The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5)

by Krista Sandor

  Monica couldn’t help but smile. Unlike Andrea, Courtney was bright, worked hard, and never conformed to the entitled debutant stereotype like most of her classmates. “You’re going to totally kick-ass, Court,” Monica said. “Stanford won’t know what hit them.”

  “Doesn’t your family own some companies out near San Francisco?” Andrea asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.

  Monica couldn’t help but roll her eyes for real this time. She had learned at a very young age that the rich were experts at keeping track of other people’s wealth and financial standing.

  “Yeah, we’ve got a few biotech businesses nearby in Palo Alto.”

  Andrea swished her hair to the other shoulder. “And you, Monica—you’re staying here and going to community college, right?”

  A lump formed in Monica’s throat. She swallowed past it and lifted her chin. “That’s the plan for now, but I’m saving up to have some headshots taken. I spoke with a woman at a modeling agency. She said I have real potential.”

  Andrea crossed her arms. The gesture reminded Monica of her disapproving grandmother. “You’re still considering modeling? Are you sure that’s a realistic career choice?”

  Monica lifted her chin. “I’m not considering it. I’m going to pursue it. I think I’ve got a good chance at making it big.”

  Andrea narrowed her gaze. “But while you go to community college and work at your grandmother’s bakery, right?”

  Heat burned in Monica’s chest. She bit the inside of her cheek. The pain did little to quell the resentment pulsing in angry waves throughout her body. She had held her tongue for many years. Smiled past all the condescending comments about how sweet it was that she was the baker’s granddaughter. How cute it must be to make pastries and cupcakes at the crack of dawn. How fortunate she was to be able to attend Sacred Heart on a scholarship.

  She parted her lips, ready to unload on the spoiled brat when Courtney touched her arm.

  “Monica, you’re absolutely gorgeous. I know you’re going to make it as a model. They would be crazy not to put you on the cover of every magazine.”

  Monica met her friend’s gaze, and her disdain dialed back a notch.

  “Absolutely,” Andrea echoed. “You know I’m always rooting for you, Monica. But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t help you see all the sides of your situation.”

  Andrea looked her up and down then glanced at her reflection in the car’s window and swished her hair, tangling her finger into the dyed golden locks. A triumphant surge edged out the anger in Monica’s heart. Her beauty was her only currency in the world of the rich and the privileged. It was the only thing she had that Andrea didn’t. But just as the thrill of besting Andrea washed over her, it was accompanied by shame. Her hand went to her necklace, and she fingered the locket she had worn since she was just a little girl.

  A yellow Porsche Boxster sped toward them, engine roaring. The bright sports car swerved in and then screeched to a stop, coming inches from rear-ending Andrea’s new Mercedes.

  “Hey!” Andrea called out, resting her hand on her hip in a pathetic attempt to look sexy. She pouted as Chip Wilkes and Andrea’s boyfriend, Bryson Vanderkamp, got out of the car.

  Bryson grabbed a basketball from the car’s floorboard and tossed it over the vehicle to Chip. Then he dipped back down and pulled out a duffle bag.

  “Ladies,” Chip said, acknowledging the girls. Bryson went to Andrea but not before letting his gaze trail up Monica’s legs.

  Courtney gave her twin brother a playful punch to the arm. “Why all the fanfare for a game of two-on-two?”

  You would have never known that Courtney and Chip were twins. Chip’s brown hair was a few shades darker than Courtney’s. And while Courtney shared her French mother’s delicate features, Chip took after his Midwestern father’s more rounded, corn-fed attributes.

  Chip threw Monica a teasing look. “I knew Monica would want to see me before we left for France.”

  “Whatever,” she answered, but the smile gracing her lips negated her disinterested response.

  “Really, Chip. What’s up?” Courtney asked, again.

  A devious look crossed his face, and he pulled out a set of keys. “I was able to get these from the gardener.”

  “You want us to go drive around in some old landscaper’s truck?” Andrea asked, pinning Chip and then Bryson with a horrified gaze.

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Andrea. Our gardener also works at the Langley Park Botanic Gardens. We’re getting in after hours with these,” he jingled the keys, “and then we’re going to partake in some libations.”

  Bryson opened the duffle bag. A bottle of vodka and a two-liter of lemon-lime soda sat between several loose red plastic cups.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Chip,” Courtney said. “We’re leaving—”

  “I’m in,” Monica blurted out, cutting off her friend.

  “Monica!”

  “Court, you’re leaving tomorrow. You’ve got the entire summer to be wild and carefree.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be icing a wedding cake in twelve hours. If this is my only chance to celebrate graduating high school, I want to take it.”

  Chip’s gaze washed over her body. “See, Monica’s up for some fun.”

  “Me, too!” Andrea said with another swish of hair.

  “I still don’t get why you wanted us to come and watch you play basketball,” Courtney asked, a note of irritation in her voice.

  Chip tossed the basketball into the air and caught it. “It’s against the MacCarron kid and his cousin.”

  Courtney’s brow knit together. “Dad’s attorney’s son?”

  “Yeah, he was at the house the other day with his father. We went out to shoot a few hoops while the old men were talking about the trust. The little shit beat me at one-on-one, so I suggested a rematch.” Chip shifted his gaze. “Fucking finally! Here he is now.”

  A white late model Range Rover pulled up, and Monica looked over her shoulder. She knew Mrs. MacCarron from when she would stop in at the bakery and place orders, but she couldn’t remember meeting her son.

  “Wilkes,” the redheaded driver of the Rover said with a cocky smile.

  “Ready to lose, MacCarron?” Chip shot back.

  Monica’s gaze moved from the Rover’s driver to its passenger, and she gasped.

  2

  Gabe Sinclair stared up at the rusty basketball hoop affixed to the top of his carriage house garage and lined up his shot. After a day lifting boxes and loading trucks for his father’s local moving company, his arms and legs were spent, and he was sticky with sweat and dust, but his body needed the focused release basketball provided. His mind needed the challenge of coordinating his movements while zeroing in on one goal: toss a ball through a hoop. Beads of perspiration trailed down his back as he dribbled the basketball a few times then bent his knees and made the shot. The satisfying swish of net and whoosh of air pulled his attention away from the shit day he’d spent under his father’s constant scrutiny. He was about to set up another shot when a voice caught his attention.

  “Gabe, I’m going to need you to help me out.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the white, older-model Range Rover idling on the side of the road. His cousin, Michael MacCarron, grinned at him from the driver’s seat.

  Gabe shook his head. “Cuz, I spent the last eight hours loading up a truck full of some old lady’s stuff. She must have been a librarian or something. I carried at least fifty boxes packed to the top with books. Do you know how fucking heavy boxes of books are?”

  Michael pointed at the basketball in Gabe’s hands. “Yet here you are, shooting hoops.”

  “I don’t get to sit in an office all day twiddling my thumbs,” Gabe shot back and instantly felt like an asshole.

  A beat of silence passed, and neither said a word.

  Gabe bent down and rested his elbows on the car door. “I take it back, Michael. I know working at your d
ad’s law office is no picnic.”

  Michael nodded. “Is your dad around?”

  “No, he’s at the office. We finished up early today.”

  Michael’s grin returned. “Then you’ve got some time to kick a little prep school ass with me.”

  Gabe leaned in. “Are you going to fight someone? What the hell happened? That’s not like you.”

  “Nothing like that,” Michael said with a chuckle. “I was with my dad a couple of days ago at the Wilkes estate in Mission Springs. Mr. Wilkes wanted to make some changes to his family trust. I shot some hoops with his son, Chip. Didn’t your dad’s company move some boxes into a storage facility for them?”

  Gabe straightened up and gripped the basketball a fraction tighter. “Yeah, we did. That kid is a giant asshole. He laid into one of the packers because he didn’t like the way she taped up a box of his little league trophies. He made the poor lady cry. Please tell me you kicked the entitled fucker’s ass.”

  “I did, but he asked for a rematch. That’s why I need your help. It’s a two-on-two game at the rec center.”

  “When?” Gabe asked.

  Michael grinned. “Now.”

  Gabe shook his head, opened the passenger door, and slid onto the seat. “That’s some great timing you’ve got there, cuz.”

  Michael shifted the car into drive and maneuvered into traffic. “I almost forgot about it. I was working on a few techno tracks when I looked down at my watch. Today was prep’s last day of school before summer break. Chippy is off to the south of France tomorrow, so today was the only time that worked for him.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Gabe laughed. “How nice of him to fit us in! I’m assuming they’ll be jet-setting across the Atlantic on a private plane filled with caviar and whatever the hell the super-rich drink.”

  “I don’t know about the caviar or their booze, but I know they’ve got a plane.”

  Gabe sat back and spun the basketball. “Can you even imagine a life like that? I mean I know you guys do all right, your dad’s a big attorney, but private planes and houses in France? It seems unreal.”

  “It’s a villa,” Michael said, throwing him a cheeky grin.

  Gabe returned the smile. “Of course, it is.”

  Forget the sprawling estates of Mission Springs, Gabe thanked his lucky fucking stars his family could afford to live in Langley Park. Their bungalow style home on the west side of town was bought and paid for by his deceased grandparents—a saving grace because there was no way they would be able to afford a mortgage payment. His father’s moving company was getting edged out by larger operations. They were doing less and less business every year. And to complicate matters more, his father had recently hurt his back trying to get a refrigerator onto the damn truck and had switched into a more advisory role. This meant he basically spent ninety-nine percent of his time bitching at Gabe.

  His older brother, Sam, was off at college. He’d earned a scholarship—a golden ticket that had gotten him out of Langley Park. Sam had also figured out ways to work near school even during the summer months. Gabe couldn’t blame him for staying away, but he missed his brother. He glanced over at his cousin. Michael and Sam looked more like brothers than he and Sam ever did, sharing the same auburn hair, emerald green eyes, and fair skin. He, on the other hand, looked more like his father with his dark hair, sage green eyes, and dimples. The MacCarron and Sinclair men did share one trait in common. Like his father, uncle, brother, and cousin, they all stood over six three.

  Michael headed east on Bellflower Street but passed the turn to the rec center.

  “Did you forget your way?” Gabe asked, spinning the basketball.

  Michael took the next turn. “I wanted a second to talk to you. There may be a few spectators at the basketball court.”

  “Like who? Who the hell would want to watch Chip Wilkes play basketball?”

  “I’m pretty sure Chip’s sister is friends with the girl from the bakery.”

  Gabe stopped spinning the ball. “Yeah?” he answered, attempting casual.

  “I drove past the courts before swinging by to pick you up. There were a couple of cars already there.”

  “Let me guess, a Ferrari and a Corvette?”

  “You’re close. A Beamer and a Mercedes.” Michael’s lips curled into a smirk. “I just wanted you to be ready in case she was there. You know, play it cool.”

  Gabe pinned his cousin with his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be cool?”

  “Three years ago, when you were sick as a dog and I helped you out with your paper route, you still insisted on delivering the town center’s papers.”

  Gabe spun the basketball in rapid spirals. “I wanted to make sure it was done right. Those merchants depend on getting their papers way more than the people in the neighborhood.”

  “That’s your story?” Michael asked.

  “That’s my story,” Gabe echoed.

  “I went back and walked through the town center at fucking too early in the morning, cuz. The place was completely dead except for one shop. Should I tell you which one or can we just agree on who you wanted to see at the ass crack of dawn?”

  “Jesus, Michael!” Gabe said on a frustrated exhale. “I know you don’t want to become an attorney like your dad, but you’re pretty fucking good at cornering people with evidence.”

  Michael glanced over. “So, you’ll be fine? No issue if Monica’s there?”

  Gabe gritted his teeth. He loved his cousin, but he didn’t like hearing another guy say her name. He waited for a beat for the anger to dissipate. “I saw her this morning.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Michael answered with a teasing grin.

  “No, I mean, I went up to the door. She was there wiping down the glass, and I walked up.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  A stupid grin spread across his face. “Nah, she had some cake batter or icing, I don’t know, some baking stuff on her cheek, and I pointed to it.”

  “You did what?” Michael asked. His voice caught between a laugh and a groan.

  “I didn’t point and gawk at her. I’m not an idiot. I gestured to my face and then gestured to hers.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She kind of held the cloth she was using to clean the window with up against her cheek and turned and ran away.”

  “Christ, Gabe!” Michael sighed.

  “I don’t know. It all happened really fast.”

  “Does she even know who you are?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s never looked my way when I pass by.”

  Michael shook his head. “Are we good, cuz? We can still back out of this.”

  Gabe pressed the basketball into his knee to keep it from bouncing. He’d never seen Monica outside the bakery. The girl was kind of a legend. The whole town knew she was the baker’s granddaughter, but she went to the all-girls Catholic school in Mission Springs and never mixed with the public school kids in Langley Park. He never saw her at parties or out hanging out in the neighborhood parks after dark. She was like a princess, locked away inside the bakery, waiting for her prince to come and rescue her.

  And then there was her face. Her eyes. The curve of her neck. The elegant set of her slight shoulders. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he was, and she moved like a dancer with her shiny black hair pulled up into a bun while a dark wave of bangs brushed past her eyelashes. She was constantly pushing them out of the way with the back of her hand. He had watched her do this hundreds, maybe thousands of times. A day never passed when he didn’t want to be the one brushing the dark strands aside and tucking them behind her ears. There would be mornings where he would park his bike and watch her plate strudels on the display racks or expertly ice cupcakes. It was intoxicating. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, encased inside the bakery’s picture window like a living piece of art.

  Gabe released a shaky breath and gave his cousin a slight nod. “We’re fucking golden. I’ll
be fine.”

  Michael turned onto Baneberry Drive. They passed the rec center, and the basketball courts came into view. Three girls and two guys stood clustered together near a canary yellow Porsche Boxster. Gabe zeroed in on Monica instantly. She was wearing her school uniform. All the girls were. But when he saw Monica in the red plaid skirt and knee socks, his cock twitched.

  Fucking, Christ!

  He could not get out of the car sporting a boner, but he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her in her uniform before. During the school year, she wore it every morning while she worked in the bakery. White knee socks and sweet Mary Jane flats. Legs that went for miles. And that fucking skirt. It brushed past the tops of her knees, the pleats calling out to him, taunting him. He wanted to grip the material in his hands and slide it up her thighs. He wanted to feel every creamy inch of her toned legs wrapped around him.

  Gabe shook his head. He had to get it together, but his need to know everything about this girl would not let up. She wasn’t wearing the little red sweater vest today and had rolled the sleeves of her white Oxford shirt, exposing her forearms. Her blouse had a few buttons undone, and the hint of lace peeked out from beneath the starched fabric.

  Michael slapped the basketball Gabe forgot he was still holding. “I know, dude. Thank Christ we never had to wear uniforms.”

  Gabe nodded then his chest tightened as Chip Wilkes stepped forward.

  “Wilkes,” Michael called out.

  “Ready to lose, MacCarron?” Chip replied with a cocky grin.

  Gabe sat paralyzed. Monica stared at him for a beat then two. She drew her fingers across her bangs, brushing them to the side. His fingers gripped the ball in his lap, his knuckles nearly white.

  “Let me park, and then we can get started,” Michael called to Chip as he pulled the Rover in front of the convertible BMW. He glanced at Gabe. “I hope you know; we need to fucking beat these guys.”

  Gabe checked the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of Chip wrapping his arms around Monica playfully. She pushed him back, laughing. It was stupid horseplay, but that didn’t stop a surge of determined ferocity from coursing through his veins. “Oh, we’re going to win. No doubt about that.”