Star Bright (Bright Young Things Book 1)

by Staci Hart

  We’d kept in cursory contact through social media, and I’d followed her like the rest of America. Her life was the stuff of dreams, the glamor and experiences and friendships befitting American royalty. But I hadn’t seen her since those wispy memories were made—me leaving El Paso for New York was a pipe dream, and Stella coming to Texas sounded ridiculous even in my thoughts.

  But things had changed, and in ways I wasn’t interested in discussing. When my father died a few months ago, my life had been tossed up in the air, left to tumble down to the ground without anyone there to save it from destruction. We didn’t have anybody. My grandparents died when I was a teenager. My only aunt was Stella’s mom, who sent a basket of pears when he died. I don’t think they even knew each other, but I didn’t know for sure. The names of that side of the family weren’t uttered in my house.

  Not after Mom left.

  My memories of her were only a little less murky than those of Stella. She left when I was nine, disappeared into thin air with nothing more than a note: I can’t do this. I’m sorry.

  So when Daddy had a heart attack at forty-six, I lost the last of my people. It was just me. I handled the estate, the funeral, and wake on my own and took comfort in having something to do. Something to focus on. In fact, it didn’t hit me that he was gone until I walked through the empty house for the last time.

  Stella was the only person from our extended family to actually call, to ask how she could help, if she could come to Texas, if there was anything she could do. And there was one thing she could do.

  Let me crash for a little while.

  So here I was, so far out of my element, I might as well have been on Pluto. I couldn’t stay in El Paso, not with Daddy gone. New York sounded like an adventure, and shacking up with my only relative worth a damn felt like it’d be a comfort when I could desperately use some.

  But the letter in my backpack was the prime objective.

  The elevator dinged, and my heart jumped like a rabbit at the sound. And I stepped off, rolling toward apartment three with a knot in my throat.

  She’s not even here, Sadie. Quit being such a baby.

  When I reached the door, I looked down at the key pad, and every number I’d ever memorized fell out of my brain.

  Oh, God. It started with a four, I remember that. I think there was a five in there somewhere…4567?

  I punched it in, and the device blinked red as it made a mocking sound at my defeat.

  4658

  4785

  4578

  “Shit,” I swore under my breath, checking the apartment number again to make sure I wasn’t in the wrong place. And, once confirmed, I let out a sigh, ignoring my slithering dread.

  I rang the doorbell.

  For a long, silent moment, I stood fidgeting in front of the apartment door. There were no sounds on the other side, and I imagine all kinds of outcomes, many ending in my impending homelessness.

  I was just about to head down to Frank when the doorknob clinked when someone grabbed it on the other side and turned.

  And when that door swung open, I was greeted by a shirtless sight for the sorest of eyes.

  The stranger’s face shifted from the apathy one would greet a delivery with to a hungry, wolfish expression so very clear, it could have been written in bold across his chest. His broad, muscular chest, speckled with droplets of water that occasionally combined to roll through the valleys of his abdominal muscles. The towel around his narrow waist caught the errant rivulets, and my eyes caught the sizable bulge the terry cloth did little to contain.

  My gaze snapped up to his—crisp, blue eyes and what I thought might be blond hair, but it was too wet to tell. His nose was the perfect mix of rugged and aristocratic, and his lips were plump but wide enough not to make him look petulant.

  No—it was his smirk that made him look petulant.

  “Well, well, well. And who might you be?” he said like a sleaze.

  My nose wrinkled, and my brows snapped together. “Stella’s cousin, Sadie.”

  “Sadie, huh? That’s some accent you’ve got there.”

  “What accent?”

  When he laughed, I caught a flash of his teeth, white against the tan of his skin. “Say y’all.”

  I wore a mighty frown. “And who are you?”

  He made a sound like a buzzer. “You said it wrong. Let’s try it again.” Before I could snap back, he grabbed my chin in his thumb and forefinger and opened it. “Y’aaawl.”

  I jerked my chin out of his hand, glaring at him. “Is everybody in New York this rude, or is it just you?”

  “Please,” he cooed. “I am the picture of civility, I’ll have you know.” He stepped aside, sweeping his hand in invitation.

  “Coulda fooled me,” I mumbled as I stormed past. But as much of a show as I wanted to make, I slowed, wonder creeping over me as I took in the apartment.

  Apartment was the dumbest word to use for a place this big—the living area alone had to be close to two thousand square feet. The furnishings somehow managed to be both approachable and luxurious and the kitchen was clean and modern. But what had really stopped me dead were the two walls of windows overlooking the city.

  The apartment was situated in a corner, giving it a panoramic view. City streets crisscrossed obliquely in a pattern that stretched toward the mountain range of buildings I thought might have been Midtown or Downtown. I caught a glimmer in the distance and realized it was a sliver of the East River.

  Never in my life had I seen anything like it.

  “Nice view, isn’t it?” he said from well inside my personal space.

  I jumped about four feet, squeaking out a yelp of shock and pressing my hand to my chest. “Jesus, what is with you?”

  Again, he laughed, folding his arms across his bare chest. His biceps fanned out, and the lines of his forearms fluttered. Studiously, I ignored that, despite the nagging in my head to stare until I could draw the sight from memory.

  “So sensitive,” he teased.

  “Because I don’t want an annoying, douchey stranger harassing me in my cousin’s living room?”

  That got him. His smug smile slid off, and his eyes actually might have been what one might have called apologetic. He lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m Tag, Stella’s stepbrother.”

  Tag St. James. The second he said his name, I remembered who he was—one of the Bright Young Things, a pack of socialites that included Stella. They threw these extravagant themed parties, scavenger hunts, treasure hunts—the works. They were a legend.

  And Tag was a legendary asshole.

  “Ex-stepbrother, if I remember right,” I said. “You’re the one who’s always in Nepal or Maldives or wherever. The richest vagabond in the world?”

  A snort. “I’m not homeless—“

  “Then where do you live?”

  “Well, for here. For now, at least.”

  “And you pay rent?”

  He made a face.

  “Exactly. Homeless. At least I know where home is.”

  Again, I’d knocked it out of the park and through his thick skull, but I couldn’t gloat. Not when pain flashed behind his eyes. If I’d blinked, I’d have missed it.

  That easy demeanor hardened, his eyes narrowing. “And where’s that? Hickville, USA, population thirty-two?”

  God, he makes it hard to feel sorry for him. “El Paso. But it doesn’t matter.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. Because you and me? We’re not gonna be friends.”

  “Who said anything about friends?” He gave me a hot look, smoldering with all kinds of things I didn’t want to acknowledge. Mostly because the downward turn of his lips made me want to wrap myself around him like a howler monkey.

  I’d always been a sucker for smart-mouthed men. I blamed Han Solo.

  It was then that I heard a smooth female voice from the back of the apartment. “Have you seen my panties?” she asked, appearing in the mouth of the hallway.

>   “Oh, my God,” I breathed, and there were embers in the current. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

  And that son of a bitch just shrugged.

  When she saw me she smiled so genuinely, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she did not at all feel threatened. I smoothed my beat-up jacket and stood up a little straighter.

  “Under the bed?” he answered.

  “I checked. And behind it and in the bathroom.” She sort of slid into him, draping her arms—which were covered by the furriest pink coat I’d ever seen—around his neck.

  They smiled, staring at each other’s lips.

  “Hmm,” was his answer, his hands slipping into the space between her coat and her sequined dress. And then his face lit up. “Did you check the chandelier?”

  The prettiest laugh bubbled out of her. “I did not, but I’ll bet you’re right.”

  She laid a kiss on him that made me sweat, and he gave it right back. It was maybe the third glimpse of their tongues when I realized I was staring. My gaze clicked back toward the windows, but I just kept seeing his lips, that tongue.

  He is not hot—he is a pig, Sadie Lee. We don’t kiss pigs, not under any circumstance. Abs or not.

  The girl giggled behind me, and I chanced a look, assuming that meant they weren’t licking each other’s faces off in the living room.

  “I really do have to go, but now I think you need to help me find what I’m missing,” she said. “Bet I can find a couple places you have’t looked.”

  He laughed as she turned and snagged his hand to drag him toward the back. But he smirked at me over his shoulder. “Your room’s down the hall, second door to the right. Right next to mine.”

  I groaned. “I think I hate you.”

  And with a look that set a fire deep in my belly, he said, “We’ll see about that.”

  Click here to preorder book 2, Hidden Gem

  Thank you

  What a ride this was.

  Writing through a pandemic and a civil rights movement was no easy feat, but escaping into the world of the Bright Young Things was the shining spot in a dark and emotional time. It inspired me, as I hope it inspired you.

  My husband Jeff always gets this first spot simply because he’s the reason I’m able to follow my dreams and write from my heart. He’s also the reason I write romance, something I often say and will always say. Thank you, babe. You’re my hero.

  Kandi Steiner always gets the second spot simply because she’s my rock every day. If you loved Stella, you should know Kandi, because they are so much alike, I would sometimes ask myself during writing, What would Kandi do? Follow her on social media and bask in her shine. Kandi, thank you for being my support and my diary. I love you.

  The third spot always goes to Kerrigan Byrne, because if Kandi is my right leg, Kerrigan is my left. She’s always down to plot, always ready with big ideas and bigger laughs. She’s the one I turn to when it all feels impossible, and she always reminds me that I can do anything. Kerrigan, I couldn’t do this without you, not for one second. Thank you.

  The next of the K-crew is Kyla Linde, the smartest of cookies who always has an answer to any random question I might have and an abundance of conflict to offer when I need to throw a wrench at my characters. She’s my Kylencyclopedia, one of my dearest friends, and one of the people who helps me survive this crazy career with my head on straight.

  Tina, my friend and assistant, makes the world go ‘round. Dani Sanchez is always there to help keep me on track and to offer her advice. My alpha readers: Abbey Byers, Sasha Erramouspe, Amy Vox Libris, Becky Barney—you were instrumental in the execution of this book and in helping make it look like I knew what it was doing. To my beta readers: Danielle Legasse, Sarah Sentz, Nadine Killian, Chase Coe, Jenny Ellis, Melissa Brooks, Sam Schumpf, and Julia Heudorf—you helped me put the shine on what has turned out to be one of my favorite books to have written. And last but certainly not least, I’d like to thank Amanda Punchfuk, the drag queen of the hour, for putting her stamp of approval on my favorite baby: Zeke.

  Jovana Shirley, you are the editor everyone needs in their lives. To my typo hunters, you are a godsend.

  Bloggers, you are the motor to this whole operation, and your support, hard work, and dedication to the community are worth more than you’ll ever know.

  Readers, it’s all for you. Thank you for spending these hours with my heart.

  Also by Staci Hart

  CONTEMPORARY STANDALONES

  Bright Young Things

  Star Bright

  Everyone wants to know who’s throwing the lavish parties, even the police commissioner, and no one knows it’s her … not even the reporter who’s been sneaking in to the parties and her heart.

  Hidden Gem

  Preorder for January 2021

  The Bennet Brothers:

  A spin on Pride & Prejudice

  Coming Up Roses

  Everyone hates something about their job, and she hates Luke Bennet. Because if she doesn’t,

  she’ll fall in love with him.

  Gilded Lily

  This pristine wedding planner meets her match in an opposites attract, enemies to lovers comedy.

  Mum’s the Word

  A Bower’s not allowed to fall in love with a Bennet, but these forbidden lovers might not have a choice.

  The Austens

  Wasted Words (Inspired by Emma)

  She’s just an adorkable, matchmaking book nerd who could never have a shot with her gorgeous best friend and roommate.

  A Thousand Letters (Inspired by Persuasion)

  Fate brings them together after seven years for a second chance they never thought they’d have in this lyrical story about love, loss, and moving on.

  Love, Hannah (a spinoff of A Thousand Letters)

  A story of finding love when all seems lost and finding home when you’re far away from everything you’ve known.

  Love Notes (Inspired by Sense & Sensibility)

  Annie wants to live while she can, as fully as she can, not knowing how deeply her heart could break.

  Pride and Papercuts (Inspired by Pride and Prejudice)

  PREORDER NOW! Coming fall 2020

  The Red Lipstick Coalition

  Piece of Work

  Her cocky boss is out to ruin her internship, and maybe her heart, too.

  Player

  He’s just a player, so who better to teach her how to date? All she has to do is not fall in love with him.

  Work in Progress

  She never thought her first kiss would be on her wedding day. Rule number one: Don’t fall in love with her fake husband.

  Well Suited

  She's convinced love is nothing more than brain chemicals, and her baby daddy's determined to prove her wrong.

  Bad Habits

  With a Twist (Bad Habits 1)

  A ballerina living out her fantasies about her high school crush realizes real love is right in front of her in this slow-burn friends-to-lovers romantic comedy.

  Chaser (Bad Habits 2)

  He’d trade his entire fortune for a real chance with his best friend’s little sister.

  Last Call (Bad Habits 3)

  All he’s ever wanted was a second chance, but she’ll resist him at every turn, no matter how much she misses him.

  The Tonic Series

  Tonic (Book 1)

  The reality show she’s filming in his tattoo parlor is the last thing he wants, but if he can have her, he’ll be satisfied in this enemies-to-lovers-comedy.

  Bad Penny (Book 2)

  She knows she’s boy crazy, which is why she follows strict rules, but this hot nerd will do his best to convince her to break every single one.

  The Hardcore Serials

  Read for FREE!

  Hardcore: Complete Collection

  A parkour thief gets herself into trouble when she falls for the man who forces her to choose between

  right and wrong.

  HEARTS AND ARROWS

 
Greek mythology meets Gossip Girl in a contemporary paranormal series where love is the ultimate game and Aphrodite never loses.

  Paper Fools (Book 1)

  Shift (Book 2)

  From Darkness (Book 3)

  FREE bonus content! Click here!

  About the Author

  Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life: a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom to three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, even though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey, and her favorite word starts with f, ends with k.

  From roots in Houston to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north in Denver. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, gaming, or designing graphics.

  www.stacihartnovels.com

  staci@stacihartnovels.com