Invitation Only (Private 2) - Page 62

Ki­ran's head bobbed as she laughed once, de­ri­sive­ly. “Sweet­ie, Scar­lett Jo­hans­son couldn't get in­to this thing un­less Whit­tak­er brought her.” She drained the rest of her cup and sucked her cheeks to­geth­er slight­ly as she swal­lowed. The look she gave me was all mean­ing. Like, You want to go to this par­ty. Don't fuck it up.

Noelle stood up and then bent at the waist so that her eyes were mere inch­es from mine. I tried to avert my gaze so I didn't have to stare straight in­to her eyes, but when I did I saw di­rect­ly down her

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silk night shirt and al­most melt­ed from em­bar­rass­ment. Eye con­tact it was.

“Reed, when are you go­ing to fig­ure out that we do ev­ery­thing for a rea­son?” she said, plac­ing her hand on my shoul­der. “We set you up with Whit­tak­er so that you could go to the Lega­cy. We don't want to go with­out you.”

Sud­den­ly I felt all warm in­side.

“We will, but we don't want to,” Ki­ran added with a gig­gle.

Noelle stood straight again, then she moved over to the win­dow. Star­ing out across the quad, she took a long drink from her glass and then looked at me.

“So, what's it gonna be?”

Noelle want­ed me there. Thomas was go­ing to be there. And at this point, I was al­so sali­vat­ing to see what all this hype was about. And a par­ty that even Ki­ran couldn't get in­to just by flash­ing a lit­tle leg had to be in­tense. Se­ri­ous­ly.

I took a deep breath and turned to Ki­ran. “Can I bor­row some clothes for Fri­day night? I have a date. With Whit­tak­er.”

181

MY KNIGHT

Mrs. Lat­timer walked me across the quad and over to the cir­cle on Fri­day night, her heels click­ing quick­ly even though we were mov­ing at a snail's pace. Ap­par­ent­ly while on cam­pus I need­ed a chap­er­one, but they were go­ing to let me go off cam­pus with Whit­tak­er alone. Maybe Mrs. Lat­timer was sup­posed to make sure that I wasn't, in fact, board­ing some par­ty bus to Mon­tre­al. To make sure I didn't leave cam­pus un­less I did it with Whit.

The good news was I looked amaz­ing in the out­fit Ki­ran had lent me. Yes, even I was able to ad­mit it. It was a so­phis­ti­cat­ed Calvin Klein black hal­ter-?style dress that hit just above the knee, with slim straps en­cir­cling my neck and ac­cen­tu­at­ing my shoul­ders--which had been dust­ed with bronz­er for a “sexy glow.” It was topped by a gold bro­cade jack­et--vin­tage Chanel--and the di­amond ear­rings Whit­tak­er had bought me. Ki­ran had in­sist­ed I wear my hair up, and when I'd re­vealed I knew how to do noth­ing oth­er than a pony­tail and a ba­sic braid, she had grum­bled but worked on me for an hour, gath­er­ing my brown locks up in­to a

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so­phis­ti­cat­ed loose-?and-?sexy bun. One pair of strap­py, black Manolo Blah­niks and the look was com­plete. The re­sult? I was run­way-?wor­thy.

Too bad I felt more like I was walk­ing down a plank.

“This is a very spe­cial priv­ilege you've been grant­ed tonight, Miss Bren­nan. I hope you re­al­ize that,” Mrs. Lat­timer said as we walked around Brad­well, which front­ed the cir­cle. She held the col­lar of her coat up to her chin to com­bat the chill. “Mrs. Whit­tak­er doesn't do fa­vors like this for just any­one.”

I glanced at Mrs. Lat­timer out of the cor­ner of my eye. Af­ter what I had read about her on Ar­iana and Noelle's IM, I had a prob­lem tak­ing her se­ri­ous­ly on any lev­el. This wom­an had been bought off with a shop­ping spree. Bought off so that a bunch of over­priv­ileged girls could get an in­no­cent per­son thrown out of school. And I was sup­posed to, what? Look up to her?

“I know,” I said flat­ly.

“I may have un­der­es­ti­mat­ed you when we first met,” she said.

Fab. Now I could die hap­py.

“Uh, thanks. I guess.”

“Wal­ter must have some very strong feel­ings for you,” she said, eye­ing me shrewd­ly. Ex­pec­tant­ly. Like I was go­ing to share all the de­tails of my sor­did ro­mance with her.

“I sup­pose,” I said.

She nar­rowed her eyes at my blithe at­ti­tude and I had the dis­tinct feel­ing that I had of­fend­ed her. I gues

s mer­it­ing at­ten­tion from the great Whit­tak­er fam­ily was some­thing I should have

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tak­en more se­ri­ous­ly. I should have been flat­tered. All I want­ed was to get this over with.

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