Beautiful Prince (Van der Borne University Book 1) Read online

  "I only made that bet because I really wanted that venue for my birthday party."

  "And Bella rescheduled her event. You got what you wanted, so what seems to be the problem?"

  "There's an article out there and pictures. Now my fiancé knows what I did. He can't even look at me."

  "I'm still waiting for you to tell me what I'm supposed to do about it."

  "It's your dad's paper. Print a retraction."

  "That wouldn't be responsible journalism, or fair to our anonymous contributors who would be forced to return their stipend."

  The tears start again. "Can't you just say the pictures weren't me?"

  "I could, but I'd think dear hubby-to-be knows what your ass looks like."

  She looks away, getting my attention more effectively than the tears ever would. "We only do it in the dark, so no he doesn't."

  So that's why she was willing to make this bet. She needed some excitement in her life. Of course it backfired, because it's a bet she made with Bella, who always has a back angle she's playing. She didn't care about the venue and only reserved it because she'd heard Matilda wanted it. Bella knew that would make Matilda desperate, and desperate people make stupid decisions.

  The bet for her to bang the club's tennis pro had to be caught on tape or witnessed by a bipartisan group of people. Matilda's did her part and won her prize, but what's happening now is what Bella was really after.

  Matilda's infidelity cleared the way for Bella to get to Pete Reynolds, whose father commissioned a one of a kind custom made reversible diamond, sapphire and aquamarine pendant from Harry Winston, for his future daughter-in-law's birthday. Now, with the scandal and impending breakup, the necklace would be free for purchase.

  "Matilda, I can't undo the story." I watch as a fresh wave of tears begins. She really cares about this guy. That's her first mistake, and if she would have come to me sooner, I might have counseled her to handle this differently.

  Her fat, splotchy tears keep landing on the arm of my leather chair. Fucking gonna need to get it cleaned and detailed so the salt and moisture doesn't crack it. "But maybe I can help you spin it."

  She jumps up, flinging her arms around me. "Oh, thank you!"

  "Before you get too excited, it comes with a price."

  She backs away, gnawing on her lip. "I'm not having sex with anyone else."

  Coming behind Pete Reynolds, yeah. Not interested in that. Fucking Matilda would create a bigger problem. She strikes me as a girl who has never had good sex before. Not even with the tennis pro, because if he clanged her walls correctly, she wouldn't care about ending things with Mr. Lights Out. "Relax. That's not where I was going with this."

  "Then what?"

  "Your family knows the Kindells, right?"

  "Elliot Kindell is my godfather." She scrunches her nose up. "Even if he is the chancellor at Worthless U. Why do you ask?"

  Worthington University is a rival college about an hour from here. Their students are still juggling multiple social media platforms, making it harder to target families that would make good alliances after graduation. The most popular dynasty's in today's business world are common knowledge, but I'm looking for hidden gems. The families and their offspring who are hungry for more. If I'm going to own this country, I have to start acquiring assets now.

  "I'll help you fix this mess you've gotten yourself into, and in return, you get your godfather to agree to a ninety-day trial of our app."

  "That's it?" I can see she doesn't believe me. Fucking Bella's backhanded bullshit, fucks with my credibility. I'll have to have a talk with her about that.

  I'm a bastard in my personal dealings, but I'm always serious when it comes to business. "I'll be happy to put it in writing."

  I pull up a standard contract on my laptop while she makes a call to her family attorney. An hour later, we have a signed agreement in place and with the magic of video editing, and our school social media app, I give Matilda an alibi to offset the grainy photo of her and the tennis coach. Initially, I wasn't in on this bet, but I found a way to use it to my advantage. I made sure the photography department at the paper pixilated the picture before printing and I have the negatives and SD card so no-one will ever be able to disprove our new story.

  Bella's the queen of manipulation, but I'm the king of this school and the student body is my responsibility. The Slades and Reynolds are a family of politicians on opposite sides of the aisle and important members of this community. Their children's marriage may influence whether or not they vote along party lines every time. It benefits us all in the long run for their families to be united.

  Bella, chasing a fucking bauble like a cat after a squeaky mouse toy, nearly ruined it.

  Chapter Two

  "Jordanna, we need to get going!"

  My mother's been fluttering around the house since six this morning. It seems like she's in a bit of a hurry to get rid of me. I ignore her like I have the last four times she yelled we needed to get going. It's move in day at the dorms. Mom's excited about dropping me off at school, but I'm not excited about going. Not to this school.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror and slip the stem of my hoop earrings through my ears. We've done this dorm drop off once already. It was two years ago at a school I loved, with the same friends I'd had since eighth grade. Why she would think I'd be overjoyed to be starting over, here of all places, is beyond me.

  My brown eyes stare back at me. Cat eyes are what my friends call them. Perfectly almond-shaped, soft brown eyes with golden flecks. I turn side to side, surveying the rest of my body. Not too lean, not super curvy. Just. Blah.

  My hair has a mind of it’s own. Thick and wavy. It takes hours taming it straight, so I usually wear it up in a bun, ponytail, or braid. You can tell I'm a girl, but there's nothing significant to call Playboy about. Objectively speaking, I think my eyes are my best feature, and maybe the cute little freckles I have on my nose.

  My sister Summer knocks twice, then barges into the bathroom, without waiting for permission to enter. "Boundaries." I snap, glaring at her through the mirror.

  "Yeah, well, mom told me to come see what was taking you so long. She's says we'll run into traffic if we don't leave in the next ten minutes."

  We wouldn't have to worry about traffic if she'd let me stay at my old school. I wish someone would explain to me why my stepfather's poor decisions meant I had to uproot my life and come here. To Kingsley Bluff, one of the many towns named after old stuffy white dudes that got rich off the misfortune of others during the great depression.

  Summer continues to stare at me as if that'll make me move any faster. It's not, but there's not much more stalling I can do. She steps aside so I can get through the door and follows me to my bedroom. I packed my last suitcase two nights ago, and the only thing left to do is grab my phone and charger. I look around, the room as barren as it was when I came back at the end of last semester.

  And summer - the season, not my sister- is over just like that. I barely had time to get used to this place, because I insisted on spending the first two months of my summer break in Fairview and NYC with my friends.

  We all agree my forced transfer sucks and I've promised them I'll find a way to get back to school. My real school. Not the golden castle with the secret handshakes my mother is shipping me off to.

  She was right. There's traffic on the road when we pull onto the freeway, but not enough to delay our trip. Much too soon, I'm staring at the oak leaf crest and white pillars of the institution where I'm supposed to finish my degree.

  Van der Borne University. The school so selective that they have no problem turning politician's kids away. Neither of my parents were politicians and we're not stupid rich, which is why I'm still confused about why I got accepted here.

  Mom forced me to fill out the admission paperwork when the brochure came in the mail last year, and while my transcripts are amazing, I took one look at the pamphlet and knew we wouldn't be a good fit. The yearly tu
ition alone would have any sane person making a deal with Rumpelstiltskin. Or at least agreeing to sell a kidney.

  Nothing about the school screams charitable, yet somehow I earned a scholarship that I didn't apply for. When I called to inquire about it, I was told it's based on some archaic employment history of some distant relative I've never heard of or met.

  It sounded like a bunch of rich people double speak that amounted to shut up and draw pretty pictures. I don't give two shits about the old fart whoever he or she was, but we need the scholarship, thanks to dear old stepdad's affinity for stretching the truth on his financial records.

  We got a quick lesson in embezzlement and fraud last year. When Uncle Sam comes for you, he doesn't care that a portion of the money in the joint bank account was earmarked for your wife's kids' future, from her dead husband's life insurance policy. Now Summer and I know the importance of keeping our accounts separate from the men we marry.

  Driving along the road, Mom tells me again how great this school is and how many opportunities I'll have just by attending here. I don't need the perks of matriculation. I've got a 3.9 GPA and I'm already being courted by one of the top publishing houses in the country. They love the hard-hitting exposés I've written for them over the last two years, I'm a talented artist, I've got a decent eye for photography, and my double major in finance doesn't hurt.

  I just wish my mother, Ivy Waldorf (she so needs to go back to her original last name), still valued those gifts. Instead, I think she sort of blames me for our current lot in life, because it was my story on Penn Waldorf that led to the SECs investigation into the company. That's the only reason why I'm prepared to suffer here instead of taking the semester off.

  "This place is unreal." My sister can't keep the awe out of her voice. It's her senior year of high school, but with her basketball trophies, she's had offers flowing in from Division One schools since tenth grade. She won't be forced to apply to come here. I doubt the teams here would be conducive to her hoop dreams, anyway.

  I climb out the car, craning my neck back to stare at the lion perched on the roof of the building. I suddenly feel like I caved too easily. My guilt be damned, I should have put up more of a fight. I didn't force step-doofus to be a lying thief, and the people he duped out of their money deserved to know the truth.

  If the brochure, website and drive through the golden gates didn't give it away, the clothes on the people milling around me, hammers home the fact that I'm out of place. Even with our previous income level, I would be out of place. I've never been a label chaser. The artist in me prefers truly vintage clothes from thrift stores and consignment shops over the over-inflated frilly "vintage" from the hottest designers. But yeah, it's quite obvious, I'm not from around here.

  Summer grabs my duffel bag while I retrieve my suitcases from the trunk and mom grabs the box that has all the important stuff. You know, like my art supplies.

  "Okay, ladies." I take a fortifying breath before stepping on the curb. "Let's get this over with."

  "This is your dorm?" Summer asks as we step through the entrance and into an area that reminds me of a hotel or apartment building lobby, complete with a front desk. We walk past the inordinate staircase with balsamic oak handrails, and step inside the gold trimmed elevator, which takes us to the fifth floor. Roughly the halfway point in this building. I guess small victories and all that. This means fewer flights I'll have to walk if the elevator goes out.

  I snort to myself, earning a look from one of the other people in the elevator. As if that would ever happen. Stepping onto the floor we walk the hall, and I take in the molding on the recessed ceiling and tapestry on the walls. We stop in front of room number, 521 as listed on the registration card. The door is ajar.

  "You must be the first one here." Mom says as she pushes the door open wider. When we step inside, the box rattles in her arms.

  "Or not." Summer chirps. Stepping further into the room.

  "You must be Jordan." The occupant glides smoothly across the floor. Her auburn hair catches all the best light, shimmering as it swishes delicately across her back when she moves. "I'm Kassidy Devane."

  I step forward, extending my hand. "Jordanna." I correct.

  "Right. Jordanna. Well, that's your room." She points to the door on the right side of the living space. "And that's mine.” She says, waving her hand to the left.

  Mom opens the door to 521B and shakes her head. "Wait. I'm sorry. I thought this was a double occupancy."

  "It is. Meaning two people to the suite."

  "And you have your own showers?"

  "We share the bathroom by an adjoining door, but we don't have a community shower, if that's what you're asking."

  Mom pulls up the email about my dorm assignment again, muttering about the cost of room and board. My tuition and books are covered, but this first semester, a portion of the meals and lodging have to come out of pocket. We expected an old dorm, though looking around campus, I'm not sure we will find the typical college dormitory on any of these acres.

  Once inside my room, mom says, “Jordanna, I think they made a mistake. I gave them our tax statements and there's no way…"

  I can see the frown lines on my mother's face. "Relax mom, I have money in my savings from working the last two semesters, and I'll get a job here to help cover the costs if you need me to."

  Why the hell did I just volunteer to do that? Maybe the financial burden would be enough to convince her to let me dis-enroll. It's not too late to head back home, and I still have another week before I'd have to be on campus at Carryville Institute for the Arts.

  "I appreciate that, hun. But this is a new school, and it's an adjustment from what you're used to. I don't want you working this semester. I'll figure something out. I’ve got a new job starting, and as long as you pull the grades you need to, your scholarship will increase and cover everything next semester."

  She smiles at me, now that she's worked through her anxiety. "I think we can manage just fine. Just, budget your spending money. Because with Summer's basketball and tournament fees, I won't be able to give you much towards incidentals."

  I ride with my family back down the elevator and walk them to the car. Despite the strain from the last year, my mom, sister and I are close. We share a quick hug and kiss and a promise to call all the time, and then they're making the two-hour drive back home, because Summer has an early morning practice.

  I realize I left my phone on my bed, when I hear it ringing as soon as I step into the living area. I scurry through my door, scoop it from the bed, and hit answer before it goes to voicemail.

  "Hey you." I smile my first real smile for the day.

  "Wow. So busy you're avoiding my calls already?" Robbie teases.

  "Sorry, I was walking mom and Summer out and left my phone on my bed."

  "Do you think that's wise? Leaving your stuff out around people you've just met?"

  "Yes, I do, because I have my own room."

  "They gave you a single?"

  "Sort of. My dorm room is like a two-bedroom apartment. We share a living room and bathroom, but my bedroom is huge, and it's amazing."

  "Does the door lock?"

  "Of course it does. As much as tuition costs and with the clothes and shoes I've seen while driving onto campus, if they don't have working locks, then these rich parents are crazier than we think."

  "I'm just making sure we'll have complete privacy when I come see you."

  I flop onto my back and listen as he tells me what I missed last weekend. Hearing his recap hurts, because it means admitting to myself that my friends have continued on without me. I had no choice about coming here, and I'm going to work my ass off to pull good grades just like I always do. What mom doesn't know is there's a full ride scholarship opportunity opening up at Carryville for next semester and I'm determined to get it.

  Chapter Three

  I openly check out the girl sitting next to me. Shauna's had some work done over the summer. I pull up Pros
pectus, our rank and social media app, on my phone and see someone's bumped her up a solid four points. Very nice work indeed. It sounds misogynistic and it could be, except the school ranking system does more than validate looks. It includes GPA's, extra-curricular activity's, activism, and philanthropy. You can be the hottest girl in school with zero's in all other areas which lands you at the bottom of the list.

  The top ten students at the end of the year get hand selected for internships at some of the most prestigious company's in the world, without needing to apply.

  The beauty ranks could lead to modeling and acting contracts. Visual and performing artists can see doors opened for them on broadway or the hottest galleries and museums.

  Prospectus is a database my friend Simon Allen, and I created in seventh grade to rank sports teams and shows. We started adding people to it and by our junior year of high school it was a full-fledged app with the entire student body using it.

  Parent's caught on and with a few tweaks, it's morphed into a recruitment tool used by some of our alumni. I came up with the creative designs and gave input on what it should contain.

  Over the years, we've accepted input from various people. Ultimately, this is Simon's technological baby and I let him care for and nurture it. But as a partial owner, I'll get my cut of the profits when we monetize access. He's working on a way to strengthen the infrastructure and make it available to a wider audience. Getting Worthless U onboard is our first step towards that goal.

  An alert sounds, letting me know a new student profile has been created. I stuff my phone back in my pocket. I'll decide which freshman to follow after the first party, still preferring to to get my first impressions in person.

  Frankie takes the seat behind me and Hal slides into the one across from him on the right. Bella is in front of me and Tabitha, Dinah, and Bella's newest minion, Olivia, sit on either side. When we're in the same class, we always sit clustered together, and I always take over the middle row. The students usually leave the seat to my left unoccupied, and the one to my right is reserved for a special friend when I'm in the mood. It became vacant at the beginning of the spring term, when Robin Spencer flew the coop. No one dares to sit next to me without an invitation, but Shauna's two seats away putting in an application to keep it warm. First day of school initiative. I'm good with that.