“Hi, Easton.”

I jump, glancing up to see Felicity Worthington popping up like an unwanted genie. I wonder how I can stuff her back into her diamond-encrusted lamp.

She gives me a finger wave. I suppress a shudder and ignore her. I tip the bottle back to my lips, but only a few drops come out.

“It’s Saturday night and you’re all alone?”

“Gold star for you,” I mock. “You’re very observant.”

My sarcasm doesn’t faze her. She steps closer and pries the empty bottle from my hand. Then she takes my wrist and leads me up the path to her pool house.

I follow because I’m curious about what she wants. Felicity flirts with me, but she’s never given off any vibes that she wants to get naked. Her ass is covered in a plain khaki skirt and she’s wearing a prim white-collared shirt and pink vest. The outfit isn’t much different than her school uniform. Buttoned-up and boring is how I’ve always pegged her.

“Did you just come from a Model UN meeting or something?” I ask.

She furrows her brow. “No. My family and I were having a late dinner at the country club. Why?”

These folks put the stuffing in stuffy. “No reason.”

“Sit here.” She points to a blue, overstuffed chair. “Wait. Don’t move. You look filthy.”

She darts over to a cabinet and grabs a towel. After laying it on the chair, she waves for me to take a seat.

I look down at my T-shirt and jeans. I’ve probably had the shirt since I was fifteen. It’s a little tight in places, worn in others, but it’s comfortable and clean. We have a housekeeper, for chrissake. My clothes get washed.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I growl.

“It looks like you pulled those jeans out of the trash.”

“The trash? Seriously? These things cost me a grand.” Yeah, I’ll drop a G on pants. Why not? I can fuckin’ afford it.

“That doesn’t make them any less ugly.”

“Ripped jeans are in. Everybody wears them.”

“Those aren’t ripped. They’re dirty and trashy. Seriously, you look like a hobo.”

There isn’t enough booze in the world that could help me endure this, so I stand up and head for the door. “Thanks for your fashion critique that I didn’t ask for.”

“Wait,” she says irritably. “You can’t go yet. I have a proposition for you.”

Since Felicity hasn’t taken off her clothes yet, I don’t think it’s an offer I’m going to care about. “You’re wearing too much for me to be interested.”

“How about this?” She opens another cabinet and produces a fifth of vodka.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” I make a grab for it, but she whisks it out of my reach. “Tease,” I accuse.

“Sit and I’ll give you this bottle.”

My options include going home and being bored to death or drinking Felicity’s booze and possibly getting laid.

I sit down again.

With a triumphant smile, she hands me the bottle, which I quickly uncap and tip to my lips.

An expression of disgust sweeps over her face. “I can’t believe you’re a Royal.”

“Believe it, baby.”

“Are you ready to hear my proposition?”

“I’m not much of a listener.” I flash a grin. “Why don’t you just go ahead and show me what you’ve got and I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”

“I’m not doing a show and tell,” she says coolly. “Here’s the thing, Easton. I’ve been watching you all week—”

“Stalker much?”

“You’re one to talk,” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “You’ve been chasing after Hartley Wright even though it’s obvious she’s a big waste of your time.”

“She is?” Hartley’s a lot of things. Irritating. Prickly. Hot as shit. But I wouldn’t call her a waste of time.

“Of course she is. She’s pretty and comes from a moderately good family, but she isn’t a Royal. If we were going to rate her on a scale of one to ten in importance, she’d fall somewhere between two and three.”

“My rating scale for people is usually based on how much I want to bang them.”

Felicity ignores me. “You know where you rank on the importance scale?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“Ten.”

“No way!” I mock exclaim.

She ignores that, too. “Sure, you have a scandalous history, but you’re attractive and you have money and your daddy’s family has been around since this place was a colony, so your past is mostly forgivable.”

“Thanks for the positive feedback.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’s not being sarcastic. Which means she didn’t pick up on my sarcasm. This chick’s weird.

I look around restlessly and wonder for the umpteenth time what in the hell Hartley’s doing that I couldn’t do, too. I think it’s time to go. Even the solitude of Dad’s study is more appealing than listening to Felicity drone on about social rankings. Maybe I’ll just cruise by Hartley’s place. See if she’s home and needs a hand.

“Appreciate your eval of me, Felicity, but I’m gonna head home.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“You’ve already spent way too much time assessing my status.” I give her a mocking smile. “When do you have time to do your homework?”

She sniffs. “I don’t need to do homework. Getting ahead in life has nothing to do with grades. You, of all people, should know this.” Her tone is condescending as hell. “Getting ahead is about connections. The person with the best connections will go further than the person with the best grades.”

Sadly, she’s right.

I take another swig of vodka. I figure if I drink this whole bottle, doesn’t matter what Felicity is saying. I won’t be able to hear her. Besides, she seems to know more about Hartley than anyone I’ve run into, and that keeps my ass in the chair. “What else do you know about Hartley?”

Felicity’s eyes gleam. If I was less drunk, I may have been able to read her expression, but her face is beginning to look blurry to me. And her voice sounds blurry, too. Can voices be blurry? They must, because hers totally is.

“She left school three years ago and just came back this summer. She doesn’t really run in our circles.”

“You mean she’s not an entitled asshole like the rest of us?”

Again, my barb falls to the ground. Felicity doesn’t give a shit about me or my opinion. She waves a manicured hand and says, “We’ll come back to Hartley, okay? First, let me tell you what I want.”

I’m starting to think what she wants is not me naked. Damn. Total waste of a night, right here. “Whatever. Just make it fast.”

“I want to sit at the top of Astor,” she says bluntly. “There are a couple ways to do that. Option one—I can take Ella down.”

I straighten up, my shoulders tensing. “Not happening.”

“I could absolutely get it done, sweetie. Luckily, there’s an easier way.” She smiles, and this time, even in my drunken state, I correctly read it as a warning signal.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to be eaten alive?” I mutter.

“Option two—if you can’t overthrow the Royals, then you join them. The easiest way for me to rise to the top is to be with you.”

“I’m not the only Royal around,” I tell her as I get to my feet. The thought of being with Felicity is making me nauseous.

“No, thank you. I’m not interested in the sick little games your brothers play.”

“Hey, now,” I say sharply. No one talks trash about my family. “They’re not sick and they’re not games.”

Felicity wisely backs down. “I’m sorry. You’re right. As part of the Royal family, I shouldn’t insult my boyfriend’s brothers.”

I snort. “Boyfriend?”