"I have"—I checked my Fitbit—"like a thousand more steps to go. I thought you were walking your dog anyway?"
"Fine," he said and turned us around in the opposite direction. "So tell me what you're going to make."
"It’s a surprise," I said, "but I'll make your special cookies."
"You want to make special cookies with me?" he asked, nuzzling my neck.
"It sounds so dirty when you say it like that!"
"Yes," he said with a grin.
"Do you and your neighbors have get-togethers? Maybe you could take them some cookies."
"One, no one touches your special cookies except me. And two, I don’t have neighbors, with the exception of Anastasia."
"No neighbors? But it's such a nice tower!"
"Yeah, well, between half of the buyers being thrown in jail by their foreign governments and the other half being affected by various Western governments freezing all their money, there's not a lot of buyers for top-of-the-market, high-end luxury condos."
"But this is New York City!" I couldn't fathom why people weren't lining up to buy.
"There's a hot new tower opening in New York practically every quarter, it seems, and this is not the greatest location." Jack ran a hand through his hair. It was snowing again, and the motion sent glittering sprinkles into the air. "The feds are really screwing me over. A few people bought places, but the feds took control, so I couldn't sell those even if I wanted to. The condos are in a weird limbo, and no one wants to lock their money into a tower with such a black reputation."
"You'll find buyers eventually," I assured him. Though what did I know? I couldn't even manage my own measly bank account.
Jack shook his head. "There's office space in the tower, and unfortunately, people normally want all residential or office plus hotel, which I didn't do. I never should have jumped into real estate. It has been a huge, expensive, frustrating mistake."
"Sorry to hear it."
"Gunnar claims this show will help the tower," Jack said.
"It's sure helping Platinum Provisions," I told him, rubbing a hand over his back. "Everyone on my Instagram wants the product."
"Yes, Platinum Provisions always does well. I should have stuck with what I knew."
"I'll post some more shots of the lobby and the outside of Frost Tower," I promised him. "You'll figure something out. You just need better branding."
I took a few shots of the tower and the lobby from the street when we returned. The homeless Santa was slumped on a bench opposite the tower. The security guard was nowhere to be seen.
"Yet another thing wrong with this place," Jack said in disgust.
"Christmas Chloe!" the Santa said, waking up with a snort. "Spare some change?"
I gave him a few nickels. "Sorry. That’s all I have."
"You shouldn't give them money," Jack said to me when we were in the warmth of the lobby.
"It's only a few cents," I told him, my voice tight.
"He's an addict, and you're enabling him," Jack said flatly.
"I know he's an addict," I snapped back. "Trust me, I know about addicts. My father and my mother and my cousin are all drug addicts, or were in my parents' case. They died of their addiction. So yes, I'm well aware of addiction. But I don't let the bad things in my past affect the rest of my life and color my perception of people and make me cold and aloof and emotionless."
Jack looked stunned. I shook my head. I couldn't believe I had just gone off on a tirade. Jack was a billionaire—he didn't care about my petty problems.
I walked away before he could say anything.
22
