“No thanks,” Mad snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think I’d rather drink battery acid.”
“That can be arranged,” Darin answered back. “The bar’s over there—I’m sure if you snap your fingers, the bartender will run out and get you some.”
Madison’s eyes glowed a violent green as she took in Darin’s smug expression. Did he really think he could compete with her? Didn’t he know that when it came to any kind of verbal battle, she always won? Clearly, he had no idea who he was dealing with, but he was absolutely, unequivocally about to find out.
But before she could effectively tell Mr. Hollingsworth where exactly he could shove it, Madison glanced over at Casey, noticing that she had rapidly turned white, her face draining of color, her freckles standing out in high relief against her newly pale skin. Her gray eyes were focused on the dance floor, and Mad followed her gaze right to the flushed, happy face of Drew Van Allen, who was headed their way, his date trailing behind him, her white dress flowing at her feet like a puddle of softly whipped cream.
“What’s up, Drew,” Darin asked, holding out one hand so that Drew could slap his palm against it.
“Just hanging,” Drew said, the smile sliding from his face as he surveyed the crowd, his eyes resting on Madison’s face, then flitting away. The dark-haired girl sidled up beside him, reaching down and taking one of his hands in her own, squeezing tightly. Casey, Sophie, and Madison all followed Olivia’s movements with their eyes as Drew began to squirm uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his face betraying his obvious discomfort.
“Isn’t he even going to introduce her?” Sophie leaned over and whispered in Mad’s ear. Madison shrugged her bare shoulders, her gaze icy. Casey simply looked at the floor, her face deathly pale.
“So, how’d you do on that last calc test?” Darin asked, nonchalantly placing one arm around Casey’s shoulders—an action that immediately caused Casey’s pale visage to turn bright, strawberry red as she looked up, a vaguely panicked expression in her eyes.
“It kind of kicked my ass,” Drew answered, looking uncomfortably from Darin’s face to Mad’s, then over to Casey’s, his darkening gaze lingering on the arm that was now so casually draped across her shoulders.
“Do you go to Princeton, too?” Olivia asked brightly, her face open and eager to connect with the group. Mad looked at her smooth, creamy skin, her wavy dark hair, the Oscar de la Renta dress that floated around her slim figure, and hated her on sight. Princeton? Mad mused, narrowing her eyes at Drew and raising one darkened brow questioningly. So, that’s how you roll?
Darin frowned, a look of confusion passing over his face as he turned wordlessly to Casey, who shrugged uncomprehendingly. “I go to Meadowlark Academy,” Darin said slowly as a look of horror broke over Drew’s face, the words spilling out before Darin completely understood his faux pas. “With Drew and these guys,” Darin finished pointing at Casey, Mad, and then Sophie.
“Meadowlark?” Olivia said slowly, her eyes moving from Drew back to Darin. “But isn’t that . . . a high school?” Olivia wondered aloud as Madison watched with no small degree of satisfaction as a flush of heat rose up Drew’s throat and settled in his cheeks. Olivia took a step back from Drew, looking at him questioningly, her expression one of confusion and disbelief.
“Olivia,” Drew said, his voice rapidly bordering on frantic, “just let me explain.” Drew ran a hand through his dark hair, which immediately made it stand on end as if he’d been electrocuted. “I wanted to—”
But before Drew could finish, Mad watched as Olivia’s weirdly colored eyes turned stony and hard as she dropped Drew’s hand from her own, staring at the appendage as if it were diseased, then turned her back on the group without another word. Mad watched with barely contained happiness as Olivia began to push through the crowded room toward the exit without stopping, or looking back. Good, Mad thought as she smoothed her hair back from her face with one practiced hand, watching as Drew’s eyes followed Olivia’s exit, his face collapsing like a fallen chocolate soufflé at Le Bernadin. He’s finally getting just what he deserves.
Madison Macallister thought religion was basically for wimps who didn’t have the dual gods of bitterness and sarcasm to pray to nightly, and she certainly didn’t go in for any kind of crunchy New Age bullshit that required lighting candles and babbling to statues that looked more like garden gnomes than actual religious deities, but, nonetheless, she was a big believer in karma. And one thing Madison knew without a doubt was that whatever you put out there, you usually got back—tenfold. Unless, of course, you just happened to be Madison Macallister, who was usually exempt from such cosmic clusterfucks. And, as she stood there taking in the sudden derailment of Drew’s very existence, she was more than just a little certain that at that very moment, Drew Van Allen was most definitely riding a massive wave of intense karmic payback. And payback, as everyone who paid even the lightest attention to the daily workings of the universe knew, was always a total bitch.
But then again, so am I, Madison thought triumphantly, as Drew walked quickly away from the group without speaking another word, his face a mask of anguish and disappointment.
crushed
Phoebe popped a miniature crab cake into her mouth and chewed rapidly, reaching for a toast point spread with goat cheese and sprinkled with balsamic vinegar, totally disgusted with herself for breaking her rule of never eating at parties, especially when there were cute guys around. And adding insult to injury was the fact that now her fingers were totally going to smell like fish all night . . . But she couldn’t help it—she always got insanely hungry whenever she was nervous or confused, and right now she was definitely both. And if she wasn’t careful, she was seriously going to pop right out of the Zac Posen white sheath dress she’d swiped from her mother’s overstuffed closet . . .
“Do you want to dance?” Jared asked with a smile, leaning closer and wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. Phoebe looked up into her boyfriend’s gorgeous face, at his dark hair that was combed neatly back for a change instead of always flopping adorably in his eyes, at his glowing olive skin that made him appear as if he was perpetually on vacation, at the sleek gray Paul Sebastian suit that hugged his body like it had been designed especially for him, and waited to feel the usual jolt of lust begin in her stomach and spread through her limbs like warm, sticky taffy. But the only thing Phoebe felt was an ominous rumbling in her stomach that most likely meant that the crab cakes were far from fresh.
Ever since her coffee date with Drew the other night, Phoebe couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him—the adorable dimple in his left cheek, his blue eyes that were full of so much uncertainty and pain, his muscular forearms that protruded from his hoodie when he absentmindedly pushed up the sleeves in the middle of their convo . . . Why had she never noticed how totally hot he was before? Ummm, maybe because he was your best friend’s boyfriend, she told herself, reaching for another crab cake to drown out the crush-butterflies that stubbornly began to swoop around her stomach and flap their way up her chest at the very thought of Drew Van Allen, and contraband. It was like Jared—all over again. Was she only destined to crush on guys who were totally off limits, not to mention unavailable?
“Not yet,” Phoebe answered, covering her mouth with one hand as she chewed, rolling her eyes in irritation. He was just being Jared, her boyfriend, doing boyfriend stuff like putting an arm around her and asking her to dance. So why did she feel like starting a huge, wicked fight for no reason and stomping off?
“Whatever,” Jared said sulkily, removing his arm from around her waist, picking up his glass of champagne from the buffet table, and draining it in one swallow, clearly annoyed.
“Darling!” a high-pitched voice called out. Phoebe turned around just in time to see her mother striding toward them, her twiglike body swathed in the new silver Chanel couture gown she’d seen hanging on the back of Madeline’s door earlier that evening. The silver fabric clung
like droplets of water to her mother’s body, accentuating her minuscule waist, and highlighting her creamy skin and dark hair. A diamond choker by Chopard sparkled around her neck, and a matching bracelet gleamed on one wrist. Phoebe’s expression darkened as she took in the pair, remembering the party last year for her mother’s thirty-eighth birthday when her father had presented her with the jewels in front of the whole crowd, the way Madeline had drawn him tenderly to her and kissed him as the crowd applauded.
“I’ve been looking for you simply everywhere!” Madeline said excitedly, resting one perfectly crimson manicured hand on Phoebe’s arm, squeezing gently. Since Madeline usually wanted as little to do with her daughter as possible, Madeline’s behavior began to worry Phoebe almost immediately.
“Why?” Phoebe said suspiciously, picking up another toast point and crunching down on it voraciously, relishing the loud, inappropriate sound the dry toast made breaking between her teeth.
“Hey, Mrs. Reynaud,” Jared interrupted, leaning in and kissing Madeline quickly on both cheeks.
“Jared,” Madeline purred with obvious pleasure, pursing her lips flirtatiously. “Are you back from school already?”
“I’m just taking a bit of a break,” Jared answered, his cheeks flushing as the words left his lips.
Phoebe rolled her eyes and snorted aloud before she could put herself in check. Jared had been tossed out of Exeter at the beginning of the year, for reasons that no one could seem to figure out. And no matter how many times she asked outright, or loosened this strap, or that button, Jared had kept his silence about the whole affair.
“Phoebe,” Madeline went on excitedly, “I just spoke to Andrea, and she informed me that if you really start taking your extracurricular activities seriously, that you have a solid shot at Harvard’s International Business program! Isn’t that exciting?” Madeline’s blue eyes sparkled, and Phoebe couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like growing up with a mother who was physically demonstrative all the time—not just as a reward whenever her daughter acted like the perfect little designer-clad android who said and did all the right things without question.
“Yeah, I guess,” Phoebe answered slowly. “But what about fashion? You know that I want to be a designer—not some international banker!”
“We’ve already had this conversation, Phoebe,” Madeline said flatly, her eyes hardening as she spoke.
“I’m aware of that,” Phoebe blurted out, feeling her pulse begin to race the way it always did when she was feeling out of control, the vein in her forehead that always stuck out pounding away. “That’s the problem. You’re not listening to me!”
“Hey, Pheebs,” Jared said softly, touching her arm, “it’s not like Harvard is exactly punishment, right? And I’ll come visit you every weekend.” Jared smiled, ready, as always, to make light of the whole situation. But Phoebe had had enough of sweeping everything messy under the carpet, enough of doing what she was told, just because it might make a scene to simply refuse. She was so tired of not making a scene that she felt like her head was going to explode. Phoebe stared at Jared incredulously. How dare he take Madeline’s side and not her own? Especially after everything he knew about the Reynauds’ recent family drama? How could he?
“Exactly,” Madeline said smugly, reaching up and patting her hair, which was arranged in a complicated French roll at the back of her head, completely ignoring Phoebe’s outburst. “Now, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” she trilled with a wave of her hand. “So good to see you, Jared.” Madeline shot Jared a conspiratorial smile, reaching over to kiss him on the cheek before sailing off in a cloud of Serge Lutens perfume. Phoebe whirled around to face Jared, unable to keep her anger in check a second longer.
“How could you?” she hissed, her hands balled into fists at her side, her nails digging into her palms with such force that she almost cried out. “How could you take her side?”
“I wasn’t taking her side,” Jared said calmly, reaching over to the table, grabbing a crab cake and popping it thoughtfully into his mouth. “It’s just less of a hassle if you just learn to agree, you know? I mean,” he went on, chewing and swallowing, “the best way to deal with the shit our parents throw at us is just to nod and smile—and then go do exactly what you want anyway.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Phoebe snapped, pushing her hair, which she had worn loose that night, from her face where it was currently sticking to her bronze Hard Candy lip gloss.
“If you say so,” Jared said mildly, refusing to engage in the argument, which made Phoebe madder than ever. “C’mon,” he said, pulling Phoebe closer and wrapping an arm around her waist once again—an arm she promptly shook off. “Are you going to be in a bad mood all night now?”
“Count on it,” Phoebe snapped, glaring at Jared like she was trying to burn holes in his perfect, tawny skin, and walked off toward the bathroom, afraid if she stood there for one more minute that she’d say something she might regret later. As she made her way through the crowd, Phoebe caught sight of Drew standing at the bar alone, downing one glass of champagne after another, his face set with concentration. Phoebe’s heart leapt in her chest, a smile breaking the frown that had spread across her face ever since Madeline had made her appearance. All at once she felt almost . . . happy. But as her feet moved toward him on autopilot, she was stopped suddenly in her tracks by the reality of the situation. Drew wasn’t her boyfriend—Jared was. Drew was, well, Drew, who had belonged to Madison, then Casey, and now, who knew? And that simple equation meant he was utterly off limits. Sophie may have finally forgiven her for getting involved with Jared, her own brother, but Phoebe knew that over the years Madison Macallister had broken the world’s record for holding a grudge—more than once.
Forget about him, she told herself, redirecting her path and walking again toward the bathroom. And concentrate on the boyfriend you do have. Until the other night you were madly in lust with him, right?
“Right,” Phoebe answered aloud with a sigh as she pushed through the swinging door of the ladies’ room, and stood in front of the heavily lighted mirror, gazing intently at her own reflection. If Madeline had her way, Phoebe knew that she might never find out who she was, or what she could become. And as she stared at her reflection in the silver glass, Phoebe Reynaud knew that despite whatever she felt or didn’t feel about Drew and Jared, she was never, ever going to willfully pack away her own dreams for anyone else’s benefit.
revelations
“I’ll be right back, “ Casey said, squirming out from under Darin’s arm, which was draped over her shoulders, and walked toward the bar, where Drew was currently auditioning for the next season of Intervention, as he methodically slammed back one glass of champagne after another. Everyone in the group seemed content to let him walk away after his date had run off. Sophie and Mad had immediately started giggling and whispering, and Darin had just stood there with his arm around Casey’s shoulders, not saying much of anything at all. But once Casey had taken in the look on Drew’s face, the disappointment and heartache that had dulled his blue eyes, there was no way she could stand there and watch him attempt to drink all the champagne on the Upper East Side without at least going over to see if he was okay.
“Where are you going?” Madison asked coolly, imperiously raising an eyebrow, her expression and tone both implying that Casey was a fool for even considering such a thing. “You should just let him suffer.”
Casey hesitated for a minute, realizing that by going over there and talking to Drew, she was putting her newfound friendship with Madison—if she could really call it that—in total jeopardy. But was that really the kind of person she wanted to be? Someone who turned their back on a friend just to fit in? And Casey knew, just from looking at the way no one seemed in any hurry to rush to Drew’s aid, that the answer was a clear and resounding no.
“That’s not really my style,” Casey answered, looking meaningfully at Madison, and walking away before the gree
n-eyed icon could end the conversation with one of her highly effective sarcastic retorts.
As she approached, Drew looked up, placing his empty champagne flute back on the bar and grabbing a refill. Casey walked over to the bar with the pretext of getting some champagne for herself, her heart fluttering erratically beneath Phoebe’s blue dress, which scratched against her skin like sheets of gorgeously blue sandpaper.
“Hey,” she said quietly, wrapping her fingers around the stem of the glass in her hand for reassurance. “Are you okay?”
Drew looked up, his eyes, so blue and usually full of life, now flat and lifeless. “Not really,” he answered in a voice that sounded more mechanical than human. “Not at all, actually.”
“You told her you go to Princeton?” Casey asked tentatively, not sure if asking was the right thing to do, but too curious to stop herself.
“Yeah,” Drew said disgustedly, draining his glass and placing it down on the bar, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Smart, huh?”
“Why?” Casey asked, her gray eyes filled with confusion. She didn’t want to believe that the first guy she’d seriously fallen for was just a liar, an opportunist.
“I don’t know,” Drew said with a sigh, his eyes sweeping the room. Watching him, Casey got the feeling that it really bothered him to have to talk about this while simultaneously looking at her face. “I wanted things to be different. I thought that if I gave myself some other life, that somehow things would be easier. I’m an idiot.” Drew’s voice broke slightly on the last word, and Casey felt her own heart begin to break along with it.
Elite 03 Simply Irresistible Page 18