Page 136 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

Rex

It doesn’t takelong to get the details of the sale of the building that Tabitha and her friends live in and find out who bought it.

The news couldn’t be worse—it’s Malcolm Blackberg, an Eastside-based entrepreneur who’s notoriously private—and not private out of any kind of shyness, either, but rather an extreme dislike of people, according to rumor. And when he does come into contact with people, it apparently doesn’t end well.

He doesn’t see people or take meetings that he himself doesn’t initiate, but that doesn’t stop me from heading down to his office after his people said no to my people on the phone.

His office turns out to be a prewar fortress of a building on Central Park, six stories of stone with actual gargoyles on the top corners.

I bluster my way past a layer of receptionists, escalating and bribing my way from the first floor to the second floor and onward. Finally I reach the fifth floor where a team of hyper-efficient administrative assistants guard the executive elevator to the sixth floor, Malcolm’s floor, like rabid dragons.

If I can’t get to his elevator, I can’t get to his floor.

I’d been prepared to pay far more than the building is worth—the man just bought it, after all, and if the rumors are true, that he’s planning on flattening it, it means he’s got something in the works, and that means cash outlays, probably to architects, lawyers, engineers, maybe even city zoning staff. I’m prepared to make it well worth his while.

I never expected I wouldn’t be able to see him. The furthest I can get is to a woman named Gretchen, who seems to be a senior assistant to Malcolm. Gretchen sits in a corner office with an amazing view. She informs me that all buying and selling of real estate goes through her, but it’s not helpful—she’s not the decision maker; Malcolm is. She tells me that the building isn’t for sale.

“Don’t you think Mr. Blackberg would want to hear my offer?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “He doesn’t want to hear your offer.”

I’ve come armed with homework. I know what he spent on the building, which is slightly more than its actual value. I take a piece of paper and write down a number that far exceeds what he paid just a matter of months ago. I slide it over. “Cash. This week. In exchange, Mr. Blackberg gives me the title free and clear.”

“Do you not understand the concept of no?” she asks.

“Everybody has their price,” I say.

“Mr. Blackberg won’t sell. He has plans in place. That building is getting knocked down.”

I take back the paper and write a higher number.

She shakes her head.

“Just take it to him,” I say.

“I’m not in the habit of wasting Mr. Blackberg’s time. This meeting is over.”

I start laying bills on the desk. A nice little pile of money just for her. “I need to talk to him.”

She sighs wearily.

“I’m not leaving. You may as well take it. I’m determined.”

Her expression changes when I lay my last hundred on the desk. She dials the phone, puts it on speaker, and sets it on the desk.

“What?” comes the voice on the other end.

“I have a Rex O’Rourke here looking to buy 341 West Forty-fifth. He’s willing to pay me a lot of money to let him in to see you with his offer of…” She picks up the paper and reads it off.

I lean in. “Mr. Blackberg, I’m offering you thirty percent more than the property is worth. Can we talk?”

“That building’s not for sale.”

I increase my offer.

“Why this building?” he says. “It’s a piece of shit.”

“A friend is extremely attached to that building,” I say. “So that makes this your lucky day.”

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