The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (113 page)

I took a deep breath and went back over to the bag. I placed the CD next to my closed laptop. Then I pulled out the catalog. There was a note attached.

Dear Reed,

Congratulations on being elected president of Billings. As vice president of purchasing for Neiman Marcus Group, I am pleased to find myself in a position to offer you an open line of credit. I’ll be sending you our look book each season, from which you may select up to a thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise, gratis. Enjoy!

Yours in Billings,

Tinsley Dunellen

Easton Academy Class of 1990

This was too much. Free money. Free clothes. Free designer bags. What next? A free trip to Hawaii?

Beyond intrigued, I opened my computer and popped the CD in. I had to clutch my sides to keep from trembling with excitement as it whirred to life. Then a list of folders popped up in the center of the screen.

BILLINGS ALUMNI 1980s

BILLINGS ALUMNI 1990s

CURRENT BILLINGS RESIDENTS

BILLINGS ALUMNI FUND

REAL ESTATE HOLDINGS

UNIVERSITY CONTACTS

FORTUNE 500 CONTACTS

LOS ANGELES

NEW YORK

PARIS

MILAN

And on and on. I opened file after file. The alumni fund balance was in the millions, and I now knew the pin number. There were contacts in the admissions departments at every prestigious university in the country and at dozens of elite international corporations where anyone would want to work. The city files had contact info organized by city and then by company. The real estate holdings folder contained one huge document listing homes owned by Billings alums
all over the world, which were, apparently, at our disposal should we need to, oh, jet off to Dubai at a moment’s notice or hole up on the shores of the Mediterranean for a few days. There was contact information for every Billings alum, plus personal info on whom they had married when, how many children they had, how many homes they owned and where. Plus, each entry had a file marked “pertinent info,” which turned out to be “pertinent dirt.” Dirt on each of our esteemed alumni. Affairs and arrests and compromising situations. As I read, I started to blush. Why would this be here? Why would anyone want to give this to me? Who had compiled this stuff and how did they know about all these indiscretions?

And did the file on the current residents have the same kind of info?

I hated myself, but I had to know. I went to the current resident file and sure enough, inside were seventeen files, each named for one of my fellow Billings Girls. Including Noelle and Cheyenne. Ignoring my morbid curiosity about Cheyenne, I opened my own file. And there it all was. My family’s income. My father’s job. My mother’s entire, mortifying medical history. My brother’s GPA at Penn State. And tons of info on me. Records I’d broken at Croton High. The fact that I’d won firsts the last two quarters of sophomore year. The job I’d held over the summer and exactly how much money I had made.

It was positively disturbing seeing all these personal facts of my own life laid out before me like they were nothing. Those paranoid feelings I sometimes had that I was being watched? Turned out they weren’t so paranoid after all.

At least whoever was watching me didn’t seem to know about that almost kiss with Dash over the summer. Listed under significant relationships were only Adam Robinson, my one Croton boyfriend; Thomas Pearson (deceased); Walter Whittaker (attended Legacy with); and Joshua Hollis (current).

I sat back in my chair for a moment, considering the folders of my fellow Billings Girls. Missy Thurber. Wouldn’t mind having some dirt on her. Portia Ahronian. What, exactly, did her mysterious father do for a living, anyway? And Cheyenne Martin. Did she have a history of depression? Erratic behavior? Seeing something like that in her folder would have made me feel so much better.

But could I do it? Could I really read about the innermost secrets of these people who were supposed to be my friends? It was such a violation.

Although . . . Cheyenne was dead. And if there was something in there that might make me feel less guilty, less anxious . . .

My fingers hovered over the mouse. I was just about to click when my new iPhone sang at me so loudly I almost fell out of my chair.

I grabbed it up in both hands. Josh’s face appeared on the screen. I could barely hold the phone as I brought it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Reed? Are you okay?” he asked.

I suppose I did sound a tad stressed.

“Yeah. Fine. Sorry,” I said. I quickly closed all the files and ejected the CD. “Just startled by the phone.”

“Sorry. Listen, I’m outside. Can you come down?” he said.

“You’re outside? Now?” I asked, getting up. My knees were like pudding from everything I’d seen, everything I’d learned, all the possibilities. I shoved the curtain aside, and there Josh was, on the grass below my window. He lifted his free hand and smiled sheepishly.

“I’ll be right there.”

I turned off the phone, shut down my computer, and stashed the CD in the back of my CD case, behind an old John Mayer CD. No one—not even the mysterious Billings P.I. Squad—would be looking there. The catalog I shoved back in the Chloé bag; then I placed the whole thing under my desk and put the chair in front of it as camouflage.

Right now, all this was mine and mine alone. And I wanted to savor it.

Josh shifted from foot to foot as I walked over to him, tugging down the sleeves of my sweater. It was a cool night, and he was wearing a high-necked, zip-front, ribbed sweater that was basically the sexiest thing he owned. Even though we hadn’t talked since our minor blowout that morning, it made me want to sink into his arms and kiss him. Or maybe I was just high from my power trip.

“So, basically, I’m a jerk,” he said by way of greeting.

I took his arm and pulled him closer to the side of the building. Technically, we weren’t supposed to be out of our dorms this late, let alone participating in a mixed-sex rendezvous. Not that the rules had ever stopped anyone before. Still, I couldn’t help thinking of the “pertinent info” file and wondering if this would somehow end up in it.

“You’re not a jerk,” I whispered.

“Yeah. I am.” He scratched the back of his head and looked at his feet. “Look, Noelle is never going to be my favorite person, but she’s
important to you, and I should have realized that. I’ll . . . I’ll try to get along with her from now on.”

I gazed at Josh, beyond touched. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, I understand why you don’t like her. I really do. Maybe we can just, I don’t know, hang out separately or something.”

“Yeah. Like that’s possible,” Josh joked. I loved his smile. His sweet, self-effacing smile. “No. It’s okay. I can keep my mouth shut. Really. I’ll be good.”

“Well, maybe you can just do other things with your mouth,” I said, stepping closer to him.

Josh’s eyes lit up. “Really? What did you have in mind?”

I snaked my arms around his neck and pulled him to me. As always, the moment his tongue touched mine I felt a pleasant shiver all the way down to my toes and an involuntary moan escaped my throat. Josh took this as a signal and deepened the kiss, backing me toward the outer wall of Billings. Something about the open air, the conspicuousness of it all, made me completely and totally hot. I pulled him closer to me, pressing his whole body into mine, and his hands slid under my sweater.

I couldn’t believe we were doing this. Right there in the middle of campus when any one of the many security guards could have strolled right by. But I was president of Billings now. Didn’t that mean I was untouchable? It didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t have stopped for anything. Make-up groping was sexy enough as it was, but make-up groping with the possibility of getting caught was downright naughty.

Josh’s fingers found my bra and he cupped one of my breasts
gently. I couldn’t breathe. The second his fingertips found their way under the cotton, however, I broke away.

Okay. Not here. Not now.

“What?” he said blearily. “Sorry. I—”

“No. It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I just . . . we’re so gonna get caught.”

“God. You’re right. I—”

His eyes flicked up to my right and his skin paled.

“What?” I said, petrified now. I stumbled away from the wall and looked up at the window, but there was nothing there. “Was someone watching us?”

“No. I don’t think so,” Josh said quickly. “I guess I’m just paranoid.”

“You should go,” I said quickly. I gave him a quick kiss on the mouth as I pushed him back.

“Okay. Yeah.” Reluctantly, he turned to leave, then snapped his fingers and faced me again. “I almost forgot. . . . I wanted to ask you. . . . The big Hollis family reunion is being held in Maine next weekend. Wanna come?”

“The Hollis family reunion?” I asked.

“Yeah. Every year my dad gets the whole clan together at our house in Maine for this massive clambake,” Josh said, tucking his hands under his arms. “Cousins and aunts and great-aunts and everything fly in from all over the country. And they
all
want to meet you.”

I almost choked on my own saliva. “They all want to meet
me
?”

“Well, they don’t all know who you are . . . yet. But once they do,
they’ll want to meet you,” Josh replied. “My mom personally asked me to invite you, and my brothers and sisters are basically dying to see who this hottie is that I couldn’t stop talking about all summer. It’s really just Saturday, then we’d stay overnight and come right back on Sunday. So are you in?”

I hesitated. Clearly this meant a lot to Josh, but a huge group of new people I was supposed to impress? That didn’t sound like a fun way to spend a weekend.

“Come on. It’ll be great,” Josh said, stepping closer and reaching for my hand. “I promise I won’t leave your side the entire time.”

I grinned. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

“Yes! I’m so going to win the Hottest New Girlfriend trophy this year,” Josh said, making a fist with his free hand. “Suck it, Hunter Hollis! Your reign ends now.”

“What?”

“Kidding! I’m just kidding!” He gave me a peck on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I replied with a happy smile.

He waved before jogging off, and as I watched him go, something moved in the corner of my vision. My heart stopped and I looked up again. The curtain in one of the hallway windows dropped down, as if someone had just been holding it back.

You’re just imagining things, Reed. No one’s watching you.

A sudden chill raced down my back and I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing but twinkling lights along the stone walks, and trees swaying in the breeze. But I was still freaked. I tugged my sweater
closer to my body and ran the last few steps, ducking through the door. Once inside, I felt foolish and shook my head. I decided not to think about phantom spies and instead focus on the new issue at hand: an entire weekend feeling like a totally awkward outsider amongst one of America’s oldest, most elite families. Taking a deep breath, I mounted the steps to my room and resigned myself to my fate. It was just one day. I could get through it.

For Josh.

Friday night, the alumni descended on the Easton campus like locusts. They were everywhere. Taking group photos in front of dorms, chatting in the center of the cafeteria, checking out our newly opened Coffee Carma. Any student whose parents or siblings were not among the visiting, or those who just didn’t feel like kissing ass, hid out in their dorms. I was one of the hermits. I knew that as the new president of Billings I should have been out there networking, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave my room. Not when there was the possibility of bumping into Dash.

He had never told me whether he planned to attend. And after a blissful week with Josh, talking, holding hands, and sneaking in more hot-and-heavy make-out sessions wherever and whenever we could, I was more resolved than ever to cut Dash out of my life. The fact that Noelle and I were hanging out every day helped make the decision even easier. I’d read the few e-mails Dash had sent me that week, but
I hadn’t replied. There hadn’t been any more mushy stuff, thank God, and I liked to think I had imagined the whole thing. It made it that much easier to put it behind me.

But there was something else. Something that had proven much more difficult to leave in the past. All week I had tried not to think about Cheyenne’s e-mail. Had tried to put it out of my mind. I had even set her e-mail address as spam so that if the e-mail
had
been set to repeat send, it would go directly into my computer’s recycle bin. Every time I thought about it, I told myself that it was over. That as long as I didn’t check that recycle bin, I’d never have to see that e-mail again.

But now it was Friday night and I had to know. Had to know if I had imagined the whole thing. Or if it had been some random glitch. Or if Cheyenne had really been evil enough to make sure I received her message of blame from beyond the grave every week. Nervous with dread, I sat up late in bed, pretending to study under the warm glow of my book light. I said good night to Sabine and she, as always, passed out quickly. As soon as I heard her breathing regulate, my heart skipped a beat. The moment had arrived

I shoved my covers aside and quietly placed my history book on the floor. My computer was on sleep mode, so it popped right to life when I opened it. My fingers trembled as I reached for the mouse, and I told myself to chill. There wouldn’t be anything there. It had been a glitch. That was the most obvious explanation.

First, I checked my inbox. Nothing. My heartbeat slowed slightly. I glanced at the recycle bin.

I had to check it. Of course I did. If I didn’t check it, I would never
really know who Cheyenne had been. What she had intended for me. Whether she had really, truly, meant what she had written. Meant it so much she never wanted me to forget it.

I held my breath and clicked open the recycle bin. The gasp that escaped me was loud enough to wake the dead. Even to wake Sabine.

“Reed?” she asked blearily, sitting up. She pushed her thick black hair out of her face. “What is it?”