In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,54

fuck. We bailed on that quick.”

“You are such an impossible idiot,” Creed drawls, turning his attention over to me. “I’m sorry, Marnye. He doesn’t mean to be crass, rude, and oblivious. He can’t help it. He has no mom, his dad’s a crack-addicted groupie-obsessed rockstar, and his grandma is so enamored with the family business, she once forgot him at a summer camp, and the police had to drive him home. Remember that, Zayd?”

“Why don’t you get fucked?” Zayd purrs, but he stalks off with a scowl, and I can tell Creed’s hit a nerve.

“You’re being a bully,” I tell him, crossing my arms and giving him my sternest stare. He turns back to me and then shrugs his shoulders so loosely and lazily that it almost looks like an accident.

“So? You’re either the bully or you’re the one who gets bullied. Surely you’ve learned that by now?” He pushes off the shelf and stands up, looking down at me with the idle gaiety of the super-rich. He’s amused, but it’s expected for the world to amuse him.

“I’m not allowing bullying at Burberry Prep, you know that.” I give him a look. “I don’t consider getting revenge being a bully.”

“Riiiiight,” Creed drawls, turning around and running his fingers along the edge of the bookshelf, all the way to the end before he glances over his shoulder at me. “The predator or the prey, Marnye. It’s a fact of life.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I say, following after him and around the corner. From here, I can see Miranda, Zack, and Andrew sitting at one of the tables on the raised seating area that rings the bookshop’s own small café. It’s nothing compared to the one across the street, the one with the fireplace and the big comfy chairs, but it’s still cute.

“I was bullied in middle school for being rich. Poor kids can be cruel, too, you know.” He pauses at a shelf full of mystery novels with cartoon cats on them, with titles that are all puns about food and animals. Things like The Cat’s Killer Gives Police Paws. Get it? Creed spins the shelf around, idly browsing the books.

“First off, those kids you went to school with in Grenadine Heights would generally be considered upper middleclass. To the students at Lower Banks, they’d appear to be pretty damn rich themselves. But you’re right. You’re right: every person has the capacity to be cruel. The thing is, we’re all human. We also have the intelligence and the empathy necessary to temper that cruelty.” I grab one of Creed’s pale hands, and he pauses, looking down at me. “I’ve seen you guys at your worst; I want to see you at your best.”

He exhales and lets me curl my fingers through his, pulling me close. When Lizzie and Tristan walk in together a moment later, I do my best not to act like a jealous weirdo.

It’s okay: Creed does it for me.

“You’re such a fucking fool, hanging out with another girl when you’ve got a beautiful girlfriend right here.”

“Quiet, sloth,” Tristan snaps back, meeting Creed’s dark stare with one of his own. He might be a ‘charity case’, but the filthy rich brat inside of him is still there, waiting to rear its wealthy head. “Why don’t you go take a nap somewhere and mind your own business?”

Creed lets go of me, but I’m afraid a confrontation between him and Tristan is incoming, so I step between them, my eyes meeting Lizzie’s amber ones. Her expression gives nothing away.

“Did you get what you needed for the prince’s stupid costume?” Tristan asks, completely deadpan. He’s been like that since Vanderbilt Manor, like a beautiful, broken doll. It’s upsetting to me. I just … I want to shake him. I want to play Twister again, I …

“We got it,” I tell him as Windsor appears over the railing above us, leaning over to tickle my hair.

“I’ve ordered you a cup of tea,” he says, glancing back at the counter. “And I’ve warned the barista of the consequences of failing. Join me?” He stands back up, and I nod, grabbing Creed’s hand … and then Tristan’s. I pull him away from Lizzie, but not before I see her lips part in surprise.

The way she frowns when she joins us at the table a few moments later tells me that that one small action was a bold move in her eyes.

I can only imagine that things might amp up from here on