The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (37 page)

Then he reached out and took my hand. He covered it with both his big, clumsy, oafish ones. Staring at them, I had sudden flashes of another pair of hands. Thin but strong. Self-assured and tender. Hands that had caused me to flush with pleasure every time they touched me.

I glanced to the left and saw several junior girls from one of the other dorms eyeing me with envy. Everyone knew what
Whittaker’s gesture meant. It meant I was one step closer to being his plus-one. And they were one step closer to sitting at home on Halloween night.

“Maybe after dinner we can stop somewhere,” Whittaker said, coloring slightly. “Somewhere we can be alone.”

His thumb pressed into my palm. My stomach turned and I pulled my hand away. There was no way I could do this. No way I could sit in a car with this guy for hours each way wondering when he was going to make his move, dreading the thought of his lips on mine. He was a sweet guy—an awkward, hopeful, sweet guy who was just trying. I could see that. But he was trying on the wrong girl.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“No. I’m fine,” I said, standing. “I just remembered that I left my history text in my room and I . . . I need that for class. I better go.”

“Okay, then. I’ll . . . see you later?” he asked, lifting himself out of his chair, ever the gentleman.

“Sure. Yes. Definitely,” I said.

But even as I shoved my way out into the sunshine, I was formulating a plan. There had to be a way for me to get to the Legacy without Whittaker. There just had to be.

That evening I paused outside Noelle and Ariana’s room. I had just heard voices coming from inside and had automatically stopped to listen. It was a reflex. Now that I knew the extent of their secrets, part of me was dying to uncover more. But I couldn’t make out anything other than murmurs and laughter, and then I remembered I was here to ask a favor. Eavesdropping was probably not the best way to endear myself. I straightened up, steeled myself, and knocked.

“Entrez!” Noelle announced.

Inside the lights were dim and candles flickered on every available surface, filling the air with their musky scents. Noelle, Ariana, Kiran, and Taylor were all gathered in a circle in their pajamas and robes. Taylor sat in one of the desk chairs, pulled close to Ariana’s bed, while the others were seated on the mattress. Ariana held up a wineglass and Kiran tipped a bottle over it, filling it with deep red liquid.

“Reed! So good to see you!” Noelle trilled. “Come! Have wine! We’re playing I Never.”

I Never. These girls had nothing better to do than play I Never? On a weeknight? Shouldn’t they be reading or writing papers or perhaps plotting to have someone else booted out of school? Behind me, in Ariana’s closet, I could feel the presence of the trunk and the computer as if they had been dipped in radioactive waste and were now throbbing brightly like a beacon, mocking me. Reminding me of what I had done. What I knew.

“
I
never . . . got drunk and bribed my father’s pilot to fly me to Rome so I could have real pasta!” Taylor announced.

“Oh!” Noelle cheered.

Kiran clucked her tongue. “No fair getting so specific!” she said, then downed half her wine.

Her father had a
pilot.
Her father had a pilot who would fly to Rome on a moment’s notice.

“Come on, Reed! What have
you
never done?” Noelle asked mirthfully.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you guys about something,” I said.

“Not until you give us an ‘I never,’” Ariana said, her eyes gleaming.

Great. Nothing like being put on the spot. I racked my brain for something, anything, that wouldn’t make me sound totally lame.

“I never . . . had sex in a car,” I said finally.

Noelle spit out a laugh and drank the rest of her wine, as did Kiran and Taylor, laughing the whole way. Ariana, however, just smiled.

“Really, Ariana?” Kiran asked, nonplussed. “Not even a limo? They can be
very
comfortable.”

“I’m gonna start calling you Prude,” Noelle put in.

Ariana simply sighed, as if this was all just too pedestrian, and set her glass aside. “What’s going on, Reed?”

“Nothing. It’s just . . . it’s about the Legacy.”

A mutual look was exchanged between the four of them. “Pull up a chair,” Kiran said, lifting the wine bottle.

I crossed over to Noelle’s desk chair, cleared about ten cashmere, silk, and angora sweaters onto her bed, and carried the chair over. As I settled in, I had their full attention. This was odd.

“What’s the problem?” Noelle asked, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning forward like a concerned talk-show hostess. Except no talk-show hostess I had ever seen ever waved a glass of wine around in front of her live studio audience. “Has Whittaker not asked you yet?”

“No. He hasn’t. But it’s not that,” I said. “I mean, I’m sure he will—”

“Wow. Look at the ego on this one,” Kiran said, taking a sip of her wine. I chose to ignore the comment.

“It’s just . . . I don’t exactly want to go with him,” I said. “Can’t any of you get me in? I could be
your
plus-one,” I said, looking at Noelle.

Instantly, she scoffed. She sat up straight and swung her thick, dark hair over her shoulder. “You’re not getting it, Reed.
We
can’t even all get in without help.”

I had no response to that except to stare incredulously. The Billings Girls couldn’t get in without help? How was that even possible? I had a hard time imagining them being shut out of anything.

“Come on,” I said finally.

Noelle and Ariana laughed. Kiran picked at a cuticle, her cheeks flushing, while Taylor simply stared into her wineglass.

“Did you not hear me the other day?This party is exclusive. I’m the only person in all of Billings who even
gets
a plus-one.”

“Well, you and Cheyenne,” Taylor said.

“Right. Cheyenne. The D.A.R. herself,” Noelle said. “Why do I always forget about Cheyenne?”

The other girls chuckled as if they all knew exactly why Cheyenne was so forgettable. Another joke I hadn’t been let it on. But I had to focus on the aneurysm at hand.

“You’re kidding,” I said. “You guys can’t bring dates?”

“Well, I can,” Noelle said, leaning back. “But I’m taking Dash.”

“Dash can’t get in?” I asked. He who’d read me the rules of the night? He who’d acted all superior about the whole thing?

“Please,” Noelle said. “He’s only second generation. His grandfather went to, like, P.S. 121 in the Bronx or something.”

“But then he made his first million by the time he was twenty-two,” Kiran added. “Real estate.”

“It’s a real come-from-nothing story. You should ask him to tell you sometime,” Noelle said sardonically.

“Who’s Cheyenne taking?” I asked, even though I knew there was no way in hell she’d take pity on me.

“Her little Boston boyfriend,” Kiran answered. “What’s his name? Dork? Doofball?”

“Dougray,” Ariana answered, putting on an imperious English accent.

“Well, do we know anyone else who gets a plus-one?” I asked hopefully.

“Just Gage. And he’s taking Kiran,” Ariana said.

“Yeah. I gotta be Gage Coolidge’s date.
So
looking forward to it,” Kiran said.

“That’s what you get for being a frosh,” Noelle said, sipping her drink. Then, off my confused look, she placed her hand next to her mouth and loud-whispered, “First generation. Oh! But then, I guess you are, too,” she added sweetly.

“Sorry, Reed. But there’s nothing we can do,” Ariana told me.

“That’s why we were trying to set you up with Whit,” Noelle said. “He’s basically your only shot.”

“Wait a minute, Kiran.
You
can’t even get in? You’re a supermodel,” I pointed out.

Kiran’s head bobbed as she laughed once, derisively. “Sweetie, Scarlett Johansson couldn’t get into this thing unless Whittaker brought her.” She drained the rest of her cup and sucked her cheeks together slightly as she swallowed. The look she gave me was all meaning. Like,
You want to go to this party. Don’t fuck it up.

Noelle stood up and then bent at the waist so that her eyes were mere inches from mine. I tried to avert my gaze so I didn’t have to stare straight into her eyes, but when I did I saw directly down her
silk night shirt and almost melted from embarrassment. Eye contact it was.

“Reed, when are you going to figure out that we do everything for a reason?” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder. “We set you up with Whittaker so that you could go to the Legacy. We don’t want to go without you.”

Suddenly I felt all warm inside.

“We will, but we don’t want to,” Kiran added with a giggle.

Noelle stood straight again, then she moved over to the window. Staring out across the quad, she took a long drink from her glass and then looked at me.

“So, what’s it gonna be?”

Noelle wanted me there. Thomas was going to be there. And at this point, I was also salivating to see what all this hype was about. And a party that even Kiran couldn’t get into just by flashing a little leg had to be intense. Seriously.

I took a deep breath and turned to Kiran. “Can I borrow some clothes for Friday night? I have a date. With Whittaker.”

Mrs. Lattimer walked me across the quad and over to the circle on Friday night, her heels clicking quickly even though we were moving at a snail’s pace. Apparently while
on
campus I needed a chaperone, but they were going to let me go off campus with Whittaker alone. Maybe Mrs. Lattimer was supposed to make sure that I wasn’t, in fact, boarding some party bus to Montreal. To make sure I didn’t leave campus unless I did it with Whit.

The good news was I looked amazing in the outfit Kiran had lent me. Yes, even I was able to admit it. It was a sophisticated Calvin Klein black halter-style dress that hit just above the knee, with slim straps encircling my neck and accentuating my shoulders—which had been dusted with bronzer for a “sexy glow.” It was topped by a gold brocade jacket—vintage Chanel—and the diamond earrings Whittaker had bought me. Kiran had insisted I wear my hair up, and when I’d revealed I knew how to do nothing other than a ponytail and a basic braid, she had grumbled but worked on me for an hour, gathering my brown locks up into a
sophisticated loose-and-sexy bun. One pair of strappy, black Manolo Blahniks and the look was complete. The result? I was runway-worthy.

Too bad I felt more like I was walking down a plank.

“This is a very special privilege you’ve been granted tonight, Miss Brennan. I hope you realize that,” Mrs. Lattimer said as we walked around Bradwell, which fronted the circle. She held the collar of her coat up to her chin to combat the chill. “Mrs. Whittaker doesn’t do favors like this for just anyone.”

I glanced at Mrs. Lattimer out of the corner of my eye. After what I had read about her on Ariana and Noelle’s IM, I had a problem taking her seriously on any level. This woman had been bought off with a shopping spree. Bought off so that a bunch of overprivileged girls could get an innocent person thrown out of school. And I was supposed to, what? Look up to her?

“I know,” I said flatly.

“I may have underestimated you when we first met,” she said.

Fab. Now I could die happy.

“Uh, thanks. I guess.”

“Walter must have some very strong feelings for you,” she said, eyeing me shrewdly. Expectantly. Like I was going to share all the details of my sordid romance with her.

“I suppose,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes at my blithe attitude and I had the distinct feeling that I had offended her. I guess meriting attention from the great Whittaker family was something I should have
taken more seriously. I should have been flattered. All I wanted was to get this over with.

“Ah. There he is now. Your knight in shining armor,” Mrs. Lattimer said as we came around the corner.

I don’t know about the knight part, but there was definitely shining armor involved. Idling at the curb on the circle was a sleek silver sports car that was so slim and compact I had no idea how Whittaker might actually fit into it. The moment he saw us arrive, he stepped out from the driver’s side and closed the door with a quiet pop. No clang, no bang, no shimmy. It was an expensive car’s door slam, muffled by solid construction and what looked like a creamy leather interior.

“Good evening, Mrs. Lattimer,” Whittaker said, walking over to us. He carried a huge bouquet of red roses and wore a black suit with a white shirt and a tie with tiny crests all over it. He actually looked quite handsome. Big and burly and handsome. The revulsion I had felt the other morning had, mercifully, passed—or at least put itself on hold in the face of more important things.

“Walter,” Mrs. Lattimer said with a sober nod.

“Reed,” he said. “You’re stunning.”

“Thanks,” I replied lightly, trying to keep it casual.

He handed me the bouquet of roses, which smelled unbelievable. “These are for you.”

“Thanks,” I said again. Mrs. Lattimer cleared her throat—some sort of indication to me. “They’re uh . . . lovely.”

Whittaker smiled. “Shall we?”

He offered me his arm, as I had seen done in countless movies, and I almost laughed. Mrs. Lattimer nodded to me in a nudging way and I moved the bouquet to the crook of my left arm and slipped my right hand around his forearm. How I managed to do this without fidgeting or dropping anything, I have no idea. Apparently, watching all those movies had paid off.

Whittaker walked me over to the car and opened the door for me with a slight bow. I dropped into the bucket seat, tucking my jacket under my legs. When I looked out at Mrs. Lattimer again, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

Apparently there was a more graceful way to do that. At least Whittaker didn’t seem to notice. He closed the door and turned to say a few words to Lattimer. I went to put the roses at my feet, but there was no room. They would have stuck up between my legs. I tried the backseat, but there was none. Finally I just laid them in my lap and buckled my seat belt beneath them.