With each step I take, the truth becomes more obvious. While my grandfather’s estate has stayed the same, a majority of the houses have been bought out and completely rebuilt.
Lana might have been on to something when she mentioned remodeling.
Fifteen minutes into my walk, I come across a construction site that is completely blocked off from the public by a perimeter fence. Pinned to the fence is a large sign promoting Lopez Luxury.
A quick search on Google tells me they’re a rather new company—less than ten years old—and based out of Michigan.
Just what I need.
I dial the number and ask to speak with someone who can help me get a renovation done in three months. This time, when I give my full name, I’m transferred directly to Julian Lopez, the head of the company, no questions asked.
“Mr. Kane.” The low rumble of Mr. Lopez’s voice fills my ear.
“Mr. Lopez.”
“Please call me Julian. So, I hear you need a renovation job done in three months.”
“Can you help me?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends on if you’re willing to do the same.”
Of course, there is a catch. “What do you want?”
“To have my company chosen for one Kane Company project.”
“Are you looking to expand your services to the hospitality industry?”
“Something like that.” His deep chuckle lacks any kind of warmth—just like his personality.
Brady's lawyer said my brothers couldn’t get involved with the house sale, but he never mentioned anything about offering someone a job in the company in exchange for services.
Look at you finding legal loopholes.
I know my brothers will find Mr. Lopez something to do, however small. “If your team can remodel my house in three months, then—”
“Done. My assistant will be in contact with you to schedule a meeting with one of my best contractors.”
The line goes dead without him bothering to say goodbye. Mr. Lopez reminds me of Declan, with his sharp tone and no-bullshit attitude.
Another piece of my plan slides into place, slowly building my confidence. Declan might think I’m good at failing, but I plan on proving him and everyone else who doubted me wrong.
14
ALANA
“Mommy! Look!” Cami runs into the kitchen, dropping envelopes of mail behind her like a breadcrumb trail.
“？Cuidado!” I grab her before she runs straight into an open cabinet.
She holds her envelope high in the air. “I got mail!”
I recognize the logo instantly. It’s been a few months since Cami took the entrance exam for Wisteria Prep, an exclusive private school that only opened a few years ago to cater to the families moving here from Chicago. Cami begged me to apply since a few of her friends were transferring there, so I let her even though the principal warned me they only had two seats available for the incoming first-grade class.
My girl is the smartest kid I know, but those kinds of places are all about politics and who you know. Her chances of getting in were always slim.
Which is why you have to face the consequences of your actions.
She bounces up and down, waving the envelope in the air. “Can we open it now? Please?”
“Let me do it.” At least that way I can have a second to mentally prepare for how I’ll break the news to her.
My hands shake as I wipe them across my apron, prolonging the inevitable by cleaning the flour off my fingers.
“Mommy! Hurry up!” She waves the envelope in front of my face.
“All right. Let me have it.”
Cami slaps it into my waiting hand. I open the envelope with a butterknife before pulling out the thick piece of paper.
“What does it say?” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, making her sneakers light up.
“I’m going.” I unfold the paper and read the first line.
Congratulations, Camila Theresa Castillo…
“You got in.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper.
“What?! Ah!” She takes off running and screaming at the top of her lungs. “I get to go to school with all my friends!” She disappears into the hallway, her voice echoing off the twelve-foot ceilings.
I continue reading the letter, my heart tripping over the tuition price at the bottom.
“Thirty-five thousand dollars? For first grade?”
Somehow it continues to get worse. Prices only go up from there, with twelfth grade costing almost fifty grand. The letter also emphasizes how Wisteria Prep encourages the arts and requires students to participate in at least one afterschool activity. They can range from a thousand dollars a month to five, depending on what activity the child chooses.
The room spins around me. When Cami applied, it was only a pipe dream meant to make her happy temporarily, but now that it is a reality, I feel sick to my stomach. Even after accounting for the financial aid Cami was offered, there is still no way I could afford the school on my kind of salary.
I reach out for the countertop, afraid my knees might buckle.
“Hey, what’s all the yelling— Whoa. Are you okay?”
Of all the people to be present during my little breakdown…
I’ve been lucky enough to avoid him since our fight about the house, but I knew it would only last so long.
Just keep it short and sweet.
I take a deep breath and look up at Cal. His usual casual outfit of a button-down and pants is replaced by athletic pants and a workout T-shirt that is drenched around the collar with sweat.
“What are you wearing?” I try my hardest to keep my eyes focused on his face, but they drift toward the abs pressing against the tight fabric of his T-shirt.
“I was working in the attic when I heard screaming.”
“Oh.” I speak to his stomach muscles.
His low chuckle snaps me out of my embarrassing display of desperation.
He reaches for a glass in the cabinet and fills it up with water. My skin warms, my heart beating harder at the way his tongue darts out to lick a stray droplet from his lips.
What I would offer to do the same…
“What’s going on?” His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow of water.
Fuck.
Is it hot in here or am I just having a meltdown? I fan my face with Cami’s letter, trying to cool my hot cheeks.
Cal catches me staring and winks.
Ugh. Even a simple wink has my body vibrating with excitement.
“What’s that?” He points at the paper in my hand.
“Cami’s acceptance letter.”
“For what?”
“A private school that just opened recently off Main. It’s pretty tough to get into, so she’s a bit excited about getting to stay with her best friends. I spent half the year preparing her for a rejection letter, but now that she got in…”
“You’re worried,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. For someone who has spent the last six years away, he sure hasn’t lost the ability to read me well.
My head drops. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because not all of us are billionaires.” I do my best to support Cami. Whatever my girl wants, my girl gets. Dance lessons, gymnastics classes, afterschool art programs. Keeping her happy and busy comes with personal sacrifices, but I’m happy to provide for her in a way my sister never could. Yet, I still feel like I could do more. That I could work harder. Pick up a side hustle. Find a way to make more money.