He Loves You Not (Serendipity Book 2) Read online

  ALSO BY TARA BROWN

  The Serendipity Series

  Fling Club

  The Devil’s Roses

  Cursed

  Bane

  Hyde

  Witch

  Death

  Blackwater

  Midnight Coven

  Redeemers

  Betrayers

  The Born Trilogy

  Born

  Born to Fight

  Reborn

  The Light Series

  The Light of the World

  The Four Horsemen

  The End of Days

  Imaginations

  Imaginations

  Duplicities

  Reparations

  Blood and Bone

  Blood and Bone

  Sin and Swoon

  Soul and Blade

  Crimson Cove Mysteries

  If At First

  Second Nature

  Third Time’s a Charm

  Four Crimson Corners

  Hang Five

  The Blood Trail Chronicles

  Vengeance

  Vanquished

  Valiant

  The Seventh Day

  The Seventh Day

  The Last Hour

  The Earth’s End

  The Single Lady Spy Series

  The End of Me

  The End of Games

  The End of Tomorrow

  The End of Lies

  The End of Love

  The Royals Trilogy

  A Royal Pain

  A Royal Affair

  A Royal Wedding

  The Lonely Duet

  The Lonely

  Lost Boy

  Puck Buddies

  Puck Buddies

  Roommates

  Bed Buddies

  Baby Daddies

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Lost in La La Land

  My Side

  The Long Way Home

  First Kiss

  Sunder

  In the Fading Light

  For Love or Money

  Sinderella

  Beauty’s Beast

  The Club

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Tara Brown

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Skyscape, New York

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503903197

  ISBN-10: 1503903192

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  For Sarah, one day we will meet for a glazed raspberry bun.

  Until then, thank you.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One WRONG SIDE OF THE SUBWAY TRACKS

  Chapter Two THE NOT SO PRODIGAL SON

  Chapter Three TITANIC MISTAKES

  Chapter Four THE BEST-LAID PLANS

  Chapter Five THE LAST BEST WEEKEND

  Chapter Six REALITY BITES

  Chapter Seven JUST BUGGING YA

  Chapter Eight BROTHERS AND BUGS

  Chapter Nine GRAY SKIES AND FANCY LIES

  Chapter Ten STARFISH

  Chapter Eleven SELF-RESPECT

  Chapter Twelve THE DINNER DATE

  Chapter Thirteen MAN TESTER

  Chapter Fourteen CINDERELLA’S FIFTY BUCKS

  Chapter Fifteen THE TEST DUMMY

  Chapter Sixteen TROUBLE IN LOVE?

  Chapter Seventeen MARCELLO

  Chapter Eighteen SEXIER THAN WONDER WOMAN

  Chapter Nineteen NEVER EVER

  Chapter Twenty SATAN’S MISTRESS

  Chapter Twenty-One DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

  Chapter Twenty-Two FREEDOM, FOR A COST

  Chapter Twenty-Three SCUMBAGS EVERYWHERE

  Chapter Twenty-Four SHOTS!

  Chapter Twenty-Five SNOW WHITE

  Chapter Twenty-Six NOT ENOUGH SOAP IN THE WORLD

  Chapter Twenty-Seven THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WORLD

  Chapter Twenty-Eight GET IN HER PANTS

  Chapter Twenty-Nine HOW CAN THIS GET WORSE?

  Chapter Thirty FELT MOVEMENT

  Chapter Thirty-One A MATTER OF THE “HART”

  Chapter Thirty-Two SPERMIDINE IS NOT A THING

  Chapter Thirty-Three WHAT HAPPENS IN THE LIMO, STAYS IN THE LIMO

  Chapter Thirty-Four GHOSTING AND OTHER BASIC THINGS TO DO

  Chapter Thirty-Five THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN

  Chapter Thirty-Six CONFESSIONS

  Chapter Thirty-Seven HOUSE HUNTING

  Chapter Thirty-Eight TMZ CONFIRMED

  Chapter Thirty-Nine PUT THE MOTHER IN SMOTHER

  Chapter Forty HEARTBURN

  Chapter Forty-One STEPH’S PSYCHIC LINE

  Chapter Forty-Two THE END OF CINDERELLA

  Chapter Forty-Three JERK-OFF SOCKS

  Epilogue

  Check out the . . .

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  WRONG SIDE OF THE SUBWAY TRACKS

  Lacey

  “I’m here, hurry up!” Marcia’s voice booming from the front door up the stairs of my family’s brownstone made me smile.

  “Coming!” I squealed, grabbing my sunscreen and stuffing it in my bag with everything else I might need. Marcia’s ability to tan in all conditions, even under the raging midday sun on the open ocean while drinking a margarita, was the thing I envied the most about her. It was like even the sun knew she was too precious to burn. Whereas my mortal flesh would scorch under the umbrella and through my clothes . . .

  Thumping down the stairs, I was met with kind brown eyes and a soft smile at the bottom where my grandma was standing in front of Marcia.

  “Have fun, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” I leaned in and kissed her wrinkled cheek, inhaling a little of the perfume she wore every day, even when she didn’t leave the house or take her apron off.

  “Is Martin back yet from his doctor’s appointment?” I asked her. “I was gonna see if he wanted to come with us to a boat party later. Friday night and end of the year and all.” My younger brother had been out all day yesterday and was now at some doctor’s appointment with my mom, so I hadn’t seen him since school ended. Having a nurse for a mom meant the slightest sniffle was cause for alarm. His lingering cough and sore throat from the flu he’d come down with had Mom convinced he had mono. Poor guy. He probably hadn’t even kissed a real girl yet but would still somehow die from the kissing disease if Mom had the diagnosis right. She and Grandma liked babying him. And he liked it too. It meant snacks delivered to his room so he didn’t have to pause his video game, and crusts meticulously cut off his grilled cheese.

  He milked it, and I couldn’t say if given the chance, I wouldn’t do the same. We just didn’t get the same opportunities.

  “No. They’re still out.” Grandma’s smiled wanly, and the strange look in her eyes flashed concern. No doubt she, too, thought Martin was suffering from mono, and she was already planning her strategy to nurse him back to health with home-cooked meals and hot water bottles propped under his back.

  I, on the other hand, knew he was fine. Fine enough to send spam texts about the new superhero movie coming out, like I cared.

  “Too bad. Martin would have so much fun. That boat will
be loaded with hotties—the perfect way for a seventeen-year-old guy to start the summer.” Marcia winked, but her charming grin faded after a moment of contemplation. “Although I’m not entirely sure I could stand to watch him hit on girls.”

  “Or have girls hit on him.” I wrinkled my nose. “Maybe we should reconsider inviting him out from now on.”

  Martin was equally Marcia’s and my favorite person. He was funny, sarcastic, witty, and always such a homebody. He was starting senior year in September, and I wanted him to have fun, to stop missing out on the good times that being a young, connected person afforded him.

  “I’ll send him a text to see if he wants to meet up. See ya Sunday night, Grandma.” I hugged her hard and took a cookie from the plate she was holding.

  Marcia was already chewing away on one, moaning. “Your cookies are the best, Grandma. My dad hired a pastry chef from Alsace, and even his cookies aren’t this good.” She stepped back, shimmering in the sunlight like a Greek goddess, no doubt the result of some ridiculously expensive highlighter made from the souls of seahorses and only distributed to the wealthy elite.

  “Oh, Marcia, stop. And don’t text Martin to come party with you two. He’s not old enough for your kind of trouble. Leave him be. He’s a good boy.” Grandma waved Marcia off, not taking even a sip of the flattery lingering in the air. She didn’t like Marcia much; entitled was the way Grandma described the entire La Croix family, based strictly on the fact that they were wealthier than anyone needed to be. It wasn’t like they could help being rich, the same way Grandma couldn’t help being widowed, but she didn’t let Marcia get away with anything as far as behavior or attitude went for that reason alone.

  Marcia didn’t seem offended, though. It was a weird relationship to witness. Almost like Marcia needed a firm hand sometimes and Grandma knew it.

  “Have a good weekend, Grandma!” I hurried out the door, letting her close it.

  “Can we please call a car?” Marcia complained as we hurried up the street away from my parents’ house toward the subway station.

  “No.” I scowled at her, feigning disappointment. “Don’t hate on the subway. I saw Keanu Reeves riding last week. If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for you.”

  “What does Keanu Reeves have to do with me?” She arched a perfectly shaped dark eyebrow.

  “He’s way more famous than you, dick.” I smirked as we left Third Street and crossed Smith, hurrying for the Carroll Street station.

  “He is not! I have way more followers on Instagram, firstly, and secondly, I guarantee his ass wasn’t getting on the subway in the hood.” She glanced around as we descended into the dim lighting that flickered as if it were sending Morse code. To her, the message would be a warning the way it was a greeting to me.

  “Oh my God,” I said with a groan, so tired of defending Brooklyn to everyone I knew. “Not today, Satan. It’s our first Friday of summer break. You need to keep that ’tude in check.”

  Getting down to the subway platform was one thing; Marcia survived by holding her finger under her nose, sniffing her rose-oil moisturizer to avoid smelling the warm recycled air down there and rocking her best don’t-mess-with-me expression. Actually getting her onto the subway car was always a whole other endeavor.

  She was confident and cool to an outsider’s perspective, but the second she got onto the train, her body tensed, she panicked, and her eyes darted both ways as if to ascertain which direction was less offensive. Her hands balled as she stared in violent jerks from the pole to the seat—pole, seat, pole, seat—and her upper lip glistened just slightly before she decided on a seat, wincing as the hard plastic squeaked under her.

  I slumped beside her and shook my head, whispering, “I think it’s getting worse. It took eleven seconds for you to choose. Last time was only six.”

  “Shut up,” she whispered back, her eyes surveying the people next to us, sizing them up to determine a threat level.

  She couldn’t see it, but all of them were just living their lives—reading, texting, closing their eyes for the moment of rest they saw the subway as, or even staring into space and processing. They weren’t out to get her with poor-people germs or gang-life plans.

  Life in Brooklyn, and almost every place in New York City, was nothing like where we were going.

  Where Marcia lived was a different world entirely.

  She wasn’t just wealthy. She was also the queen bee of our group. In fact, she was the queen bee of our school, which was saying something. NYU was filled with rich kids; being wealthy was nearly a prerequisite to attend. The tuition was higher than almost every other school in the country.

  Last I checked, we were number three for getting raked over the coals for costs. But NYU was a great school with excellent academic ranks, which was why I chose it. And I didn’t have to move, which cut the cost a lot for me. Considering I had only a very partial scholarship, cutting that housing cost corner meant I could still afford something resembling a life. Commuting twenty minutes each way to college and staying with my parents was the best way for me to graduate debt free. Although living at home was not ideal, I was on the path to freedom, which was more than I could say for a lot of my peers. One more year and I would be working full-time and able to afford my own place.

  “Are you going to get a job with us this summer?” It was the question I asked Marcia every year, and like every year before this one, she wrinkled her nose and gasped.

  “Not a chance. I don’t want to work for my dad.” She said it like the mere idea was beneath her, which should have insulted me. But it didn’t. I wasn’t ashamed of working for her dad; in fact, my entire future rested on him and his company, La Croix Marketing & PR.

  That was only one of his companies, actually, but it was the best in my opinion. He always sold his other ventures; the marketing and PR branch was the only one he’d insisted on maintaining himself.

  Frederick La Croix was one of New York’s top business developers, but unlike most, he wasn’t an employee of a company. He was the man behind the company. He bought out small businesses that had an idea but not the funds to meet their potential, and after growing the companies, he would sell them. Everyone won, especially him. He was a genius, and if I was being honest, he was my man crush on most Mondays. He wasn’t just a brilliant businessman; he was the cool dad who wanted to know what was trendy for my age group, thus paying attention to our needs and likes and desires. He picked our brains and spoke to us on a level that made us feel seen and respected. He was different from every other dad I’d ever met, especially my own.

  And I loved nothing like I did the summers when I got to work in his office and assist in all the greatness going around. He kept the marketing and PR firm happy and stable because he used it to grow whatever company he was working to build at that moment. The days were long and grueling right before a sale, but the work changed frequently, and there was plenty of healthy competition to go around for everyone in the office.

  “I can’t imagine working for my father.” Marcia hugged her handbag tightly. “Business seems so barbaric to me. To sell something small and easy like hand cream might not be too hard, if I had to do it, but a whole company? I don’t know how he does it.”

  “So what’s the plan, then? Travel, lie around, get manicures?” I mocked her.

  “No. I don’t know.” She said it exasperatedly. Her dad had clearly been at her again, nagging her to find some drive and direction. It was the same song and dance he did at the beginning of every summer. Not that it ever worked. “Why does everyone care what I do for the summer?” She gave me the side-eye glare she was famous for. It killed Prince’s, my favorite meme in the whole world. He really did slay the side-eye.

  “Because you don’t do anything over the summer except get a tan and a damaged liver.” I tried to say it like I was sort of joking. It was hard. I wanted so many things for her. And seeing the potential for greatness in her being wasted again every year was annoying. “T
his is our last summer of fun and freedom before we have to start contributing to the world, not just taking from it. Next year when we leave college, there will be expectations. We won’t be in school. We’ll have to work. Will you honestly want to say you’ve graduated and are still living at home with your parents?” I nudged her, still trying to go easy. The lecture was a frequently revisited theme in her life. Do something. Be someone. Stop mooching.

  “It’s called summer break. And I do things,” she argued.

  This was my favorite part of the conversation.

  She frowned as she continued. “Last summer I did that relief thingy with those people who needed help in Mexico. And the summer before that I handed out water bottles at that triathlon. Twice.”

  “Dear God.” I sighed, noting her answers were getting more desperate and far between. “You know what, I give up. I won’t say another word. When you decide what you wanna be when you grow up, if you ever decide to grow up, you let me know.”

  “Okay, good.” She tried to sound like she was fed up with it all, but I knew that secretly she liked that we didn’t give up on her. Her mom never grilled her about anything, and it bothered her. She would worry more if her dad stopped. She liked that he cared. And that I did too.

  I didn’t know if she was aware how hard it was for him to watch her skate by, though.

  He was more like me.

  He grew up middle class and ended up a billionaire.

  When he was twenty-five and had made his first hundred million, he married a rich girl, and unfortunately Marcia’s mother’s influence on their daughter had been stronger than his. His hard work and dedication matched my parents’, which was sad since my parents were still middle class, but they influenced me to improve myself. I saw the results of hard work. And different kinds of work.

  My family lived in the city, which was a feat for a lot of young families.

  We had food and warmth, and I never really wanted for anything. And even if I did want for something they couldn’t provide, I worked and bought it myself.

  And yes, my parents were basically treading water, never getting too far ahead, but my brother and I would both graduate from college without student loans, and for whatever reason that was more important to my parents than anything. They made sure we were both going into growth-opportunity careers, also important. They wanted more for us than they had for themselves.