do that? I could simply … call my family’s medical center and tell them to stop treating your father. Basically, bitch, you're mine.”
My heart stops, and I feel this cold fear creep over me. But I suspected this; I knew this was coming. Hell would freeze over before Harper would help me willingly.
I sit still, keep smiling, and refuse to show my cards.
“How about this,” I start, meeting her eyes and refusing to acknowledge the other two girls. She'll love that, the self-professed queen of the school. “I'll make you a bet: if I win, you give my dad the same medical care that you’d give to your own father.” I pause for a minute. “No, you give my father better medical care than you’d give your own father. The best of the best, spare no expense. If you win, I will get on my knees before you in front of the entire school and tell everyone that you were right, that I'm worse than a Pleb, or that I'm a whore, whatever. I'll kiss your feet, and I'll pack up and leave the academy and you'll never have to see me again.”
Harper's leaning forward now, her eyes shining, her sociopathic tendencies showing all over her face. I'm not sure that I've ever really known what the word hate means until now. I don't think I hated the Idol guys, not even after what they did to me. Pretty sure I hate Harper du Pont right now.
“I'm listening …” She purrs, her voice like needles as it digs into my eardrums. She reeks of peaches too, and I decide the scent is now entirely ruined for me. Every time I smell it, I'll think of her and that disgusting smile.
“If I lose, you can pull my father's medical care completely. But for now, you keep treating him.” Harper narrows her eyes, but at least she’s still listening. “Here's the bet: by the end of the year, I make Tristan, Creed, and Zayd fall in love with me.” Her eyes widen in disbelief, and the look of glee that flashes over her face tells me that she already thinks that she's won, that what I'm proposing is an impossibility. I keep talking. “But you are all forbidden from telling them about this bet. If I get them to come with me to the second-year graduation getaway, that counts, and I win.”
“You could just trick them into driving with you or something,” Becky sneers, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “No, they have to show up, with you or not, but they all have to think that you're going to be their date to the party that night. They have to want you to be their date.” She smirks at me, and I purse my lips, but I nod anyway.
“They come with me to the graduation getaway at the lake, and I win. If they don't, at the party that night, I'll do what I said. I'll give in, I'll give up, and I'll leave. You'll win.” Harper considers this for a moment, rolling one of the knuckle bones around on her palm.
“Fine. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop tormenting you.” She smirks at me again, and I just know she's already got something planned. “There is no truce between us, but I'll let your pathetic father beg scraps from my medical clinic. When I win,” she continues, and her use of the word when does not escape me, “I want your humiliation filmed, and you are going to be the one who posts it on YouTube from your own account.”
My nostrils flare, but I nod anyway, and reach out to take her hand. We shake on it, while Becky and Ileana exchange looks.
“Don't think you’re getting out of this bet,” Ileana sneers, and I'm surprised to see how well she fits into this pit of snakes. She might be a first year, but she's just as vicious as the other two Idols. “My father has a team of secret police, and I'm not afraid to use them.”
Her threat does not go unnoticed, but I ignore her as I rise to my feet, head off in search of Zack, and hope that the Idol guys turned down whatever ridiculous bet that he came up with. If they realize it’s a ruse, too bad. If the girls tell, Harper automatically loses.
“Oh by the way,” Harper calls out, and I turn around. She lifts her left hand and flashes me a massive rock on her ring finger. The ring that she's wearing, I bet its worth is in the millions. The necklace I wore tonight to piss Tristan off feels like a cheap trinket from Claire's in comparison. I manage to keep my expression calm, my face schooled, even though on the inside I feel like I might puke. “Tristan and I are engaged now. Thought you might want to know that.”