dowdy in my yoga pants and oversize sweatshirt with my messy hair and blotchy face.
“Excuse me,” I say hesitantly. “I’m Mallory Ellis.”
The girl drags her attention up from her phone, disbelief arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow. It matches the color of her hair, but no one has hair that naturally blond. I briefly wonder if the carpet also matches the drapes thanks to professional manipulation.
Do rich people do that type of shit?
“You’re the new kid?” she demands, raking her gaze from my sweatshirt to my white tennis shoes before her nose crinkles like she smells garbage. “Admissions has really lowered the standards.”
I gape, floored at her nerve.
“Don’t be a bitch, L,” the guy says with a wide grin as he gives me a onceover of his own. The interest that sparkles in their green depths makes my shoulders stiffen. “Give Mallory here some time before you show her your full cunt self.”
“Whatever,” the girl—L?—mumbles, her eyes back on her phone, her nude-painted talons clacking against the screen. “Let’s just go already. I have things to do that actually matter.”
The guy shakes his head, his attention turning full onto me. “Forgive her, she was raised by wolves. Literally. My name’s Gabe Carlson, and this delight is Laurel Vinderpick, president of the student counsel. We’re here to take you to Angelview.”
I nod. “I figured as much.”
She glances up again, her lips pursed like she’s prepping for a bitch-faced selfie. “Did you hear what he said?”
I blink at her. Does she think I’m stupid or something? “Yeah… you’re here to take me to the school. Thanks?”
Her mouth tumbles open. “Do you not know who I am? Vinderpick? As in Vinderpick Pharmaceuticals.”
“Ah, okay.” I fight not to roll my eyes at the entitlement rolling off her slim shoulders as the name clicks into place, and I realize that Gabe was right—she was raised by literal wolves, the kind that prey on the poor and sick. I’ve heard Carley mention Vinderpick before, and she’s never had anything good to say. “That’s the one that’s been in the news for price gouging insulin and allergy meds, right?”
Laurel scoffs and looks offended I didn’t offer to kiss her feet, then pissed.
I can already tell we’re going to H-A-T-E each other.
Gabe interjects before she can say another word. He points to the bag return. “You need to pick up your luggage?”
I try not to let my embarrassment show as I dip my head toward my feet and reply, “Nope. This is it.” I hold up my laptop bag and duffle. I have a backpack too, but it’s stuffed into the bottom of my duffle bag, because I didn’t actually need to use it.
I lift my chin in time to witness his reddish-brown brows shoot up toward his vibrant hairline. “Well, shit. That’s … damn, that’s just depressing.”
I want to tell him to bend over so I can shove the silver spoon further up his ass, but I hold my tongue. No point getting off on the wrong foot with both these jerks right away. I paste on a fake smile and make my voice sugary sweet when I reply, “Can we head to the school now?”
Gabe nods. “Your chariot awaits.”
Lame.
He doesn’t offer to help me with my bags. I wouldn’t have let him, but I don’t think it even crosses his mind to try and assist me. Laurel shoots me a disgusted look as the two turn to lead me from the airport and judging by the way her gaze keeps darting from side to side, I have a sneaking suspicion she doesn’t want to be seen with me.
It would probably shock her to know that the feeling is mutual.
There’s a large, black SUV outside at the curb, the kind of car that’s used in presidential motorcades. The driver is waiting for us, and when we’re about ten feet away, he opens the back door. Laurel and Gabe pile inside without pausing or acknowledging the uniformed man standing there. This is so natural to them, but I feel awkward as hell. I shoot the driver an apologetic smile.
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods and reaches out to take my duffle from me. “Welcome to Los Angeles, Miss Ellis.”
Dragging in a deep breath, I climb into the car and settle on the seat next to Gabe, clutching my purse and laptop bag to my chest. Soon, the vehicle rumbles to life and we’re pulling into the traffic flowing from the airport’s pickup lane.