Rich Boys Poor Girl: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Rich Boys Poor Girl Book 1) Read online

  Rich Boys Poor Girl

  By

  Mia Belle

  Copyright © 2019 Mia Belle.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to real life, movies, television, games, or books is entirely coincidental and was not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter One

  This isn’t a house. It’s a palace.

  As I weave through the plethora of guests, balancing a tray on my palm and offering hors d’oeuvres I can’t even pronounce, my gaze roams around the ballroom. My mouth practically reaches the floor, my brain trying to comprehend that people actually live this way.

  Chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling, their crystals sparkling across the walls and bouncing off the expensive jewelry on the guests. The marble floor is so polished I can practically see my reflection. The tables are set with crisp white, elegant tablecloths, the dishes and utensils glittering, and the guests are dressed in their finest.

  We’ve catered to the wealthy before, but this is a whole other ball game.

  And the guest of honor? None other than sixteen-year-old Declan Worthington, the sole heir to the Worthington Empire. His dad is Asher Worthington, the richest man alive. He owns practically the whole world, no joke. From hotel chains to tech companies, sports teams, international enterprises, you name it.

  It seems he couldn’t make it to his only son’s birthday party, hence the new entertainment system at the corner of the room, still wrapped in its blue bow.

  Declan Worthington is at the center of the ballroom, chatting to a man three times his age. His hands are stuffed into his expensive black slacks, his head twisted to the side like he’d rather run himself over ten times than listen to the older man. His russet-colored hair falls over his face in the perfect bad boy fashion.

  “Danica,” a voice hisses from behind me. When I turn around, I spot Andy, my boss and owner of Loew’s Catering, tilting his head toward Declan. “Offer him some food. You’re here to work, not ogle the main attraction.”

  Trying not to roll my eyes, I salute before making my way over to Declan and the older man. I hold out the tray, plastering on a smile equal to the value of this palace.

  Declan hardly looks my way, choosing to focus on the man standing before him as though he’s the most important person in the world. It’s almost like I’m not worthy enough to be acknowledged, like I’m the scum beneath his expensive shoes. All because I’m part of the working class.

  “Something to eat?” I say, sliding the tray a bit closer to him and widening my million-watt smile. Flicking his hair from his face, the guy still doesn’t look my way. I might as well be wallpaper, except my plain pale yellow server uniform would totally ruin the elegant design.

  I shift the tray toward the older man. “Sir?”

  He offers me a thankful smile, says, “Oh, no thank you, dear,” before turning back to Declan, who’s now wearing an irritated expression on his face.

  “What your father and I discussed…” the older man continues.

  His words fly over my head, my focus on the rich guy standing only inches from me. I’ve never really gotten a good look at him, since my nose isn’t buried in the magazines kids at school obsess over. But damn, he’s hot. A thousand degrees. Seriously, you can probably boil an egg on his face—and get some yummy flavor, too. The guy’s got it all: looks, money, and a shit-tone of charisma. It oozes out of him just by standing there and rolling his eyes at the older man. And his tall body dressed in that pressed black suit and slacks only add points in his favor.

  Why are rich people always good-looking? So unfair.

  Declan’s head suddenly snaps to mine. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

  I catch my boss Andy eye-signaling me to get my ass away from there. As a server, my job is to serve. Not to stare at the heir to the Worthington Empire.

  Tossing Declan and the older man another million-watt smile, I scurry away, careful not to lose hold of the tray, which, by the way, is still full of hors d’oeuvres.

  “What was that?” Andy hisses, catching the tray before it splatters to the floor. His eyes flick behind me, and when I spin around I catch Declan’s striking blue eyes on mine. For a second only. I bet he thought I’d trip and fall, providing entertainment for this bummer of a party. Sure the people are eating and dancing, but no one really seems to want to be here.

  “Nothing.” I shrug. “I’m here to work.”

  “You bet you are. Get back out there.”

  I do my rounds, steering clear of the guy of the hour and exchanging smiles with the other servers, whom haven’t either worked in such a setting. Some of the guests are thankful for the food so they don’t have to stand there bored out of their minds. A part of me feels a little sorry for the guy. Are all his birthday parties like this? Where are his friends?

  After an hour, a man with graying hair who looks like he’s in his mid-forties raises a glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”

  Finally, I get a break. But Andy keeps me busy preparing more hors d’oeuvres, so I only catch bits and pieces of the toast, and then his speech. From what I gather, the man works for Asher Worthington and is speaking on his behalf. Craning my neck, I manage a glimpse at Declan, who stands straight with his hands to his sides, not a crease in his suit, his russet hair still falling over his eyes in that perfect bad-boy manner, looking ever so composed. That’s got to be an act. What kid isn’t hurt by his father’s absence on his own birthday?

  “Danica!” Andy scolds.

  I snap back in and gather the newly-loaded tray. The man is still droning on about Declan’s accomplishments as I strut back into the ballroom. I steal another glance at him—no emotion in his eyes. He might as well be watching a mouse chasing a piece of cheese. No, even that would be more interesting than that dry speech.

  Most of the guests aren’t interested in more food, and my feet are on fire from all this parading around. The trays of the other servers are full, too. I’m about to return to the kitc
hen and tell Andy not to bother preparing any more food, when I catch sight of a man dressed in black from head to toe standing at the far left of the massive ballroom. I don’t know why he caught my attention, maybe because of the way he’s lurking in the shadows all alone or the way he’s stealthily reaching into his pocket and producing a—

  Holy shit. A gun.

  And it’s pointed directly at Declan Worthington.

  I push through the throngs of people. “Look out!” Launching myself at Declan, I shove him and myself to the ground as the gunshot echoes in my ears. I hit the floor with such a blow that the wind gets knocked out of me. The left side of my body throbs.

  Guests gasp, yell, and flee. It’s total chaos. Amidst people nearly trampling me to death, I catch four men tackling the shooter to the floor. The bullet is lodged in the wall behind us.

  Declan shifts from underneath me. My eyes snap to him, finding his mesmerizing blue ones locked on mine. I finally see an emotion peeking out from his hard eyes: fear.

  The shooter yells over the panicked crowd as the four security guards drag him away. I can’t make out the words, but it’s definitely a threat. Staff members usher the guests out of the house. Andy and my coworkers escape, not giving me a second glance.

  The party has officially ended.

  “Mr. Worthington.” A hand extends toward Declan. “Are you all right?” It’s the guy who made the speech, eyes bulging with worry. A handful of security guards surround us.

  I look at the young master crushed beneath me. The fear is still there, though it’s nearly masked now.

  “Sir?”

  Declan blinks, the fear completely vanishing from his eyes. He shoves me aside and stands, slapping the dirt off his pants.

  “Get her out of here.”

  “Sir?”

  “Get her out of here.”

  Gray Hair gives me an apologetic look as he holds out his arm. “Miss, may I escort you out?”

  I let him lead me out of the room, but not before catching one more look at Declan. His hard gaze is dead-set on mine.

  Chapter Two

  Ugh, why do I feel like I was run over by a train? The whole left side of my body throbs.

  My eyes flash open when it hits me. Declan Worthington’s party last night. The shooter. Declan nearly getting killed. My tackling him to the floor. His ungrateful behavior toward me.

  It’s not like I saved his life or anything. Whatever.

  Groaning through the pain, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stuff my feet into my slippers. Voices from outside carry into my open window, and when I wobble over and pull the curtain aside, I see a crowd gathered around my house. Cameramen and reporters.

  “What…the hell?”

  I rub my eyes. Nope, they’re still there.

  My door bursts open and Mom rushes inside. “Danica, get dressed and come to the living room. Quickly.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Get dressed. Now.”

  “Why—”

  She slams the door after her.

  “Seriously, what on Earth?” I open the door and peek out, straining my ears. There’s a strange voice in the living room. Another reporter? Does this have anything to do with my saving Declan Worthington’s life?

  “She’ll be here in a minute,” Mom says with a nervous laugh.

  I shut the door and stare blankly at the spot in front of me. I’m in too much pain to sort any of this out. Dragging myself to my closet, I choose an outfit—jeans and a light purple top—and get dressed, make my hair decent and then open the door again. It’s strangely quiet now, as though the visitor isn’t doing anything but waiting for my arrival. I stop by the bathroom to pop two pills before making my way to the living room. And I freeze in place. Gray Hair is sitting there.

  I step inside. Mom and Dad stand. “Danica.” Mom gestures to Gray Hair, who also gets to his feet. “This is Henry Miles. He works for Mr. Asher Worthington.”

  “Yeah, we sort of met yesterday at the party. Hi.”

  He shakes my hand. “Pleasure to see you again, Miss Stewart.”

  “Honey, please sit down,” Dad says.

  “Okay,” I say unsurely as I lower myself on the sofa near Mom. “Am I in trouble?”

  “Of course not, sweetie.” Mom motions toward Gray Hair. “Mr. Miles is here to talk to you.”

  “Is Declan okay? I hope I didn’t hurt him.”

  “Mr. Worthington is fine,” he assures me. “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Asher Worthington.”

  “His father?”

  “Yes. He’s very appreciative of your heroics last night and wishes to offer you his gratitude.” He reaches for a dark brown leather briefcase on the coffee table and flicks it open.

  My eyes bug out and my chest tightens. I’ve never had so many one-hundred dollar bills shoved in my face before.

  I tear my eyes away. “I didn’t save his life for money.”

  “Of course not. But Mr. Worthington would like to compensate you nonetheless.”

  My gaze slips to Mom and Dad, who desperately clutch each other’s hands. Money’s been very tight the past year, with Dad losing his job and Mom’s hours getting cut. We could really use…

  I press my lips together and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept his money. It wouldn’t feel right.”

  With a nod, Mr. Miles snaps the briefcase shut. “He thought you might react this way, which is why there’s another offer.”

  I raise a brow.

  “He would like to offer you admission to Queenswood Academy this September.”

  My jaw nearly sweeps the floor. “Qu…Queenswood Academy?”

  “He’s offering a full scholarship, including room and board, all expenses paid. Queenswood Academy is ranked number one in the country…”

  He continues praising the school, but all I hear is the blood rushing to my head. With an education at Queenswood Academy, my future could be set. My life could change forever. College has always been an unattainable dream, since I figured I’d have to stay here and help keep my family afloat. But with this scholarship…

  “Mr. Worthington would be very pleased if you were to accept his offer,” Mr. Miles concludes, a smile standing strong on his lips.

  Mom squeals, grabbing my hands. “Danica. Danica. Danica!” She flings her arms around me, smashing my face to her chest. “This September. That’s only a few weeks away. We’ll need to buy uniforms, school supplies…”

  “Mom, I haven’t even accepted yet.”

  Mr. Miles nods kindly. “Your uniforms and school supplies and everything else you’ll need will be covered by Mr. Worthington as well.”

  “Danica,” Mom hisses. “What are you waiting for? Accept the offer.”

  My cheeks hurting from the large smile conquering my face, I say, “I accept!”

  ***

  The boxes arrive within hours.

  Six pairs of uniforms. Six. What do I need so many for? And every single school supply I can think of, even ones I know I’ll never use (what teenager uses a glue stick?). I have to admit I’m a mix of emotions. First, I’m not even sure my mind has actually grasped the reality. And then I feel excited, because I’ll be going to a prestigious school with the best of the best. I could have any future I want, any dream I want.

  And then I feel like a charity case.

  Mom tells me I shouldn’t feel this way, that opportunities like this come once in a lifetime—if ever at all. It’s not the time to be prideful. I’d be nuts to back out.

  “How did they even know my measurements?” I ask as I lay the uniform on the table. It’s actually pretty decent, as far as academy uniforms go. A light blue shirt and dark blue tie, a plaid blue skirt, and a dark blue blazer. Blue is my favorite color, so I’m not complaining. Plus, gazing down at the uniform kind of makes me feel important.

  “Someone from Mr. Worthington’s office called during your interview for the article and asked for your measurements,” Mom says. “See if it f
its.”

  It’s like I’m carrying porcelain. I’m worried any wrong move might damage the thing. It probably costs more than my whole wardrobe.

  And oh wow, it fits perfectly. I turn from one side to the other as I study myself in the full-length mirror in my room. I look…I look like a million bucks. All my doubts about accepting the offer fly out the window and I’m overcome with anticipation. I can’t wait to start at my new school.

  Mom and Dad are over the moon when they see me. Dad actually has tears in his eyes. I guess he’s been worrying about my future ever since he had to dip into my college fund to pay for expenses. I assured him many times that it was okay, that I didn’t need to go to college. But now I’ll be given opportunities he’s always dreamed of giving me. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

  I let them take a few pictures before shedding off the uniform so I don’t wreck it. Then we put the boxes aside. Preparing my backpack will be quite an experience.

  I head to my room and flop down on the bed, my head still reeling from all of this. I’m still not sure if it’s fully settled in my mind. Maybe when I stand outside the academy gates?

  Chapter Three

  Those academy gates I’ve been looking forward to meeting smile at me from a distance, the words “Queenswood Academy” glimmering in golden letters. Mr. Worthington sent a limo to fetch me, and even after riding in it for over two hours, I still can’t get over it. We passed through some of the richest towns in Georgia, and as we draw closer to the building, I notice a massive forest behind it. It makes the school look even more beautiful. I’m practically bouncing in my seat as the driver pulls up to the gate and stops before the security booth.

  The driver rolls down the windows. “Miss Danica Stewart.” He gestures to me.

  The guard walks around to the back of the limo and peeks at me. He stretches his hand. “Your identification card, miss?”

  Identification card? Oh, right. I rummage in my jacket pocket and retrieve the school ID that arrived via mail several days ago. I hand it to the guy, who scans it, then me, and the card again. After giving me a slight nod, he passes it to me. “You may enter,” he tells the driver.