Valerie sucks in a breath. “I’ll be right over.”
“Hey,” I interject before she hangs up. “Do you have a car?”
“No. And you can’t ask one of the brothers to pick me up, can you?” she says glumly.
“Don’t worry. Durand will pick you up. Hell, once I tell Callum I want to have a friend over, he’ll volunteer.”
“Oh, Callum. Nice. He’s hot for an old guy.”
“Gross, Valerie. He’s like over forty.”
“So? He’s what they call a silver fox. You know who’s into those?”
“I have no idea. One of the Pastels?”
“Oh hell no. Those girls wouldn’t know what to do with an adult male, let alone one with a few decades under his belt. Jordan’s older sister! She’s twenty-two and constantly bringing home old guys. The last one actually had gray hair and I swear he was older than Uncle Brian. I can’t decide whether she’s super kinky and these are the only guys who know what they’re doing, or if she has daddy issues.”
“My insult to Jordan at her party might have hit a little too close to home then?”
“Probably didn’t help,” Valerie says cheerfully.
“I’m hanging up now because I’m seriously thinking of vomiting up my lunch over this discussion.” I lay the phone down and try to scrub any thoughts of Callum doing kinky things from my brain.
Fortunately, Durand is available and Valerie is brought to the Royal estate in quick order.
“Wow, this place is so…” She gropes for the right word as she gapes at my bedroom.
I supply several. “Juvenile? Girlie? An homage to Valentine’s Day gone wrong?”
She falls backward on the pink ruffled bedspread. “Interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.” I settle into the white fur-covered vanity chair and watch Valerie bat at the sheer curtains that hang around the four-poster bed. “Want something to drink? I actually have a mini fridge in here.” I open the glass door of the beverage cooler situated under the counter of the vanity.
“Sure. I’ll have diet whatever. Besides the pink, this is a great room. Television, posh bed.” She touches the bedspread. “Is this silk?”
I have my hand in the fridge when she drops that bomb. “I’m sleeping on a silk blanket?”
“Technically you sleep under it. I mean, you don’t have to but you’re supposed to sleep on the sheets and under the coverlet.” Valerie looks all concerned as if my upbringing was so bizarre I might not know about sheets. Sadly, she’s not that far from the truth.
“I know that, smart ass.” I pull out a Diet Coke and shove it in her hand. I pop one open for myself. “It’s just weird. I went from sleeping bag to silk blankets or—excuse me—coverlets,” I correct myself before Valerie can. But enough about bed stuff. I need intel. “Tell me everything you know about the Worthingtons,” I order.
“The telecom Worthingtons or the real estate Worthingtons?” she asks, her mouth still around the opening of the pop can.
“I have no clue. They live close to here and are having a beach party tonight.”
“Oh, then the telecom Worthingtons. They live about five houses down.” She holds up her can. “Do you have a coaster?”
I throw her a notebook, which she uses to set her can on.
“Brent Worthington is a senior. He’s super uptight, although more about name recognition than money. His girlfriend Lindsey’s parents had to declare bankruptcy a couple of years ago and pulled Lindsey from Astor Park because they couldn’t afford the tuition, but Brent never broke up with her because Lindsey is a DAR.”
“What do the Dars do?” I ask.
Valerie laughs and shakes her head. “No, that’s not a last name. Daughters of the American Revolution. She can trace her family tree back to one of the original three boats that came over from England.”
“That’s a thing?” I gape.
“Yup. So what’s going on?”
“The Royals are going there tonight and told me to stay away.”
“Why? Those parties are pretty bland as far as high school events go. They lock all the doors in the house because Brent doesn’t want anyone having sex in the rooms. There’s one bathroom that people are allowed to use and it’s right off the patio. The pool house is locked, too. Brent has it catered and likes for everyone to show up like they’re about to go yachting. He even wears his country club sports coat and all of the girls wear dresses. No exceptions.”
Sounds terrible. If the Royals had given me this rundown, they wouldn’t have even needed to warn me away. But they did, so that means something is happening that they don’t want me to see or be a part of.
“Would Daniel Delacorte be invited?”
She considers it and then nods slowly. “Yeah. His father is a judge. I think Daniel plans to be one, too, and you can’t have too many judges as your BFFs, right?”