Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
“I’m not sucking up to him,” I said. “If he doesn’t want to sell it to me—”
“He doesn’t, Dante.” He narrowed his eyes. “He doesn’t want your name on it at all.”
“I’ll send him a gift basket.”
“That’s a start.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll go tell the team to try again.”
“Thank you.” I made my way down the hall, ready to call this day a loss already.
When I made it to my office, my favorite assistant Stacy was pacing near my windows.
“Give me some good news.” I sat at my desk. “Only good news.”
“You have someone who wants to tour your exclusive penthouse suite at The Bergman.”
“That is very good news.” I smiled. “How serious is the client?”
“Very serious.” She stepped closer, handing me a folder. “His name is Bryan Fleming. I looked into his financials and he can definitely afford it.”
“You said that with the last guy, and he wasn’t a prince from Nigeria like he claimed.”
“That one wasn’t my fault.”
“The eight ones before were…” I flipped through the pages, not wanting to get optimistic at all.
At seventy million dollars, this was the most expensive condo in my collection, and it received constant attention from realtors and tours.
But no one was willing to buy.
“He claims he’s the CFO at Parker Hotels?” I looked at her. “Did you check the website?”
“I personally called the CEO and he verified it.”
“What about—”
“I called our special insiders at every bank he listed, looked into every car he owns, and yes—he already owns a couple of multi-million-dollar listings.” She crossed her arms. “I did my complete due diligence.”
“Would you stake your life on it?”
“Ha! No.” She shook her head. “I would stake yours, though.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“He’s flying into town this afternoon.” She dodged the subject. “Can I confirm the tour?”
“Sure.”
“Well, wait. Before I do that…” She tapped her lip. “I need permission to spend the rest of the morning there to make sure it’s as picture-perfect as it can possibly be.”
“Call the housekeeping director and ask him to handle that.”
“He’s the one who suggested it,” she said. “He mentioned that someone keeps messing up the master bedroom and bathroom every few days, and it’s not his staff.”
“Mess up how?”
“Just by leaving the floors wet, placing the dishes in the wrong places, and creating wrinkles in the bedspread,” she said. “It’s driving the cleaners mental, and they think it’s paranormal activity.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I think it’s ghosts, too,” she said. “They’re probably serving up the karma you deserve for being so cold and heartless all these years…”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “I could use some air, so I’ll look into things myself,” I said. “Tell Mr. Fleming that he will get a personal tour from me whenever he arrives.”
THE AGENT
CHLOE
“Growing up in poverty made me work harder than ever, and if YOU work half as hard as me, you might get here, too.”
What a load of billionaire bullshit.
I flipped through this month’s copy of Property Mogul, hating that this would be the first issue I would have to burn.
The editors usually picked likable and relatable people for the cover shot and interview, so I was convinced they’d been high on something stronger than weed when they chose Dante Hudson.
Sure, he was by far the sexiest person to grace the front page, but he was also the most egotistical, self-absorbed, and terrible person as well.
Even though the man’s fingerprints touched every corner of this city, and clients were more likely to buy when they saw his ridiculous owl-eyes logo on the listing, he was an undeserving asshole.
Trust me, I would know.
I worked in one of his realtor offices, and I was renting a place in one of his lower-end units.
This man had never been worth less than six figures a day in his life, and I couldn’t believe he was trying to make any person with a brain buy into a fake-ass sob story.
The moment I made a major sale, I was leaving his realty company and working for someone else.
Anyone else.
After tossing the magazine into the trash, I rolled out of bed and grabbed my shower caddy.
Slipping down the hall, I knocked on the floor’s bathroom door.
“Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone in there?”
I hesitated before knocking again.
Since I had to share it with three other tenants, I’d learned that each of them had their own way of saying “yes” without saying a word.
Several seconds passed without the slight jiggle of the door handle, a tap against the sink, or a cough that sounded like the plague.
Pushing the door open, I placed a sock on the door and slammed it shut.
I immediately wished I hadn’t.
Strands of hair that didn’t belong to me clung to the sink, and whoever used the shower last hadn’t wiped down the glass doors.
Why is this my life?