“Here.” Money pulls a flask from his jacket and offers it to him.
“Whiskey and wine are a terrible combination,” Malcolm says.
“I can find Oliver. He’ll have something harder.”
“I imagine he will. His brother always had the good stuff in college,” Malcolm says fondly as though the good old days of pharmaceutical drug abuse are happier times.
“Oliver!” Money calls, waving him over. “Got anything for a headache.”
“Seriously?” Oliver asks, creasing his eyebrows.
“I know you do.” Money turns to Malcolm. “He could always hook up the Beta Psis. Xanax. Fentanyl. Bennies.”
He produces a bottle from his jacket. “Man, that was a lifetime ago.”
“You helped drop many a pair of panties,” Money says.
“Rex was the same. We used to call him Cupid.” Malcolm takes the pills Oliver doles out for him.
“I would have thought your bank accounts were enough to do that,” I say dryly. Oliver’s gaze slides uneasily to me.
“Nobody got hurt.” Even he doesn’t believe the lie he’s telling.
“It was just for fun.” Money punches my shoulder. “You were never much for fun, were you, Ford?”
“I guess not.”
“I never did see why my sister was so into you.” He leans closer, the sharp sting of bourbon on his breath.
“Money, don’t you have a date or someone to bother?” Malcolm says, his voice rich with warning. The stroll down memory lane is over.
If Money is distressed at his exile, he doesn’t show it. He shoves the flask back in his jacket and lurches to his feet, throwing an arm around Oliver. It’s not a surprise that any of them enjoyed recreational drugs back in the day or that they shared them with their conquests. I’d seen what those drugs did, though. Watching them stride away, carefree, I make a mental note to add one more name to my list.
19
Sterling
The Past
Some party this is turning out to be.
“You’re so pretty, even when you’re all funny looking.” Adair is blabbering, but now I know for sure she’s been drugged. There is no way she would ever say that on purpose, but it’s nice to have confirmation. I don’t mind knowing the truth. I grab her glass and sniff it while she blabbers something mostly incoherent about being a designated driver.
“Not tonight,” I inform her. What the fuck am I getting myself into with this girl? A torrent of rage bursts out of me, half -directed at her for being stupid enough to get drugged, and half-directed at whatever asshole did it.
I don’t have a choice. Adair might be able to take care of herself normally, but not in this state. Plus, there’s the fact that someone at this party did this. I have no idea who. Are they looking for her now? Waiting for the moment when she’s finally vulnerable? I crouch beside her, unsure what to do. One thing is clear. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Then don’t.” Despite her condition, I hear the plea in her voice. She wants to be saved, even if I’m the one doing the saving. I brush a lock of copper hair from her forehead. She’s going to be trouble. Scooping her into my arms, I barely stand before she goes limp. “Fuck! Adair!” I shake her but she doesn’t stir. Her chest moves just enough to let me know she’s still breathing. “Fuck!”
I’m not sure how someone so small is so heavy. I manage to pry open the back door without dropping her, my eyes never leaving the slight movement of her chest. I’m not sure what to do once I’m inside. I can’t leave her, but I can’t carry her into a party like this. She’s breathing. All I can do is ride this out until she wakes up. I’d rather not do that here, though.
“If you’re up there, I could use some fucking help,” I say to the ceiling. Francie’s the religious one. I’m not even sure I’m asking right.
“Oh my God!” A shrill English accent answers my prayers. The girl she came here with—Poppy—rushes over to me. “What happened?”
“I found her like this,” I tell her. I don’t need her jumping to any unwarranted conclusions about how I wound up with Adair passed out in my arms.
Poppy shakes her head like this doesn’t make sense. “She wasn’t going to drink tonight.”
“She should’ve stuck to that plan,” I say dryly, “especially, since somebody slipped her something.”
“Should we call the police?” She clutches her chest and looks around wildly as if she expects a villain to appear twirling his mustache. The movement sends her stumbling on her heels.
“She’s not in any danger as long as someone keeps an eye on her. I’ve seen this before.” We might not have had mansions to crash in New York, but I’d been to my fair share of parties. Poppy isn’t going to be much help, but I imagine Adair has handmaidens or some shit. Surely, there’s someone capable of taking care of her. “She’s going to feel like shit in the morning, though. Can you get her home? Is there someone we can call?”
Her head shakes so fast she nearly falls over. “Her dad will kill her, and all our friends—”
“Are here drinking,” I finish for her. Of course, they’re all hitting it hard while I get stuck babysitting their queen bee. “Where was she going to take you when this was over?”
“Oh! Adair has the keys to her family’s pool house. You could take her there!”
“Isn’t there a gate?” I’d been to the MacLaine estate for her mom’s funeral, and I couldn’t see how I’d make it past the security, especially not while sneaking princess back onto the property.
“I know the access code,” Poppy says, “I can go with you. I’ll stay with her.”
“No offense, but you’re hardly in a condition to take care of her.” She’s not exactly sober, and I have no idea how much she drank. There’s no way I can just leave Adair like this.
“If you think that I’m going to let you take my unconscious friend
