In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, #4)

by C.M. Stunich

“I've already said my piece: the girl is a snake in the grass. Get a fucking lawnmower, Marnye.”

Zayd and I exchange a look, and he gives me a sly half-smirk. “I would’ve told Lizzie to fuck off by now,” he whispers, and I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze.

Pity does nothing for the one being pitied. It’s an empathetic agony to the one doing the pitying.