“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 ofProperty 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 hisridiculous owl-eyes logo on the listing, he was an undeserving asshole.
Trust me, I would know.
