Her Spite: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 2)

by Eden Beck

  A reputation I’ve now embraced.

  As soon as the whispers start back up again, Bridget leans in closer and fully bares her teeth this time. “I hope that’s enough for you,” she hisses.

  I keep my face neutral and my voice contrite. “That’ll do,” I say, “for now.”

  Bridget just presses her lips together for a moment before re-composing her face and flouncing back to sit with her friends … who I’m pleased to see scoot just a little further away from her down the table as she sits.

  “Woah,” Alaska says after she’s gone, her own voice coming out in something of a rush. “That must have killed her to do that.”

  I nod, my attention already turned to the pasta on the plate in front of me. “Not as much as it would have killed her to do it once the boys were here.”

  As soon as I say it, I see both Alaska and Clark’s heads lift to swivel around the dining hall.

  “They’re not here yet,” I reassure them. “Trust me, I’d know.”

  Both of them share a glance as my own gaze lifts to watch Bridget and her friends again.

  At first, her friends giggle as if they are waiting to see what the joke is, but when they figure out that Bridget actually means to invite me, they get quiet. The gesture is just enough to abate some of the harassment for the week that would have otherwise continued, but I know that it isn’t going to be enough.

  It’s a good start though and will serve as an open door for the rest of the stuff that I’m going to have Bridget do.

  There are a few other things that I need to address before this semester gets too far underway as well. One of which is the fact that I don’t have any money. In order to attend these events, and not look like Cinderella if she hadn’t had the help of the fairy godmother, I’m going to need some money to make it through the semester. I may not have any money coming in since being cut off, but fortunately Bridget does.

  And more than enough of it.

  I wrap up the day at a meeting with my new advisor to get reassigned to some new volunteer work. I’d initially dreaded meeting with him, but I am pleasantly surprised when it seems that I’m basically being given free rein now because the school is so embarrassed about what happened with the previous advisor.

  Embarrassed enough, it seems, to place me with another male advisor. But also, smart enough to make sure he’s openly—and flamboyantly—gay.

  No trouble from either side now.

  The moment my new advisor opens the booklet of assignments and slides it toward me, I just shake my head and push it back across the table. I know exactly what it is I want to spend my semester doing.

  And more importantly, who I want to be doing it with.

  “There isn’t any extra space in that assignment,” the advisor says when I’ve told him. “Warren and his sister Bridget are filling that volunteering position.”

  “I’m sure that Bridget won’t mind being bumped,” I say. “I mean, it’s really the only assignment that I want.”

  The advisor looks at me with contempt, but he seems more worried about losing his job if I walk out of his office unhappy than he is worried about pissing Bridget off.

  And that’s really saying something.

  “Sure,” he says. “I’ll move her somewhere else. You can start the new assignment tomorrow.”

  “Perfect.” I smile sweetly.

  And it is definitely perfect. Not only is it a true jab at Bridget, who will likely get slid into some crappy volunteering slot that’s still open and have to do it all by herself without her brother there with her, but it also gives me the perfect opportunity to start screwing with Warren.

  He won’t be able to get away from me now, not since we’ll be stuck doing mandatory volunteer work together.

  This is going to be fun.

  He just doesn’t know it yet.

  None of them do.

  Chapter Three

  As expected, Warren is not happy with the new arrangement.

  “Where’s Bridget?” he asks with nothing short of a venomous glare the moment I arrive instead of her. He even goes so far as to try to look around me, as if his sister could somehow be hiding her massive head of flaming red hair behind where I stand.

  “Dunno,” I reply with a disinterested shrug. “Guess she got put on a new volunteer assignment.”

  He eyes me a little more carefully.

  “Why?” The tone in his voice is extremely accusatory.

  “Uh, probably because I was put here,” I say, not at all hiding the fact that they can both thank me for getting her bumped. “School whore here who can’t be trusted around senior citizens, remember?”

  Warren just sets his jaw.

  Clearly, he’s used to his sister allowing him to shirk off—something that’ll be coming to a crashing halt with me here instead. Now that I’m here, things are going to be a lot less easy for Warren.

  Which is precisely my goal.

  “Want to show me around?” I ask him, knowing full well that he definitely does not. I make sure to keep my voice even, disinterested … a little airheaded, even. And I shimmy my shoulders just a little to make sure my blouse opens up just a bit.

  Warren clears his throat with a huff and turns his head to avoid looking directly at me.

  This is going to be even easier than I thought.

  “Are you kidding me? I don’t even want to be here,” he says. “In fact, I wouldn’t have to be if it weren’t for you. So, figure it out yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask as if I don’t already know that he and Bridget break all the rules all the damn time. For them, not following the rules is as natural as breathing. “Don’t you have to fulfill your volunteer schedule?”

  I might be overdoing it on the whole airheaded tone thing, because my voice cracks a bit at the end.

  But Warren seems too distracted by my cleavage and batted doe-eyes to notice. He just rolls his own eyes at me and then slinks off to figure out what he should be doing. From the looks of it, he hasn’t put in too many volunteer hours. I’m guessing Bridget just covered for him and that he somehow sweet-talked his way past the staff.

  I’m about to make that a bit more difficult for him to get away with now.

  Now he’s actually going to have to show up and do what he’s told, which I’m sure is going to be a very new thing for him.

  I need to be careful, or I might accidentally turn him and the rest of the squad into genuinely productive members of society.

  “Hi,” I say to the girl at the front desk as soon as he’s gone. I smile so widely that it makes my cheeks hurt.

  “Hey,” she smiles back awkwardly. She’s a far cry from the chatty head of staff at the senior center.

  I feel a small stab of disappointment at the thought. I liked that assignment more than I’m willing to admit. Just like I’ll miss my students—Grace and Alice, especially—more than I’m willing to admit.

  I’m guessing by this new girl’s reaction that she’s not used to being greeted by the volunteers. That doesn’t surprise me considering that Bridget is a bitch and Warren has one of the most standoffish personalities that I know.

  “Is this your first day?” she asks. “I thought there was a different girl assigned to this job.”

  “Oh yeah, Bridget,” I say casually as if it should be common knowledge already. “She had to be reassigned; something about how she and her brother weren’t really getting along at the same assignment anymore. So, they moved me in here to take her place and work with Warren instead.

  “Who is Warren?” she asks.

  Seriously? He’s been here so little that even the staff that’s supposed to be logging his volunteer hours doesn’t know who he is? How do these people get away with this shit?

  “Warren is Bridget’s brother,” I say to clarify, “and he works here too, but with me now.”

  “Oh, right,” the girl nods. “I guess I never see him around.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, using my most
innocent and naïve voice. She’s making this too easy. “He was just here a minute ago. I’ve really been looking forward to working with him. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we’re here when we’re supposed to be. I’m big on punctuality, so if either of us is late, then it means something terribly unforeseen has happened.”

  She looks a little startled.

  “Good to know,” she says. “I’ll make sure I get your hours logged right on time for you.”

  “Thanks,” I smile as I skip away to go figure out what I’m supposed to be doing now.

  That ought to do it. She’ll be keeping better track now that she thinks I’m on top of things.

  This must be how Bridget keeps such a tight grip on everyone around her. If you let them know you’re watching, suddenly, everyone is dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s.

  If she thinks I’m tracking hours, then she’s going to start tracking hours too. Plus, I’m sure she’s happy to have someone to deal with who isn’t Bridget.

  Over the next few weeks, the volunteering—like class—is pretty uneventful. It is mostly just a bunch of cleaning that happens to pass the time by quietly, since Warren does his best to steer clear of me. Every once in a while, I look up to catch him glaring at me, but for the most part, he tries to avoid me at all costs.

  I know I have the other boys to work on too, but they’ll take more time. Sterling would sniff out an act like this from a mile away, but Warren … Warren is so awfully easy to influence, so I focus on him while his sister is otherwise occupied.

  Yet one more thing I have to thank her for.

  I’m starting to wonder if Warren’s found a way to get out of volunteering entirely one Friday afternoon when he still hasn’t shown up even as I’m finishing all of my tasks. But when I see him walking in right before the end of the volunteer block, I realize even he has to play by some of the rules.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me as soon as he spots me waiting. For him, of course. He keeps his voice low so the girl at the front desk can’t hear him, but I can still easily make out his tone.

  I just cock my head to the side and keep my own voice as honey-sweet as ever.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She called the school to see where I was,” he says, nodding his head in her direction. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

  I seriously can’t even stop myself from giggling about it. I guess I’ve made even better friends, or at least an impression, with the staff girl than I thought.

  “That’s hysterical,” I say to him with no attempt at concealing my glee. “Guess you should probably start showing up then.”

  “How dare you tell me what I should be doing,” he seethes. “I should … I should …”

  For a moment, his face grows red, and I think he’s actually going to try to threaten me. But I don’t give him the chance.

  “Chill,” I say. “It’s not like I’m forcing you to stay here. Go ahead and walk out if you want. There’s the door.”

  For a second, Warren looks mad enough to hit me. But of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he just grumbles something about me being a bitch and walks away to go start his shift chores. I glance over and give the girl at the desk a satisfied smile, and she returns the gesture. I kind of feel like she and I are on the same team now. Not everyone at Ridgecrest likes to see the rich and popular kids get away with everything.

  I start my section of the cleaning. It amazes me how dirty the campus can get in the course of a day’s time … almost as much as I was surprised to learn that this was the assignment that Bridget and Warren ended up with in the first place. Everyone else has to volunteer off-campus. Somehow they got the cushy job here. Guess it leaves them extra time to terrorize the rest of the student body.

  Bridget doesn’t seem like the type that’s too fond of getting on her knees to clean, but then again … she also doesn’t really seem like the type up for any kind of real work. I guess at least here, she didn’t have to deal with other people. There’s a kind of Zen to the work. Mindless, easy to get lost in it.

  And, apparently, easy to slack off on it, too.

  I look over at Warren, who is surprisingly not only doing his volunteer work, but he looks as if he’s trying to get it done quickly. That’s new. I never exactly saw him as the hardworking type—not when it came to, you know, actual work.

  I’m starting to get the feeling that he’s not bailing on his volunteer shifts simply to bail, but that maybe there’s something else that he uses that volunteer time to go and do. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m suddenly determined to find out. If he is up to something, I’m sure it’s nothing good. It might even be something that I can get him into bigger trouble over—maybe even end up having leverage against both him and his sister.

  Who knows … Bridget once mentioned there were ways to get out of Ridgecrest early. Maybe if I get enough leverage, I’ll find out if that’s actually true.

  “So,” I say as I walk over to help him finish his work once I’ve already finished mine. I guess one of the good things about not growing up with a maid is that you learn to actually clean efficiently—something that I can see he still hasn’t mastered.

  “What are you doing?” Warren asks when I pick up the broom and start to sweep his area.

  “Helping.”

  “I don’t need your help,” he says abrasively.

  I ignore him and keep sweeping. “Where do you go during your volunteer shifts if you’re not here?” I ask.

  Warren’s head snaps up to look at me, a curious expression flitting across his face.

  “None of your business.”

  I can see him struggling with the mop handle.

  “Haven’t you ever used a mop before?” I ask.

  Warren sets the mop up against the wall and stares at me, offended. I’m not sure why a rich kid like him would take offense to that. Didn’t they love the fact that they got other people to do their work for them?

  “Of course I have,” he says with a scowl.

  He clearly hasn’t.

  “Let me just—”

  I start reaching for the mop, but he bats my hand away. Hard.

  Hard enough to make the top of my hand sting.

  “Leave,” he says.

  “But I’m trying to—”

  “Leave!” he shouts at me.

  Fine with me. I was only trying to get information out of him anyway.

  Chapter Four

  In my classes, there’s still some snickering and note-passing, but instead of letting it bother me, I make a point to completely lean into it.

  The more that I see the other students staring at me and talking behind their hands, the more I play it up. After a few more days of it, I’m showing up to class wearing makeup that would rival a goth queen, and my blouse, unbuttoned far enough that you could definitely see all the way down to the bottom of my cleavage. It turns out it’s hard for people to try and insult me by calling me a slut if I actually am one.

  Especially when I seem to be enjoying myself.

  Which I admittedly am.

  It’s like playing dress up in my own skin all the time. A strange kind of armor that involves, well, showing more skin instead of covering it up.

  After a while, just as I predicted, the whispering dies down since no one is getting the reaction out of me that they were hoping for.

  Now for the next step.

  It isn’t enough to quell the whispers forever. To do that, I have to get to the source of them.

  The event that Bridget invited me to is a private gathering that under any other circumstances I would rather waterboard myself than attend. Apparently one of the girls’ moms started one of those private lingerie sales businesses, the pyramid-scheme type ones where you only really end up making money off your friends who don’t have the gall to tell you “no”. Since it involved overly priced lingerie and a bottomless champagne fountain, all of Bridget’s friends seem to be
genuinely excited about.

  That is, if I’m to believe anything of the increasingly loud squealing coming from their table at lunch as the weekend draws near.

  In fact, Bridget seems to be the only one who isn’t excited about it. It wouldn’t take someone plotting her demise to see the way that sparkle of hers has started to dim over the last couple weeks.

  This must truly be the first time someone’s given her a taste of her own medicine, at least in a way that counts.

  I almost feel guilty.

  Almost.

  My guilt lasts all of five seconds once I step foot onto the grounds of the so called “party.”

  As soon as Bridget and I step out of her car, and for the first time in nearly three weeks now, she turns into her former bitchy self. Her eyes take on that haughty look, her lips parting as if she’s about to spill a secret, and the tilt of her chin seeks to remind me just how far beneath her I exist.

  “Let’s just see how long it takes you to stop gloating over your invitation,” she says to me, without actually looking at me. “I think you might be in for a little surprise.”

  She leaves me by the car with her driver—the same one I assumed disappeared last term when Warren’s car seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Ridgecrest, for all their high-and-mighty talk, must have a place for students’ staff to wait while they’re taking out their cars for “family weekends.”

  Like everything else at Ridgecrest, of course, it’s all just for show.

  The woman that is hosting the party doesn’t seem to care in the least that all the girls start to get tipsy within the first fifteen minutes of arriving, as long as they’re spending their parents’ money buying all her crap. It’s the kind of event that makes me cringe from the moment I step into the rather gaudily decorated, pink and white balloon-filled entrance hall.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d rather be sitting in an empty parking lot or a doctor’s office waiting room all day than here. In fact, I’d rather sit and hear the old nuns at Sisters of Virtue drone on for hours instead of subject myself to this willingly.