Rich Bastard {mxm}

Eleven.

"Only the poor associate with the poor," -C.T

"Again, why am I here?"

I rolled my eyes, seeing a piece of lint on my pair of brand new Armani jeans, cringing in disgust. I still had a lot to deal with on my plate and a lot to come to terms with, and being out with two hoodlums in public was not helping the cause.

"Aren't you supposed to be having one on one time with Tomas?" I pointed to the said man who shrugged in response as Vivi pouted up at me. "There is literally no need for me to be here. None!" I sighed in exasperation, feeling itchy and prickly from the air. The air had to have been different from the one in Palo Alto Hills because I could not get comfortable.

Not that I wanted to.

"What? We aren't good enough for you?" A part of me died when I heard that annoying, unusually deep raspy voice pipe up. "Is that even a real question, poor boy?" I scowled, knowing full well that the answer to that was no. "Just making observations, rich boy," The shit-eating smirk was in full effect on the lips of one Joaquin van Zante. I wanted to slap that smirk off of him, remind him of his place, but I wasn't going to waste time nor energy on someone who wasn't worth it. 

Tomas tapped Joaquin on the arm in a manner to get him to stop with his behavior, but it was okay because I had no attention to give this fool. He wanted my attention so badly, but I wasn't going to give it to him.

Especially when it brought no benefit to me.

"Next time, we can bring you somewhere Chez and I frequent," Vivi giggled with her usual bubbly attitude and I rolled my eyes. The day that I stepped foot in one of my most popular places with these people in tow, that would be the day that I bow down and let Sterling take control over me.

A cold day in Hell.

"That would be nice. It would let me see how you guys live," Tomas smiled with fondness in his eyes as he gazed upon my best friend. At least he was well aware of the differences between us and he was trying to make up for it. Hm, maybe he would survive the scrutiny of Cordelia and Phillippe Baudelaire.

Or maybe not.

"That would be entirely up to Vivi," I threw out. "She would have to start small because the world of the rich is nothing like you would imagine," My throat was dry from lack of drink, but I wasn't going to order anything because I was not going to make myself susceptible to any germs. At home, I at least knew that all of our dishes were used once and steam-cleaned for 48 hours before reuse. Even then, Davina hated using things more than once.

"Hm, you don't think we can handle the world you live in, Cheyenne?" Tomas took my words with ease, laughing lightheartedly and I looked at him, wondering when I granted him permission to use my name so freely. We weren't friends, not by a longshot, and to hear him addressing me so casually made me want to hurl. Or worse, throw myself out of the window.

I just clicked my teeth and looked at my fingernails, hoping that it would help the time pass me by. 

I had to think about when I was going to use my jet to go fly to the Riviera this weekend. I needed some time away to fully think about what I was doing. Here I was, 24 years old and hiding my love and my career from my father like I cared what he thought. A part of me did because while he talked all the talk about being my father, I knew he wouldn't hesitate to destroy me if I didn't comply with his wishes.

And now with everything that Tara confided in me, which I had no idea why she was telling me of all people, I had to think strategically. 

God, sometimes it sucked being rich.