But if you give them drama, they’ll just give you drama back.”
Charlotte turned to Robby. That was a pretty smart thing to say. Not to mention semi-sweet. The Silver Oaks Guardians of Moral Values weren’t complaining about Stella. They were complaining about Eliza von Klaus. She had stayed in Connecticut, whereas Dad had moved away. And everyone liked Dad better. Never mind that he was a cheating slime-ball; he was suave and charming. Mom was kooky and irritating. Robby was dead-on: It had nothing to do with Stella; it was about the fall from grace.
“So I’m thinking of going as Rob from now on,” Robby announced, apropos of nothing.
“Sorry?”
“Rob. You know, instead of Robby. What do you think? Rob’s a little more adult sounding.” He scratched his buzz cut. “I’m starting college in the fall and whatnot. I can’t go around anymore sounding like a little kid.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure what to make of this bizarre pronouncement. Probably best just to ignore it altogether. “Uh…so what’s the scoop about Valerie?” she asked.
“Here’s the dilly.” He leaned in close, eyeing the rest of the dining room to make sure nobody was listening. “My dad works for First National Bank, right? He represented the Packwoods on some huge deal. He and Mr. Packwoodbecame pretty tight during the whole thing. The Packwoods ended up moving out here.”
Charlotte waited for him to finish. He took another sip of water and cast a longing glance toward the kitchen.
“I’m hungry, yo,” he said.
“That’s it?” she pressed. “That’s Mr. Packwood. What about Valerie?”
Robby lifted his shoulders. “Oh. Nothing. I guess that’s just why she said her family knew mine.”
Charlotte was beginning to suspect that the only reason he’d offered to pay for lunch was because he didn’t want to eat alone—or maybe because he wanted to bounce his new “Rob” identity off a female.
“That’s the dirt?” she finally demanded.
“The dirt is that her dad told my dad that Valerie is all messed up, because all her old friends dissed her. She’s a failure. She pretty much flunked out of her old school. She went to one of those crazy private schools in Manhattan, like Dalton or Spence, but they didn’t ask her back. That’s part of the reason why the Packwoods moved out here. Girl’s got issues. Her brother, Sebastian, is going to some Ivy League college next year, so he’s all taken care of. Have you seen Sebastian? Boy’s got mad gear, yo! Boy rolled up in a Lexus with a platinum-plated vanity license…”
Charlotte tuned him out. That wasn’t exactly dirt—at least not in the fabulous, sexy, or scandalous way she’d been hoping.
“So that’s really it?” she asked. “That’s—”
“Lunch is served!” Jimmy the Bartender barreledthrough the door, carrying their lunches. “One bacon-cheddar with fries, and one Cobb salad.”
Robby scratched his chin as Jimmy set down the plates. “Yo, Jimmy, isn’t it pronounced Cobe?” he asked.
Jimmy shot a quick glance at Charlotte. She laughed. “Cobe?” they both repeated at the same time.
“Yeah. That’s how my mom says it.” He gestured to Charlotte’s plate. “That salad with the bacon and everything. She calls it a Cobe salad.”
Charlotte chewed her lip. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She wasn’t sure why, but that struck her as the silliest thing she’d ever heard. Cobe?
Jimmy waved his hands. “Kid, call it whatever you want.” He winked at Charlotte and headed back to the kitchen.
“So what do you think?” Robby asked, chewing.
“About the salad?” she asked.
“No. About the other thing.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, staring down at her salad. In spite of how good it looked—Cobb or Cobe —she didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. “I guess it doesn’t matter that she’s screwed-up and super-rich, right? Lots of us are.”
He frowned at her as if she’d just spoken in
Charlotte turned to Robby. That was a pretty smart thing to say. Not to mention semi-sweet. The Silver Oaks Guardians of Moral Values weren’t complaining about Stella. They were complaining about Eliza von Klaus. She had stayed in Connecticut, whereas Dad had moved away. And everyone liked Dad better. Never mind that he was a cheating slime-ball; he was suave and charming. Mom was kooky and irritating. Robby was dead-on: It had nothing to do with Stella; it was about the fall from grace.
“So I’m thinking of going as Rob from now on,” Robby announced, apropos of nothing.
“Sorry?”
“Rob. You know, instead of Robby. What do you think? Rob’s a little more adult sounding.” He scratched his buzz cut. “I’m starting college in the fall and whatnot. I can’t go around anymore sounding like a little kid.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure what to make of this bizarre pronouncement. Probably best just to ignore it altogether. “Uh…so what’s the scoop about Valerie?” she asked.
“Here’s the dilly.” He leaned in close, eyeing the rest of the dining room to make sure nobody was listening. “My dad works for First National Bank, right? He represented the Packwoods on some huge deal. He and Mr. Packwoodbecame pretty tight during the whole thing. The Packwoods ended up moving out here.”
Charlotte waited for him to finish. He took another sip of water and cast a longing glance toward the kitchen.
“I’m hungry, yo,” he said.
“That’s it?” she pressed. “That’s Mr. Packwood. What about Valerie?”
Robby lifted his shoulders. “Oh. Nothing. I guess that’s just why she said her family knew mine.”
Charlotte was beginning to suspect that the only reason he’d offered to pay for lunch was because he didn’t want to eat alone—or maybe because he wanted to bounce his new “Rob” identity off a female.
“That’s the dirt?” she finally demanded.
“The dirt is that her dad told my dad that Valerie is all messed up, because all her old friends dissed her. She’s a failure. She pretty much flunked out of her old school. She went to one of those crazy private schools in Manhattan, like Dalton or Spence, but they didn’t ask her back. That’s part of the reason why the Packwoods moved out here. Girl’s got issues. Her brother, Sebastian, is going to some Ivy League college next year, so he’s all taken care of. Have you seen Sebastian? Boy’s got mad gear, yo! Boy rolled up in a Lexus with a platinum-plated vanity license…”
Charlotte tuned him out. That wasn’t exactly dirt—at least not in the fabulous, sexy, or scandalous way she’d been hoping.
“So that’s really it?” she asked. “That’s—”
“Lunch is served!” Jimmy the Bartender barreledthrough the door, carrying their lunches. “One bacon-cheddar with fries, and one Cobb salad.”
Robby scratched his chin as Jimmy set down the plates. “Yo, Jimmy, isn’t it pronounced Cobe?” he asked.
Jimmy shot a quick glance at Charlotte. She laughed. “Cobe?” they both repeated at the same time.
“Yeah. That’s how my mom says it.” He gestured to Charlotte’s plate. “That salad with the bacon and everything. She calls it a Cobe salad.”
Charlotte chewed her lip. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She wasn’t sure why, but that struck her as the silliest thing she’d ever heard. Cobe?
Jimmy waved his hands. “Kid, call it whatever you want.” He winked at Charlotte and headed back to the kitchen.
“So what do you think?” Robby asked, chewing.
“About the salad?” she asked.
“No. About the other thing.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, staring down at her salad. In spite of how good it looked—Cobb or Cobe —she didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. “I guess it doesn’t matter that she’s screwed-up and super-rich, right? Lots of us are.”
He frowned at her as if she’d just spoken in
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