Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(33)

“My great-great-grandfather bought a small bakery in the city at the turn of the century. When that business made a profit, he bought another. And another. Until he’d built up his wealth.”

He’d started small with that bakery and then a flower shop. After some restaurants, he’d expanded into real estate developments. That had bloomed into investments in steel factories and shipping companies. Now, Kendrick Enterprises had billons of dollars under its umbrella and businesses of all shapes and sizes.

“I like that.” Dakota slipped his hand back under the hem of my shirt, redrawing circles. “One guy building that legacy for his family. Starting small. Earning it all himself.”

“I like that too.” It was something I’d always taken pride in, that my family had amassed such wealth because so many of the Kendricks were driven and smart. It may have missed me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t proud of my name and the accomplishments of my family.

Each generation had doubled the fortune from the previous company’s leader. My father had nearly tripled Pop’s success. And Aubrey was poised to put all the Kendrick men to shame.

I was proud of my sister, something—like thank you—I hadn’t said enough.

But while I’d missed thank-yous simply because I was more concerned with myself than others, I was scared to tell Aubrey that I admired her success. Because while I could compliment her for hours, she had nothing to compliment back.

I’d done nothing to make Aubrey proud.

So far, I had gone through life existing off my family’s money and, since I’d turned thirty, my multimillion-dollar trust fund. It was something all of the direct descendants of my great-great-grandfather received.

I liked to imagine that my great-great-grandfather was a lot like Dakota. Ambitious. Hard-working. An opportunist.

Maybe he’d teach me more than what it was like to be with a real man. Maybe he’d teach me a little something about those qualities too. Maybe he’d teach me to stop hiding behind my money and do something with my life.

Maybe, in a small way, he already had.

“Thank you,” I said against his chest.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. But I wanted to say it.”





“Is there a reason you’re crawling on me?” I stopped in the middle of the staircase leading to the basement.

Sofia was on the step behind me. Her hands were clinging to my shoulders and her front was pressed against my back like she was ready to hop on up. “I don’t like basements.”

I peeled one of her hands off my T-shirt then threaded my fingers with hers. “Come on.”

After she’d told me about her family’s history, we’d fallen asleep on the couch. When we’d woken up, she’d asked to see more of my house, so I’d followed her around as she’d explored. When she’d hit the kitchen, Sofia had shot a wary glance at the basement door.

I’d practically had to pull her through its frame.

She clung to my hand, staying close all the way to the bottom step.

I flicked on the lights, illuminating a short hall on our right. “There’s another guest room and bathroom on this side.”

“It’s nice.” She walked down the hall, going into the bedroom. As she looked around, she ran her fingers over the quilt I’d put on the bed. Then she peered into the attached bathroom. “Did you remodel this yourself?”

I nodded. “Yep. Took me forever, but I saved a fortune doing it myself in my free time.” I didn’t need the room for guests. I rarely had them. But I’d fixed it all up in case I wanted to sell the place one day.

“You’re very . . . handy.” She wagged her eyebrows, glancing at my fingers.

I’d had them all over her intimate places earlier. And I planned to have them there again after we regained some energy.

“The other side isn’t as nice.” I turned away from the room, walking down the hall toward the other half of the basement. If we stayed in that bedroom, we’d be using it. So I went to a room that had no temptations other than the woman herself.

Sofia followed, staying close to my back as she waited for me to turn on the lights. When I did, she peered past me and giggled. “Oh my god. You’re a hoarder.”

I chuckled as she stepped into the storage room. It was dark, despite the bare light bulbs in three sockets. The ceiling was raw and unfinished. The walls were just pink insulation batting between two-by-four studs. The cement floor was barely visible underneath all of the stuff I’d shoved in here.

“What is all of this stuff?” she asked.

“Junk mostly. I’ve got a few rental properties up in Kalispell. I bought each cheap and part of that was because they’d been full of old shit. Anything I thought could be salvaged I brought here.”

“Wow.” She took in the mirror propped up against a wall then the antique clock I’d stacked on a dresser. Neither was expensive, but with a little cleaning, I’d be able to sell them to someone who wanted that vintage look.

“One of the places I bought was owned by a hoarder,” I told her. “The woman died and it took days for anyone to notice.”

Sofia’s face soured. “Gross.”

“Yeah. Smelled pretty bad. Almost everything she had was trashed, but there were some good pieces in there.”