The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  “I am?” I ask. And then I register who’s standing next to her.

  Kade Monroe.

  Kade FREAKING Monroe.

  Hollywood’s biggest movie star. Used his billions to open his own wildly successful production company.

  Here, in front of me. In real life.

  If my heart was pounding before, now it’s thundering.

  “H-hi,” I stutter.

  Kade Monroe extends his hand towards me. “Nice to meet you, Stefi.”

  Is this real life? Did Kade Monroe just say my name? How does he know my name?

  I take his hand and clumsily shake it. “N-nice to meet you too. Sir.”

  He laughs. “Please, Kade is fine.”

  Delia watches our exchange, beaming. “So glad that you two are acquainted. Stefi, dear, I was just telling Kade that you will be taking very good care of him and his family this summer.”

  “I will?” I blurt like an idiot.

  “Indeed,” Delia says cheerily, like having A-list celebrities at her Inn is an everyday occurrence.

  Delia gestures for me to walk with them and we head to the reception together. I’m speechless, trying not to stare at Kade dumbly while Delia finishes checking him in. With a final friendly wave, which I answer with the world’s most awkward salute, Kade leaves the reception.

  I turn to Delia, wide-eyed and burning with curiosity.

  But Delia chuckles heartily. “No need to be so starstruck, dear. Celebrities are people, too. They eat and sleep and use the bathroom like the rest of us.”

  Delia hums to herself as she wanders behind the reception desk and picks up a sheaf of papers. She peers at them over the top of her glasses, seeming to forget my presence.

  “Delia,” I eventually manage, my mind spinning. “What did you mean when you said that I’d be ‘looking after him and his family’ this summer?”

  “Right, yes.” Delia slides her glasses off and sets them on the reception desk. “It was meant to be a bit of a surprise for you, dear. I was so impressed with your work last summer that I decided to assign you a special position this summer.”

  “And that is?”

  “You’ll be Kade Monroe’s personal concierge for the summer. He’s staying in the penthouse for the entire three months with his son, and I’m going to need someone reliable to give them VIP treatment. You’ll clean the penthouse, bring them meals, restock their fridge, and basically act as a housekeeper and assistant for the Monroes.”

  For the second time this morning, I’m speechless.

  Working for a celebrity? Things like this only ever happen in movies, or books, or my wildest dreams. They never happen to me. And the fact that, out of everybody, Delia trusted me to do it…

  My heart is warm at the thought.

  “Thank you, Delia,” I say sincerely. “It’s an honor.”

  She’s beaming again. “You look like you could use a little fun, dear. So here’s a great opportunity to have a new experience or two.”

  I hold back a laugh.

  If only she knew.

  5

  Cooper

  The phone service at Legacy Inn, located in middle-of-nowhere Montana, predictably sucks. I can barely hear what my mom is saying. But I get the message loud and clear — I’m not allowed to come back to LA until I’ve “learned my lesson.”

  Whatever that means.

  There’s no point in explaining that the situation with Lila was a misunderstanding. Or that I was sober at the party while Brody was the one stealing her expensive wine. She wouldn’t believe me anyway. That’s what happens when you’re a C-student whose teachers complain about your “attitude,” and your older brother is enroute to Stanford in the fall.

  I angrily shove my phone into my back pocket and climb into the passenger seat of Dad’s Escalade, resisting the urge to slam the door. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a few deep breaths, reminding myself that I’m only here for the summer. Three months away from everything and everybody.

  Maybe it’ll be good for me.

  Dad pops open the driver’s side door and places an envelope on the console between us.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he says. “We’re checked in. Get through to your mother?”

  I nod, my mouth in a grim line. “Yup. She’s unrelenting. I guess you’re stuck with me for the summer.”

  Dad claps a hand on my shoulder. We’re not close, so the gesture comes off as awkward rather than reassuring. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Why don’t I believe him?

  Dad makes small talk as he drives, looping around the main Legacy Inn building. “The penthouse has its own private entrance, back there and around the corner. Our security team is on the way now with most of our bags, and they’ll be stationed just outside. The manager, Delia, seems really nice. A bit eccentric, but you’ll like her. Apparently, she has a collection of cowboy hats and found a couple of her favorites in LA...”

  He chatters on but my mind can’t stay on topic. I feel like I’m on auto-pilot, barely registering the world around me as we descend into a private parkade.

  Dad is filming a movie in Montana this summer and he booked the penthouse at this Legacy Inn place as his base. He’s from Montana, and he seems thrilled to be back. When he’s in LA, he has a place in Studio City that he bought after he split from my mom years ago. He never remarried, and it’s a total bachelor pad — from what I remember. I haven’t exactly stayed with him much. We spend Christmas with Dad, but we’re usually in St. Barts or St. Thomas. The rest of the year, Mom has full custody of Brody and I. And apparently, Dad likes it that way.

  I grab my backpack from the back of the car, vaguely aware that Dad has stopped talking. I follow him to a sleek silver door and he swipes his keycard. The door slides open and we step into the elevator, riding up in silence.

  Private entrance, indeed.

  But I suppose such a thing is a necessity when trying to avoid the paparazzi. My dad managed to keep his summer plans safely out of view of the tabloids. Here’s hoping we can keep a low profile this summer.

  The elevator doors open and we walk down a small hallway to a large wooden door. Dad swipes his keycard and we walk into the Legacy Inn penthouse.

  It’s not what I expected. While the main Inn has a distinct wood-chalet vibe, the huge, modern penthouse feels like stepping into another world. Think two storeys of luxurious furnishings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a rooftop patio with a hot tub and infinity pool. Not to mention the mountain views are amazing.

  Under any other circumstance, I’d dig this Legacy place.

  We walk around the massive apartment and Dad explains that the upper floor of the penthouse is where we’ll be living. Downstairs has been converted to a studio and office for him to work when he’s not on set. It sounds like he’s planning on working all summer. Which means even more alone time for me.

  After the tour, Dad hovers next to me. “Okay, kiddo, make yourself at home. I’m gonna get to work.”

  He smiles his trademark smile and I feel somewhat uneasy. Everybody in America knows Dad’s face— he’s one of the most famous people in Hollywood. His characteristic green eyes grace TV and movie screens everywhere. Brody and I have heard multiple times that we take after our dad. But sometimes, when I look at him, it’s like I’m looking at a stranger.

  I give him a pinched smile. “Sounds good, Dad.” Then, I decide to try my luck. “Can I take the car? Go explore the area?”

  Dad frowns and his cheeks turn spotted red. He looks deeply uncomfortable, but who can blame him? He’s not exactly a pro at this parenting thing. “‘Fraid not, Coop. You’re grounded, remember?”

  I nod, and I must look crestfallen because he continues. “Look. Your mother made the rules, and it’s my job to follow them. You’re not allowed to go anywhere until you’ve demonstrated some maturity and responsibility.”

  I sigh, accepting my fate. There’s no point in arguing. Mom has obviously given him the full, blow-by-blow account of what she th
inks happened. And Dad isn’t one to get tangled in our family dramas.

  My silence irks him, though. He rubs his stubble and leans forward conspiratorially. “Look, Coop, I don’t like you being trapped here anymore than you do. But your mom... She doesn’t trust your behavior lately. Trust has to be earned, and you’re meant to stay here until you’ve earned it. So, why don’t you hang tight, show me that you’re taking your mom’s punishment seriously, and once that’s established, we can look at having you go out. Okay?”

  I shrug. “Okay.”

  What else can I do?

  “Good.” Dad grins. “Your mother will be happy to hear that. And in the meantime, I’ll get you a satellite phone so you have better service. That way, you can at least check in with your friends at home.”

  “Sounds great.”

  I don’t think Dad picks up on the sarcasm, and maybe that’s for the best. He gives me one last, bashful grin before he disappears into his office. He likely won’t be out for hours.

  I know that my dad started his career as an actor. By the time I came along, he was an A-list movie star, a VIP guest at all of the biggest promotions, events, and awards ceremonies. When he started dabbling in production and directing movies, I don’t think anyone expected just how successful he’d be. Within months of opening his production company, he’d hit the millions. Now? He’s a straight billionaire.

  As for me? I might be his son, but I know very, very little about what his job actually looks like. I’ve never been to work with him or cared to find out more about it. And, he keeps that part of his life tucked away from me. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  I turn away from my dad’s office door, and assess the beautiful, vast, sterile, modern space that will be my home for the next few months. The silence makes me uncomfortable. With a sigh, I follow the distant sound of chirping birds and head to the rooftop patio. The view is stunning — sun-soaked, snow-capped mountain vistas for miles.

  I lean against the cool metal railing and goosebumps shoot up my arms. It’s weird being here with Dad. We don’t spend a lot of time alone, and I haven’t lived with him longer than a couple of weeks since my parents divorced over ten years ago. He seems to be trying, though.

  Maybe this will be good for me and him.

  Maybe.

  My gaze wanders lazily around the grounds of the Legacy Inn. A lone figure walks by the main building, striding purposefully like a woman on a mission. I notice her dark hair pulled tight into a ponytail, her slender physique.

  It’s the girl who was trying to get past me earlier. She must be about my age. Cute, too. But, she looks so hyper-focused that it almost makes me laugh.

  I watch her dart around busily, and I bite my lip. I shouldn’t have been so rude to her. There was no need for that, she did nothing wrong. I was so wrapped up in my phone conversation that I forgot my manners.

  If I see her again, I’ll apologize. I might be trapped here, but it isn’t her fault. I can do better.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I jump in surprise. I take it out and check the screen. Here, on the roof, I have three bars of service. A silver lining, already.

  But, the message is just an automatic notification from my carrier. Other than that? Nothing.

  Since I left, I haven’t gotten any messages from people back home. Not Mom, not Brody. Not even Lila, who used to text me roughly every five minutes before she heard about my summer exile. I guess I’m not exactly useful to her anymore. Can’t get her into any parties or A-list events from here, can I?

  I run my fingers along the exterior of my phone, watching the screen fade to black. For a moment, I thought that Lila was different. She seemed more… real, more genuine and sincere. But maybe not. Maybe she’s just like everyone else.

  Back in LA, I felt alone even when I was surrounded by a million people.

  Here in Montana, I’m well and truly, physically, alone.

  I’m not sure which is worse.

  6

  Stefi

  My body is still buzzing from the news that I’ll be working for Kade Monroe this summer.

  Things like this don’t happen to people like me. Wait until I call my mom and tell her. She’s a huge fan of his and has followed his career closely — from when he was a high school kid starring in budget movies, to now, with three Golden Globes under his belt and his own wildly successful production company, Monroe Movies.

  Seeing as Kade checked in this morning, there’s not much work to do just yet. Delia has asked me to drop off an extravagant welcome basket and check that he’s settling in okay. She’s also given me a work phone with satellite service, so I can be at Kade’s beck and call.

  As I walk towards the entrance to Kade’s penthouse, armed with the huge basket and a special-access keycard for the private elevator, I almost feel like I’m in a movie myself. I worked here for an entire summer last year, and I didn’t even know that Legacy Inn had a penthouse. Delia, for her wild and colorful ways, sure can keep a secret.

  I smile to myself absentmindedly and run my fingers over the keycard. After this small task, Delia has given me the rest of the day off. Which means peaceful, blissful, uninterrupted hours to focus on my essay. Aside from that rude boy outside reception this morning — who was he anyway? — this summer is already shaping up to be an excellent one.

  With a happy sigh, I greet the security guard positioned in the lobby. He checks for my name on an access sheet, then waves me in.

  I read his name badge and smile. “Thanks, Greg.”

  As I ride up in the elevator, I think about my day. Maybe I’ll take my books to the beach, spend a few hours in the sunshine and brainstorm essay topics. Or, I could go to the beautiful meadow at the edge of the grounds. I could even take a hike — there are tons of wonderful hiking trails in the area. Maybe the exercise will help me think.

  I step out of the elevator cab and into a small, elegant hallway. I didn’t realize that this level of fancy could exist at a place like Legacy Inn.

  I spot the door at the end of the hallway and walk towards it. Summoning everything I’ve ever learned in yoga class, I take the biggest, most calming breath I can muster.

  Then, I knock on the door.

  There’s no answer.

  After a few minutes, I knock again.

  Silence on the other side of the door. Maybe Kade’s not home?

  I shift from foot to foot, unsure whether I should come back later. I poise myself for a third and final knock when the door flies open.

  My eyes grow wide and the breath leaves my body.

  The rude stranger — the one from this morning — stands in front of me, dressed in only swim shorts. And he’s even more gorgeous close up.

  My heart kicks into overdrive and I leap backwards, almost dropping the welcome basket. What is he doing here?

  But, instead of articulating a coherent sentence or greeting, all I’m aware of is the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt. I have no idea where to look, so I focus on a spot on the door jamb to the left of his head. In the corner of my eye, I notice the stranger looking me up and down lazily.

  He shoots me a smile. “Can I help you?”

  The words, this time, aren’t nearly as sharp and agitated as they were earlier, but I still feel taken off guard. I scramble for a response, my cheeks burning. “I — Um. Sorry. Must have the wrong room.”

  My head swivels back and forth.

  This is the penthouse, isn’t it? Could there be two penthouses?

  His mouth quirks upwards, as if he’s taking pleasure in my embarrassment. “And what room are you looking for? Maybe I really can help you.”

  “The, uh... The penthouse.”

  “You have the right room.” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sorry I took so long to get to the door, I was about to go for a swim.” Then, he looks me up and down again. “Are you here to join me? You don’t look dressed for a swim.”

  There’s something about the careless, lazy way he
says this, the way his black coffee eyes sparkle with amusement. I feel like I’m blushing from head to toe.

  I need to get out of here.

  “I’m...” I clear my throat and shake myself off. I look at him levelly, steeling myself against his amused gaze. “I’m looking for the Monroe penthouse. I think I do have the wrong room.”

  Another grin shows off a set of straight, very white teeth. He extends his hand towards me, his expression friendly. “Cooper Monroe.” My mouth drops open, and he quickly adds, “Kade Monroe’s offspring.”

  That explains it.

  My back shoots ramrod straight and I berate myself for my unprofessional demeanor. I’m blushing again, but for a different reason.

  “Oh, Mr. Monroe. Sir. I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks. “I’m Stefi. Your, uh, housekeeper.”

  His gaze settles on mine and I resist the urge to look away. I have the strangest feeling — like he somehow knows everything about me with just that one glance. “Hello Stefi, my uh-housekeeper. I need you to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?” I ask. Why is my mouth dry?

  His dark eyes are big and urgent, like he’s depending on my promise. My heart does something funny in my chest. “I need you to promise me that you will never call me “sir” or “Mr. Monroe” again. Can you promise me that?”

  “Of course…” I stammer, frowning. “So what should I call you, s—”

  I bite my tongue before the “sir” can escape my lips.

  He smiles and my heart does that weird thing again. “Cooper’s perfect.”

  “Cooper, it is,” I manage. My voice is barely louder than a squeak.

  “Thank you.” He leans an arm against the doorframe, propping himself up casually. He looks me up and down again and I shuffle from foot to foot. “Now that that’s settled, I believe we’ve already met. And I do apologize for my rudeness this morning. It’s hardly an excuse, but I was having a bit of a crisis.”

  Is this guy for real?

  Unsure whether he’s joking, I laugh nervously. But Cooper keeps staring at me, his gaze disarming. My heart is still beating funny. I’m probably having ginger ale withdrawals.