His smirk was more frightening than any scowl, frown, or grimace I’d ever seen. Trent smiled, leaning into my body, into my soul. Had I really just tried to make him feel less worthy because he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth? It made me sicker than wearing my mother’s designer garbs. Those were given facts he’d recited himself in an interview for Forbes. He went to a shitty state college that accepted even the illiterate, working as a janitor on campus after hours. Trent Rexroth was known in Todos Santos as an exhilarating success story, rising from the gutters of San Diego. The low blow was supposed to retrieve some of my lost dignity, but bile burned my throat, shotgunned from my stomach. Rexroth-which top tier university did you attend for your degree?” He’s pissed I turned down five Ivy League colleges. My father is the one forcing me to work here. I let loose a sugary smile, scanning his face and torso for no other reason other than to taunt him. “You won’t be working here.” His arm brushed my shoulder, but I didn’t think it was by accident.
“I don’t like you,” Rexroth whispered under his breath, his voice harsh. The fading noise of Vicious barking at people to move along, and my father finally letting go of my arm to move toward Jaime and Dean-probably trying to gain both allies and sympathy-died down. Trent’s gaze cut to mine and stopped when his grays met my blues.
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