“Sorry about that. Have you seen everything you need to see?”
“I have. Leah was the perfect guide.” Sam drained his coffee and stood up. “I could email you the details but I’d prefer to give you my thoughts in person, if you have time?”
Leah gathered up the two mugs sitting on the breakfast bar. She held one up in query and Jackson realized how much he needed the caffeine. “Please.” The single word reminded him how she’d called him out on his manners earlier, but Leah just nodded. “Through here.”
He led Sam into the living room, which was ever so slightly warmer than the kitchen, and pulled out a chair at the table in the bay window. The realtor did the same.
“I’ve brought details with me of similar properties we’ve listed, plus some others currently listed elsewhere. Not that there’s much directly comparable.” Sam placed a binder on the table. “They’re worth looking at for an idea of price range, but also so you can see how they’ve been presented.” He spread some of the paperwork out. “This one, in particular, is listed too high, in my opinion. And it’s been on the market for nearly a year. These two are in the right ballpark, but you’ll see they’re in a far better state of repair than this one is at present.” Sam leaned back in his chair. “You could list the house straightaway, and I think Archer and Desai would be a very good fit for Amity Court.”
Jackson narrowed his eyes. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
“You’re right,” Sam said, looking around. “In all honesty, much as the basic structure is gorgeous, the overall look of the house only highlights the huge amount of work that needs doing.”
“Such as?” Jackson bit out the words as Leah walked in and placed a mug of coffee in front of him. He knew what he would tackle but was interested to expose Archer’s range of knowledge on the subject.
“There are definite signs of damp, which indicate either a roofing issue or a problem with the gutters. If you’re lucky, it’ll be the second, but it needs checking out sooner rather than later. It’s a massive bonus that the windows have been replaced, however the boiler looks old enough to have heated the Ark. How efficient are the radiators and hot water system?” Sam was politely ignoring the fact that they could almost see their breath.
Jackson glanced sideways at Leah before he could help himself. The memory of her peering out from under her quilt on the couch flashed through his mind. “Could be better.”
“That’ll put off a lot of people because it’s expensive to sort out, and disruptive. Some of the circuit breakers in the basementare almost antique, too. You need a good electrician to look at the consumer unit. I’d guess it was probably installed in the early 1900s and could do with updating.”
Leah hovered near Jackson’s shoulder, twisting a piece of hair around one finger. The light fruity scent of either her fragrance or shampoo was annoyingly distracting. She seemed to have forgotten about making herself scarce, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her on it with the welcome mug of coffee in his hands.
“The decor is obviously dated, and that’s easier for someone to look past. But because so many of the rooms are empty of furniture and the lighting is poor, the whole place looks pretty tired. The porch steps are rotten and the bathrooms are a bit grim.” Sam looked apologetic. “You probably know all this. And I hope you don’t think I’m being needlessly negative, because this is an amazing house. Property prices are currently up in this area, based on last year, but actual house sales are down. Unless you’re desperate to sell, it would be a shame for someone to lowball the price because they’re seeing dollar signs every way they turn. Or they might look but decide it’s too big a project and not offer at all. The market could be sticky for a property like this one.”
“So what’s your suggestion?” Jackson waited for the axe to fall.
“If it were me, I’d hold off putting it on the market immediately and get some basic work done first, finances permitting,” Sam replied. “A new boiler would be a big selling point. And, personally, I’d give a couple of rooms the ‘wow factor,’ so buyers can see a hint of the potential.”
Jackson rubbed at the sudden heartburn in his chest. So much for his plan to list, sell, and get shot of Amity Court as quickly as possible. Dammit, they needed that money, and they needed it fast. Responsibility pressed like a bulk bag of rubble on his shoulders.
“What price do you see it fetching in the state it’s in now?” he asked.
“At a push, I’d say you’d be looking at just under a million. If you can find someone to take it on.”
It wasn’t enough.
“With renovations?”
“Then we’re likely in the $1.5 million area.”
Jackson sighed; it looked like money was going to have to go out first, instead of coming in. Renovations would likely eat up the savings he had. A muscle pulsed in his jaw and he pushed to his feet. “I appreciate your advice. I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.”
They shook hands. “Thanks for the tour, Leah.” Sam gripped her fingers a touch too long for Jackson’s liking and he hustled the realtor to the front door.
“Show him around, I said. Not throw yourself at him like a schoolgirl at the fire station.” Jackson paced back into the kitchen under a thundercloud. The day had not gone how he wanted, and the frustration boiling inside him needed a vent.
Leah hesitated in the act of washing up the coffee cups. “He’s a nice guy.”
He gave a hard smile. “Believe it or not, I don’t base my business decisions on that criterion.”
She scrubbed particularly hard at the inside of a mug. “And that is why you are a super-successful industry mogul and I’m a jobbing assistant.”
“You might find you get further if you tone down the flirting and keep things on a more businesslike footing.”
Leah flashed him a look out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t think I’m Sam’s type.” She balanced the last mug on the drying rack and reached for a dish towel.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Barely keeping a grip on his own tattered control, Jackson itched to ruffle her contained reserve. “There must be some men whose exact type is the love child of a penniless studentand a drifter.” He ran his gaze over her vast black hoodie and the checked leggings with a triangular tear in one thigh. “Although I wouldn’t want to be demeaning to students and homeless people. Or love children, come to that.”
