Page 292 of Filthy Elites

Anae is lounging by the pool at her house, her long blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail, and a pair of Chanel sunglasses on her face as she reads a book for school.

She glances over at me, then down at the fucked up video I’m watching on my phone. “Cinematic genius,” she offers.

“Was this you?”

She shrugs daintily. “Maybe.”

“Are you insane?”

“I made sure it couldn’t be traced back to me,” she assures me. “I told you before, the school stuff didn’t seem to be penetrating her skin, but when you told me about her mom, I realized I just needed to attack from a different angle.”

I shake my head, not even knowing what to type back. “Don’t do shit like this anymore. You delegated her to me. I’ll handle her. You calm the fuck down.”

Anae pouts. “But it’s fun.”

“Did you write that fucking haiku, too?”

Her frown is legit. “Haiku?”

I shake my head, looking down at the phone. “Never mind.”

I have a few of my most trusted nerd soldiers investigating who’s behind the haiku, but I haven’t heard anything yet. I’m kind of glad it wasn’t Anae.

Deleting the video off the chain of messages, I tell her, “Don’t taunt her about her dying mom anymore. That’s low, even for you.”

“Oh, comeon,” she says as if I’m being unreasonable. “She deserves it.”

“Does she?” I look over at her. “You never even told me what provoked all this?”

It must be something stupid because she shifts in the seat, adjusts her tits to try and distract me, and looks out at the shimmering pool water. “I told you, she crossed me. It doesn’t matter what it was, she was snotty to me and she needs to learn her place.”

“Seems a lot of energy to expend on someone who seems perfectly nice to me. Are you sure you’re not overreacting?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she states. “She’s on my shit list, and that’s that.”

I shake my head and text back Aubrey to let her know Anae is definitely capable of something like that. She may not seem like a techie, but over the years of airbrushing imperfections out of her photos and her life, she’s become pretty technologically adept. The Photoshop job in the video was crude as hell, but it was supposed to be.

“There you are. I need another drink,” Anae says, grabbing her empty glass off the end table and holding it out as if a maid just appeared on the scene.

I look up and see Hannah Dupont in a blue one-piece swimsuit with a towel draped over her arm. She averts her gaze when we inadvertently make eye contact.

“I didn’t know you guys were out here. I was just going to go for a swim.”

Anae shakes the glass. “Swim all you want, just get me a drink first.”

Hannah is awkward with the towel, starting to drape it around her shoulders, then clearly considering her waist. I smirk because it seems like my presence is making her uncomfortable. She turns around and disappears inside the house without a word.

Anae scoffs. “She’s so fucking useless, I swear to God.”

Annoyed, she puts her empty glass back down and resentfully resumes reading her book. Hannah comes back out a couple of minutes later to get it. She’s wearing a bathing suit cover that does what the towel didn’t—hides her from me.

She takes Anae’s glass and glances at my bare chest in passing, but doesn’t look me in the eye. “Do you need anything?”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m good.”

She nods and heads in the house to get Anae a refill.

Curious, I wait a moment so it’s not obvious I’m going after her, then I tell Anae I have to piss, and I head inside the house.

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