Ambition Page 7

My tongue wanted to add an "Is that okay with you?" out of habit, but I didn't let it. Instead I bit down on it until I tasted blood. Noelle

  glared at me, as if waiting for me to crack, but I didn't. I simply stared back. "Fine, Madame President," she said finally. Then she

  turned to Sabine. "Just don't get your hopes up. I wouldn't want you to be crushed when the Crom says no," she said in an overly

  sweet tone. Then she shot me a smile before turning and striding out. "Do you really think he'll say no?" Sabine asked me, her voice

  hushed. She had a light blue T-shirt clutched in her hands like it was a lifeline.

  "No. I'll take care of it," I said, my voice solid even though my body was quaking from the effort of standing up to Noelle. I could

  talk a big game, but it wasn't easy. Noelle was still the girl who had intimidated me all last fall and kept me guessing as to where I

  stood every single day. I had a feeling contradicting her would never be easy. My iPhone sang out and my heart leapt. It always leapt

  at the sound of the phone these days, as if it was expecting Josh. Each ring was a chance that he was calling to make up. But when I

  grabbed the phone, it wasn't Josh's photo smiling out at me, it was Hunter Braden's. How had that even gotten in there? I could only

  imagine that Vienna or Portia or someone had swiped my phone and captured the pic when I wasn't looking. I took a deep breath and

  picked up. "Hello?" "Reed Brennan." The way he said my name made my already weakened knees useless. I sat down on my desk

  chair. How did he have this kind of power over girls? Was that kind of talent learned or bred? I wasn't even sure if I liked the guy in a

  casual sense, but that voice. Incredible. "Hi, Hunter." "You. Me. Dinner tomorrow night. I'll come by Billings at seven." There was

  something about his bold self-confidence that left a sour taste in my mouth, but I figured he couldn't keep that up all the time. Some-

  where under all that product and naturally won tan there had to be a real person. Plus, Vienna and the others were right: Hunter was

  the perfect candidate for the Billings president's boyfriend. A smooth, sophisticated, popular, rich, Dash McCafferty type. Only better.

  Because he wasn't currently dating one of my best friends. "

  In the end, I'd had a great time with Jason--after we'd gotten over the awkward-kiss thing and decided to just be friends. Why not

  give Hunter a shot as well? He was the perfect guy to help me show the world exactly how over Josh I was. I could move on, too. I

  could move on with the best of them. "I'm in," I told him. "Of course you are," he replied. "See you then." I turned the phone off but

  called up his picture again and considered it. A date with Hunter Braden. I was feeling more presidential by the second.

  * * *

  When I told Vienna that I had agreed to a date with Hunter Braden, she let out an ear-piercing shriek that definitely broke a few

  pairs of glasses all over campus. She spread the news quickly, and suddenly it was as if a housewide holiday had been declared. Plans

  were dropped. Club meetings skipped. Facials eschewed. By one o'clock on Saturday afternoon, every Billings Girl had descended up-

  on my room, offering up color palette suggestions, wardrobe items, and some seriously dubious etiquette pointers.

  "If you happen to get something caught in your throat, do not choke at the table," Shelby told me as she laid out her collection of

  cocktail dresses on Sabine's bed. "There is nothing less attractive than bug eyes and bread crumbs flying everywhere with your spit-

  tle." I stopped blowing on my freshly manicured nails, which Constance and Kiki had just clipped, buffed, and polished. She had to be

  kidding. "She's right. Choking will totally turn a Hunter Braden off," Portia added, organizing several eye shadow palettes on my desk

  for Noelle to inspect. "It is TV." I glanced at Rose for clarification. She was always translating for Portia. "Totally verboten," Rose

  explained as she sifted through her own jewelry collection for something to lend me.

  "You guys are too funny." I laughed, shaking my head as I got up from Sabine's desk chair. Everyone looked at me like I was

  crazy. "This is serious, Reed," Vienna said, placing both hands on my shoulders as Kiki and Tiffany tested perfumes on each other. "If

  it happens, get up and walk over to the bathroom and get one of the waiters to Heimlich you in private. You'll thank us later." "Right.

  Unless I'm dead," I replied. That comment killed the chatter for a moment and I froze. But it only lasted a moment. When the Billings

  Girls were in a makeover zone, almost nothing could stop them.

  "Okay. What are we thinking for our color scheme?" Astrid asked, holding a black silk dress under my chin, then a shimmery blue

  sheath. "Watch her nails!" Lorna gasped She and Missy--yes, even Missy was there--jumped up and held my arms out at my sides like

  a T so that Astrid could continue testing clothes under my face without messing up my manicure. I was starting to feel like a rag doll.

  "I still say red," Tiffany put in, stepping up to study me over Astrid's shoulder. "Red is her color." "I think pink," Shelby said, sitting

  on the foot of my bed. "Why don't you ever wear pink, Reed. Don't you own anything pink?" My heart stopped beating. I looked at

  Shelby. Did she know something? Had she done something? Was that a teasing smirk in her eyes? Or was I just completely and utterly

  paranoid? "Actually, she does have pink!" Sabine announced, bounding over to my closet. "What about that--" "No!"

  My mouth was open, but I hadn't said anything. It was Noelle who had spoken and commanded the attention of the room. Sabine

  stopped in her tracks. "Pink? Did you all let your Vogue subscriptions lapse? Pink is so last season and so not Reed," Noelle said,

  dropping the eyelash curler she was toying with and walking over to stand next to me. "You girls can let her go now," she told Missy

  and Lorna. Which they promptly did. "Look at her, ladies," Noelle said. "She is no spring." "She's right. You're a total autumn," Lon-

  don said seriously. Then her eyes lit up. "I know! Wear your Nicole Miller!" "You have a Nicole Miller?" Noelle said, eyeing me with

  surprise. 'Yes!" I went over to my closet and whipped the dress out, tags and all, before anyone could see that the pink clothing hang-

  ing inside had once belonged to Cheyenne. I held it up for all to see.

  "Not bad," Noelle said, fingering the slippery fabric. "I bought it for her," Portia offered, happily raising her hand. She had bought

  it for me on the day I had been elected president of Billings. Back when I had been planning a Halloween ball in honor of Cheyenne.

  Before Noelle's return and the Legacy debacle and the ten million other things that had changed in the meantime. "Ladies, I think we

  have the dress!" Noelle announced. "Now, who has shoes? Because I really don't think Chuck T.'s are going to work." Everyone gig-

  gled and dove into their shoe boxes. Suddenly pairs of peep-toes and pumps and stilettos and kitten heels were whipped at me from

  every direction. Noelle shook her head at some, wrinkled her nose at others, and finally settled on a pair of Tiffany's Jimmy Choos.

  Black with delicate straps. In about two seconds I was zipped up, strapped in, and whisked off to makeup with Astrid and the Twin

  Cities. Just before the bathroom door shut, I glanced back at Shelby to see if she was still watching me. See if she was gauging my re-

  action to her pink comment. But she had simply kicked back on my bed to check her messages, eyes glued to her phone as always. It

  was just a coincidence. Had to be. Shelby Wordsworth had no reason to hate me. To torture me. Right?

  * * *

  "I can't beli
eve this restaurant doesn't have a valet," Hunter said as he parallel parked his gorgeous Bentley on a side street in the

  town of Easton. A couple inches of snow had fallen earlier that day, which made it harder to see the lines, and I felt for him. Parallel

  parking was so stressful. Doing it on a first date couldn't be easy. "But it shouldn't be too far to walk." "Believe me, I don't mind," I

  told him. Where I came from a fancy dinner out meant not wearing jeans to the Steak & Ale. Yet here I was, decked out in thousands

  of dollars' worth of couture, with a guy wearing a cashmere coat and leather gloves, looking like a movie star behind the wheel. Walk-

  ing a couple blocks to the restaurant was not going to kill me.

  "No, no. I'll get that," Hunter said, stopping me as I reached for the car door. I giggled to myself as he got out, strolled around the

  front of the car, and opened my door for me. Noelle said it all the time and I was starting to agree with her--there was no substitute for

  good breeding. He offered his hand, which I took--as awkward as it felt--and helped me out of the car. "This is my favorite restaurant

  in town. It's not easy to get a reservation here, but they always save a table for me," Hunter said as he used his remote to lock his car.

  "Must be nice," I said as we turned up the sidewalk. "It is," he replied with a smile. We walked carefully, avoiding patches of ice on

  the freshly shoveled walkway. I felt like I should be making conversation, but I was at a loss for the moment. The silence was just

  starting to feel awkward when we came around the corner onto Main Street and half a dozen flashbulbs flashed across the street.

  "Oh, you have to be kidding me," Hunter groused. He ducked into the doorway of a children's clothing boutique, which had already

  closed down for the night, and pressed his back to the brick wall. "What? What's going on?" I asked, looking up. "Get in here!" he

  hissed. I did as I was told, hopping up the one step and huddling next to him. "What is it?" I asked. "Paparazzi," Hunter said through

  his teeth. "Crap. Someone must have tipped them off that I was going out tonight. You date one socialite..." "Seriously? You're actual-

  ly being stalked by the paparazzi?" I asked. "Must be a slow news week for them to come all the way up to Connecticut," Hunter said,

  then cursed under his breath. "My dad warned me about this. He said they were going to want to get pictures of whoever I dated after

  the heiress."

  "Which would be me," I said, trying to make this sink in. "Which would be you," Hunter agreed. "Are they coming over here?"

  Okay. This was surreal. I was being stalked by the paparazzi on a date. If the shallow chicks back home could see me now. Well,

  maybe they would when they opened next week's Us Weekly. Weird. "Reed! Are they coming over here?" Hunter sounded desperate.

  I peeked around the corner. The four photogs were still hanging out across the street, probably waiting for our next move. "They look

  like they're staying put." "Yeah, until I come out. I'm going to kill whoever did this," Hunter said. "Well, why don't we get rid of

  them? " I asked. Hunter scoffed. "No offense, Reed, but how? You have no idea what kind of people you're dealing with."

  I glanced down at the pile of snow that had been shoveled up against the wall of the shop. The idea was so basic, but so deliciously

  evil at the same time. "Maybe not. But I do know that no one likes a face full of icy snowball. Also, water is really bad for cameras."

  Hunter followed my gaze and smiled wickedly. "I like the way you think." I crouched to the ground in the black designer coat I had

  borrowed from Shelby, and Hunter followed my lead. Together we dragged as much snow into our little alcove as possible, remaining

  hidden from the photographers, thanks to the cars and SUVs parked all up and down the street. Quickly, silently, we cobbled together

  as many snowballs as we could. When we'd used up all the snow, I gathered a few balls in my arms and stood, pressing back against

  the wall again. "What's the plan?" Hunter asked, his eyes full of mischief. "We fire at will until there's no ammo left, then make a

  break for the restaurant. Hopefully they'll be too disoriented to follow," I whispered. "I like it," Hunter said. I felt a flutter of pride in

  my chest. Hunter Braden liked my idea. "On the count of three," I directed. "One, two, three. Fire!"

  Together the two of us jumped out of our hiding space and launched our snowballs. My first hit one of the cameras right in the lens,

  splattering all over its owner's face. Hunter didn't quite have my arm, but he managed to bean a couple of guys in the shoulder before

  we reloaded. There were a few desperate camera flashes while we grabbed more snowballs, but when we came up again, we managed

  to smack two more guys directly in their faces. The cursing and sputtering across the way was utterly ridiculous, and Hunter and I

  laughed the entire time. "I'm out! Let's go!" Hunter shouted, grabbing my hand. We raced up the sidewalk, me teetering in my high

  heels, Hunter leading the way through klatches of moviegoers and couples walking off their dinners. Before long he was opening the

  door of the restaurant for me, and with a glance over my shoulder I saw that none of the photographers had followed. Our assault had

  done the trick.

  "That was intense," Hunter said, catching his breath just inside the door. He looked gorgeous, all ruffled and ruddy-cheeked from

  the cold. So gorgeous I almost felt unworthy in his presence. "That may have been the most fun I've had all week," I replied with a

  grin. Hunter shrugged out of his coat and looked me up and down with a new admiration in his eyes. "And we're just getting started."

  Okay. This was going to be the best date ever.

  NOT MY NIGHT

  Or not. After five minutes alone at the table with Hunter Braden, I couldn't for the life of me figure out how anyone had ever lasted

  more than five minutes alone at a table with Hunter Braden. Every other sentence out of his mouth started with the word I. He couldn't

  go for more than ten seconds without talking about himself, so if I was in the middle of a sentence, and more than ten seconds had

  gone by, he would interrupt me mid-syllable to tell me something super fascinating and totally out of context about him, like how he'd

  gone deep- sea diving last summer or how he'd beaten the world chess champion when he was fifteen.

  But of course, no one knew about that, because Hunter didn't want to ruin the guy's life. Plus, he wasn't one to brag. Yeah, right. At

  least he was nice to look at. In a perfectly cut dark blue suit and striped tie, he looked completely at ease and comfortable, like he'd

  been born in formal wear. I was feeling quite sophisticated and sexy as well, in all my couture. Not that Hunter had said a word about

  it or even appeared to notice. He did, however, check himself out in every reflective surface available, including the weathered silver

  platter that hung on the wall next to our table. No surprise, he always appeared pleased by his own reflection. I had thought he was so

  cool when he'd gone for the snow war idea. But clearly that had just been a means to an end to him. I had helped him stay out of the

  tabloids for another day. And come to think of it, he hadn't even thanked me for it.

  The restaurant was a tiny French bistro with only six tables and twice as many waiters. I tried to orchestrate a short evening by

  skipping the appetizers and going straight for the entree, but Hunter-- shockingly--didn't take my cue. He ordered a salad and an appe-

  tizer, then sat there and ate it in front of me while my stomach growled audibly and I sipped my ice water. I was going to have to kill

&
nbsp; Vienna later. Or, possibly, eat her.

  "So I'm definitely getting into Columbia early admission and my father has already put the down payment on the apartment I

  picked out," Hunter said as he nibbled on his foie gras. "We start renovations over Christmas break, so it should be exactly the way I

  want it by fall." "Columbia. That's great," I said, taking a stab at enthusiasm. "How's the campus? I've always wanted to check it out."

  "Who cares? It's the only Ivy in New York," Hunter replied with a shrug. He looked up and snapped his fingers, signaling a waiter to

  refill his wineglass. "There's no point in even looking at the others. I have to be in New York." Oookay. "Speaking of New York, I'm

  going down there next weekend," I said, attempting to turn the conversation toward myself for a moment. "We're going to hold the

  fund-raiser there." "What fund-raiser?" he asked, taking a sip of his wine. "The Billings fund-raiser," I said, surprised. The whole

  Billings scandal had been all anyone could talk about for the past week. "You know... how Headmaster Cromwell challenged us to

  raise five million dollars to save the--"

  "Five million dollars," Hunter scoffed. "My apartment will be worth more than that once I'm done with the overhaul." My jaw

  clenched and I found myself clutching my tiny purse under the table. God, I missed Josh. Even though he hated Billings, he would

  have at least listened to me. If we were still together, he'd be supporting me right now, helping me with ideas, at least letting me finish

  a damn sentence. What I wouldn't give to go back in time and give pre- Legacy Reed a good slap across the face. If only I could tell

  her to take Josh up on his offer in the woods and just stay home that night. If only I could tell her not to go up to the roof at the Lega-

  cy. If only I could impress upon her what a nightmare that whole party would be....

  No. I was not going to think about that. I was supposed to be on a mission here. Creating a new Reed. Unfortunately, I was starting

  to think that the new Reed was too good for the current Hunter. "I'm definitely going to create my own major," Hunter was saying.

  "Something not boring. Like water-sports marketing. I could definitely be a pioneer there. I know I--" That was it. I couldn't take it

  anymore. If I heard the word I one more time, I was going to break something. "You really like talking about yourself, don't you?" I

  said. Hunter paused, looking at me across the table with interest for the first time all evening. For a moment I thought he was going to

  backtrack, to apologize, to ask me something about me. But then, he smirked, wiped his mouth with his linen napkin, and leaned his

  wrists on the table. "If you were me, wouldn't you?" That was when I got up and walked out. I snagged my coat from the coat-check

  girl, told her to get her tip from the jackass with the permanent smirk, and headed into the cold night.

  As soon as I was outside on the quaint Easton sidewalk, I tipped my head back and let out a groan, watching the cloud of steam

  from my breath disappear against the stars. I glanced around for lurking photographers, thinking I might tell them exactly where

  Hunter was and that I had just ditched him, but they were nowhere to be found. Oh, well. One thing was clear, however--it was time to