“Seriously, Payson?” Zayd spits, leaning in and putting his forearms on the table. He didn’t seem to care about folding, but he looks pissed now. “I brought her here tonight. She’s mine. You know the rules.”

“I’m what?” I ask, and Zack stiffens up beside me. “You don’t even like me.”

“When an Idol brings a date to a party, they’re off-limits. Everyone knows that, even the fucking Plebs. Do you like being in the Circle, Andrew? Or do you want to join the working class?” Zayd flicks one of his lip rings with his tongue, his inked fingers tightening on the edge of the table.

“I’m sorry, man, Jesus.” Andrew runs his hand over his shiny chestnut hair, and shoots me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Marnye.”

“Let’s go another round,” Tristan says, looking directly at me. When I lift my eyes and find his silver gaze on me, I feel weighted down, like I couldn’t stand if I tried. My kneels feel weak, and I’m glad I’m sitting down already.

“What about Ebony?” Zayd asks, switching from angry to excited in a split-second. He’s got a huge grin on his face. “If you cancel with her, kiss that ass goodbye. She’ll never leave Jalen.”

“Her fucking loss.” Tristan keeps his attention on me. “You win again, and I’ll offer this: the rest of the year, no shit from the Bluebloods.” My eyes widen.

“That’s a pretty big boon,” Creed drawls, leaning forward and putting his elbow on the edge of the table. He puts his chin in his hand, eyes half-lidded and devoid of any interest whatsoever. It must be tough to feign disinterest all the time. I imagine all my emotions clogging up and getting stuck inside with not outlet, and almost feel momentarily sorry for Creed. “Are you sure you want to offer that up? Where would you get your kicks for the rest of the year?”

“The Bluebloods are gonna be mad enough about the freebie month. Harper will lose her shit over this.” Zayd sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Becky, too. They won’t like it.”

“Assuming her winning streak holds,” Tristan continues, still staring at me.

“You should cut and run while you have the chance,” Zack tells me, standing up from the table. His dark gaze captures my attention, and his fingers hover over my shoulder for a moment before he pulls them away. “I’m not a part of the Burberry Bluebloods, so I don’t give a shit about their rules. Let me take you home.”

“If you stay and play, I’ll add another five grand into that account of yours.” Tristan sets the stack of cards down, and pulls out his phone. He shoots off a text and then sets it screen side down on the table. “What do you say? Five grand for nothing. I bet that sounds like a lot to someone like you.”

“It is a lot,” I correct, feeling anger overtake me again. When I got bullied in junior high, it made me sad. All I did was cry. These guys just piss me off. “But if you want to pay me five-k to get your ass kicked again then fine.”

“This is a terrible fucking idea,” Zack growls. “They might be smiling now, but these guys are monsters.” He tosses a hand out to indicate the three Idol boys on the far side of the table.

“We’re the monsters? Didn’t you get some girl killed last year as part of a bet?” Tristan looks up at Zack and smiles. “You lost a race against me in your grandpa’s fancy dragster, and—”

“Shut your mouth, Vanderbilt, or I’ll shut it for you.” Zack takes a step forward, and Tristan rises to his feet. The two of them look like they’re about to fall to blows when I stand up, too. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately considering the circumstances—they’re interrupted by a large group emerging from the crowd.

Abigail Fanning and Valentina Pitt are at the front of the posse, but I can see Ebony red-faced and flushed behind them, Jalen Donner clinging to her hand. He doesn’t seem to realize that his date was all set up to sleep with Tristan tonight.

“We didn’t say anything last night,” Abigail starts, her green eyes sliding over to me, “but now I feel like we need to. Why is she here, Tristan?”

“She’s here because I asked her to be,” he says, voice smooth and dark. He turns away from Zack to look at the small cluster of Bluebloods behind him. I’ve never seen such a large grouping of the Inner Circle in one place before. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

“Well, Harper didn’t know about it, and she’s pissed.” Abigail pops a hip out, puts her fist on it, and then swings a mane of aubrn hair over her shoulder. She’s a really good hair-tosser. My stomach knots up, and I feel a bead of sweat work its way down my spine. Zack might back me up if a confrontation were to ensue. Andrew … I have no idea. But I’m suddenly nervous, like a sheep who’s just realized she’s playing poker in a den of wolves. “She doesn’t want her here.”

“I don’t answer to Harper,” Tristan says, narrowing his eyes.

“Working Girl came with me,” Zayd adds, not bothering to stand up. He’s leaning back in his chair, ankles crossed and feet resting on the table. He’s balancing on two chair legs, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s going to topple over. “And I also don’t answer to Harper. I don’t answer to Tristan either. Don’t talk to him like he’s the fucking king of the academy.”

“Harper and Becky are coming back early, thanks to you,” Abigail continues, lifting her chin. She doesn’t acknowledge me whatsoever. Valentina stands by her side, eyes narrowed, attention focused on my face. She wrinkles her nose like I’m the scum of the earth. “They’ll be here on Friday instead of Sunday.”

“Tell them not to bother,” Creed drawls, waving a hand around. “Charity here has earned herself a get out of jail free card. Until January first, she’s off-limits.” He also doesn’t bother to stand up, leaning back and lounging like he’s on a chaise instead of a hard, wooden chair.

Abigail’s mouth opens, but Ebony’s already grabbed Jalen’s hand and pulled him away before it gets ugly. Abigail’s boyfriend, Gregory Van Horn (yes, the same asswad who called me out on my first day) steps up to take his place beside her.

“We all agreed on this: she’s trash. She doesn’t belong at Burberry Prep. The other students are already talking about it, how the academy’s losing its prestige. With every peasant we let in the door, there are a dozen more clambering to get in.” Gregory ruffles up his shoulder-length brown hair and puts his arm around Abigail’s waist. “We all worked hard to be here. Our families worked hard for their money to send us here. And just because we have resources and she doesn’t, we’re automatically required to share? That’s fucking communist-fascist shit right there.”

I’m pretty sure Gregory Van Horn doesn’t know the meaning of all the words he’s just used.

“I worked hard to be here, too,” I blurt, and everyone turns to look at me, including the senator’s son, John Hannibal, who’s just waltzed up with a second-year girl on his arm. She’s in uniform … sort of. Her top’s unbuttoned, a lacy bra showing underneath. And her white skirt is rolled up so short that I’m surprised I can’t see her panties.

“Did we give you permission to talk, Working Girl?” Abigail snaps, and Tristan holds up a hand.

“I said, she’s off-limits,” he repeats, voice growing even colder and darker. There’s an unspoken threat there, too. Keep talking, and I will end you. I can practically hear him say it.

“So she gets to cheat her way to the top of the class, fuck Mr. Carter for first chair in harp, and suck up to Kathleen Cabot’s daughter looking for more free lunches? I know you enjoy having pets, Tristan, but you’re taking this one a little too far, don’t you think?” Abigail turns to me, her eyes flaring with heat. I remember her at the Halloween party, glaring at me while Zayd held me in his arms. “You might be fucking the Idols, but it won’t last. You’re called the Working Girl for a reason, right?”

“Abigail,” Tristan says, his voice softening. He’s a good actor, this one, and if I hadn’t seen him talking to Lizzie before then I might’ve believed his tone was genuine. “Come here.” She blinks at him, and Zayd chuckles. He knows something I don’t. Creed, too, based on the almost-smirk resting on his lips. “I said come here.”

She hesitates again, glancing at her boyfriend for comfort. He crinkles his brows, but doesn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?” Tristan continues, smiling. It’s such an awful expression on him. I thought before that maybe it was because there was no joy in it. Now that I’m really looking, now that he’s focusing it on someone else so I actually have a moment to think, I realize that it’s scary because he does find joy in tormenting others. “You didn’t have any problem coming for me before.”

Abigail’s mouth drops open, and Gregory lifts himself to his full height.

“More Burberry Prep bullshit,” Zack mutters under his breath. He reaches down and takes my hand, burning a trail of fire up my arm. Creed notices and narrows his eyes, same with Andrew. Well, he doesn’t narrow his eyes but he does raise his brows. I pull my hand from Zack’s grip and cradle it against my chest.

“What’s he talking about?” Greg asks as Abigail’s eyes lock on Tristan’s face. She looks scared … but hopeful, too. Greg’s brown gaze darts between the two of them. “Abi?”

“Aren’t you going to tell him?” Tristan asks, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t exactly ask you to the winter formal if he doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Greg asks, and Abigail’s eyes go dark.

“Stop it, Tristan. Save your lies and your bullshit for the Working Girl.”

“Abigail and I slept together the night before the Halloween party. Didn’t you know that? I figured you two had an open relationship.” Tristan tucks his fingers into the pockets of his slacks, his smile growing as Greg’s eyes widen with rage. He takes a step closer to her, and Greg rushes him. With an effortless sidestep, he moves out of the guy’s way, and Greg ends up crashing into Zack.