Chapter 62
KENT
Ifroze mid-sip, the scotch burning a path down my throat as her question settled over me like a weight. The warmth from dinner, from being welcomed into her family, suddenly felt fragile. Like it could shatter if I said the wrong thing.
I set the glass down carefully on the bar and took a breath.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, meeting her eyes. The truth felt heavy. I had been doing my best to ignore it, but there it was. “Honestly, Sylvie, I have no idea how they’ll react.”
She waited, her expression patient but concerned. I could see the worry creeping into her features. I hated that my family drama was casting a shadow over what should have been a perfect night.
“Hudson will probably understand,” I continued, thinking through each of my brothers. “He’s always been the one who tries to see all sides. He might not agree with my choice, but he’ll at least try to understand why I made it.”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the familiar tension that came with thinking about my family dynamics.
“Austin already knows, and he’s on my side. But Austin’s been on the outs for years, so his support doesn’t exactly help my case with the rest of them.”
“And the others?” Sylvie asked softly.
I let out a long breath. “Some of them will definitely be pissed. They’ll see it as me taking food out of their children’s trust funds. Never mind that those trust funds are already obscenely large. Never mind that their kids’ kids’ kids will never have to work a day in their lives.”
The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.
“The Bancroft mineral rights deal was massive,” I explained.
“We’re talking hundreds of millions over the next decade.
That kind of money gets divided among family shareholders.
By walking away from it, by choosing to invest my personal assets here instead, I’m essentially costing each of them a significant chunk of change. ”
“How much?” Sylvie asked, though I could tell she was almost afraid to know.
“Enough that they’ll notice. Enough that they’ll be angry.” I picked up my glass again, needing something to do with my hands. “But here’s the thing—none of them will be poor. None of them will struggle. They’ll still have more money than they could spend in ten lifetimes.”
I took another sip of scotch, letting it warm me from the inside.
“My father has built an empire. Every single member of the Bancroft family is set for life, multiple times over. We have investments, properties, businesses generating passive income. Losing out on this one deal won’t change their lifestyle in any meaningful way.”
“But it will change yours,” Sylvie said quietly.
I looked at her, taking in the concern written across her beautiful face. She was worried about me. About what I was giving up. About whether I would regret this choice somewhere down the line.
“Yes,” I admitted. “It will change mine. But I’m gaining something money can’t buy.”
“Why do they need more?” Sylvie asked, shaking her head like she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “If everyone is already set for life, what’s the point of fighting over more millions?”
I laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “That’s the question, isn’t it? That’s exactly what I’ve been asking myself for the past week.”
I turned my glass in my hands, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light from behind the bar.
“Growing up the way I did, money was never about survival. It was about status. About power. About winning.” I met her eyes.
“My father didn’t build Bancroft Industries because he needed to.
He already had plenty of money. He did it because he wanted to prove he was better than everyone else.
Smarter. More ruthless. More successful. ”
“That sounds exhausting,” Sylvie said.
“It is. And it becomes this endless cycle. You make a million, so you need to make ten million. You make ten million, so you need to make a hundred million. There’s never enough because it’s not actually about the money. It’s about the scorecard.”
I could see her trying to understand, her brow furrowed in concentration. This was so far outside her experience that it might as well have been a foreign language.
“In my family, wealth is how we keep score,” I continued.
“Who closed the biggest deal? Who made the smartest investment? Who grew their portfolio the most this quarter? That’s what gets talked about at family gatherings.
That’s what determines who Dad respects, who gets the most say in business decisions. ”
“What about who’s happiest?” Sylvie asked. “Who’s actually living a good life?”
I smiled at her, feeling that familiar warmth spread through my chest that I only got when I was with her.
“That’s not a metric that matters in the Bancroft family.
Or at least, it wasn’t until recently. Don’t get me wrong, my dad loves us.
The last ten years or so he’s changed a lot.
He’s more about family and he’s loving the idea of grandkids. His new wife, my aunt—”
“Your stepmom,” she corrected.
I laughed. “Oh, you might want to sit down for this story.”
She frowned. “Are you a brother cousin uncle?”
I laughed. “Yes. But no blood relations. Our family tree still has branches. My dad’s wife is my late uncle’s widow.”
She blinked and I could see her doing the math.
“My dad and Kathy were in love forever ago. Long before I was in the picture. My Uncle Art moved in on Dad’s woman and somehow he got the girl.
Kathy and Art married and had a gaggle of kids.
Art was a dick and never treated Kathy right.
But anyway, we all lived in Vancouver. That’s where my mom was from.
So, my dad married and had a shit ton of kids.
Art married and had a shit ton of kids—not all by Kathy.
That’s another story we’ll save for another time.
My dad and his brother did not get along.
I think that might be one of the motivating factors behind my dad’s need to be wealthy. He was competing with his brother.”
“Holy shit,” she said with a laugh. “I feel like I’m watching Jerry Springer.”
“Trust me, it’s worse than that. So my Aunt Kathy is now my stepmom. Her sons were my cousins and now they are my stepbrothers.”
She blinked. “Wow. I guess rich people got their own drama.”
“You have no idea.”
She reached across the bar and took my hand, her fingers lacing through mine.
“Anyway, some of my brothers will be pissed because I’m breaking the unspoken rule,” I said. “You don’t walk away from money. You don’t choose personal happiness over family profit. You definitely don’t sacrifice a massive mineral rights deal for some girl in upstate New York.”
“Some girl?” Sylvie raised an eyebrow, but I could see the smile tugging at her lips.
“The most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” I corrected, pulling her hand to my lips and kissing her knuckles. “The woman I’m choosing over everything else.”
“Kent, are you sure?”
“Yeah, they’ll either understand or they won’t,” I said, shrugging. “Some of them might come around eventually. Some of them might never speak to me again. But that’s their choice to make, not mine. Half of them have wives and they should understand the need to do right by the person they love.”
I squeezed her hand, needing her to really hear this.
“I’m glad you’re so brave,” she said.
“I’m not brave. I’m in love. That makes me invincible.”
The way she looked at me, with those green eyes full of trust and desire, made something primal stir in my chest. I rounded the bar, closing the distance between us in two strides.
“You know what I think?” I said, backing her up against the bar until she had nowhere to go.
“What?” Her voice came out breathy. I loved that I could affect her this way.
“I think we should celebrate properly.” I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear. “And I think this bar is the perfect place to do it.”
She shivered against me. “Kent, we can’t.”
“Why not?” I challenged, pulling back to look at her. “Who’s going to stop us? I’m about to be a business partner. I think that gives us certain privileges.”
“That’s not how it works,” she protested, but her hands were already sliding up my chest, fingers curling into my sweater.
“Then tell me to stop,” I said, kissing along her jawline. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
Instead of answering, she grabbed my face and kissed me hard, her tongue sliding against mine with a hunger that made my blood sing. I gripped her hips, lifting her onto the bar in one smooth motion. She gasped against my mouth, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist.
“We’re going to break something,” she managed between kisses.
“I’ll pay for it,” I promised, my hands sliding under her dress, up the smooth skin of her thighs.
I heard something glass hit the floor behind her—probably my glass she’d knocked over with her elbow—but neither of us cared. I was too busy kissing my way down her throat, finding that spot that made her whimper.
“Kent,” she breathed, her fingers tangling in my hair. “We really shouldn’t.”
A bottle crashed to the floor as she arched against me.
“I’ll buy new inventory,” I murmured against her skin. “I’ll buy the whole damn bar if you want.”
She laughed, the sound turning into a moan as my hands found the edge of her panties. “You can’t just throw money at everything.”
“Watch me.” I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her. “Right now, I’d pay any price to make you feel good.”
I hooked my fingers in her panties and slid them down her legs, tossing them somewhere behind me. Her dress had ridden up around her hips, and the sight of her spread out on the bar like my own personal feast made my mouth water.
“Lie back,” I commanded softly. “Trust me, baby. I’ve got you.”
She lowered herself onto her elbows, then all the way down onto her back. Her red dress was a stark contrast against the dark wood of the bar. Her hair fanned out around her head like a halo. She looked like every fantasy I’d ever had come to life.
I kissed the inside of her knee, working my way up slowly. She squirmed, her breath coming faster as I got closer to where she needed me most.
“You’re killing me,” she whispered.
“Good.” I nipped at her inner thigh, making her gasp. “I want you to remember this every time you’re behind this bar. And we are reopening this bar.”
I finally put my mouth on her. The sound she made was worth every bottle we’d broken. She tasted incredible, sweet and warm. My version of nectar from the gods. I took my time, exploring every inch of her with my tongue, learning what made her moan and what made her hips buck off the bar.
“Oh God,” she gasped, one hand flying down to grip my hair. “Kent, please don’t stop.”
I loved hearing her beg. Loved knowing I could reduce her to desperate pleas and incoherent sounds. I focused my attention on her clit, circling it with my tongue while I slid two fingers inside her.
She was so wet, so ready for me. I could feel her tightening around my fingers, getting closer with every stroke. I increased the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needed.
“Don’t stop,” she panted. “Please don’t stop.”
I had no intention of stopping. I worked her relentlessly, my tongue and fingers moving in perfect synchronization, pushing her higher and higher until she was trembling on the edge.
When she came, she cried out my name loud enough that I worried someone might hear. But I didn’t stop, didn’t let up, wringing every last bit of pleasure from her body until she was pushing at my head with shaking hands.
“Too much,” she gasped. “It’s too much.”
I pressed one last soft kiss to her thigh before standing, taking in the sight of her completely wrecked on the bar. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed with satisfaction.
“Beautiful,” I said, helping her sit up.
She looked at me with an expression that was equal parts dazed and hungry. “Take me home.” She slid off the bar, her legs slightly unsteady. “Because what I want to do to you requires a bed.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
We practically ran back to her apartment. By the time we burst through her door, we were both frantic with need.