Page 49 of Crossing the Line
I squinted at the time on the screen. It was 9:33 on Saturday morning. I was usually up two hours before then.
“What treat?” I muttered, rubbing my left eye.
“Get over here and let me show you!”
She didn’t have to twist my arm. I liked being friends with Lake because she was never boring. I figured if she had a surprise for me, it was something I wanted to experience. So I told her I’d be over soon and then suited up in running pants and a lightweight tank top and tied my athletic jacket around my waist. I hadn’t gone for a run since Thursday morning. It was now Saturday. I was due for a good run through the park to Chelsea where Lake lived.
The surprise is that I have been granted an exclusive tour and a first crack at an off-market apartment in Lake’s building, the one she mentioned at dinner last night. Apparently, when she told Davey Yee that she had a friend who might be interested in his place and then gave him my name, he knew exactly who I was and asked how fast I could close.
“Fast,” Lake said. “Very fast.”
So now I’m in Davey Yee’s abandoned apartment. Well, the furniture is still present, but he’s already moved back to Lower Manhattan. Lake’s last question regarding my being bored still hangs in the air.
I stifle another yawn. “How could I be bored? Look at this place.”
We’ve toured every inch of the clean eighth-floor flat which is the unit that owns the rooftop deck. Davey has done a lot of work up there. A retractable glass ceiling covers the entire space. He certainly spent a lot of money to have that done. A self-cleaning mode is built into the system too. It’s all pretty cool. And Davey has the Rolls-Royce of barbecue pits. Expensive patio furniture surrounds an oblong glass and steel fire pit. An eighty-inch television screen automatically slides out of a block-of-wood base. But there’s a lot more—an aboveground spa large enough to seat twenty people and a fully equipped exercise room with its own TV and surround-sound system. And potted flowers, trees, and bushes are tastefully positioned throughout. The space really does look and feel like my own urban oasis.
The broker is Van Calloway, an overly well-groomed man in a shiny gray suit. Whenever he can tell I like something about the apartment, he flashes a huckster’s white-tooth grin, raises his tweezed eyebrows, and says, “Nice, huh?”
“As you know, the only offer is asking price.” He’s still displaying that smile.
I raise an eyebrow, wondering whether he knows he’s speaking to Xander Grove’s daughter.
Lake grasps me by the wrist. “Is that going to be a problem?” she asks me. “The asking price is awfully high. I can talk to Davey, though. He still owes me.”
Instead of asking her “Owes you for what?” I yawn again.
“What is up with you?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep last night.”
“Oh,” She rubs my back sympathetically. “Was it hard seeing-you-know-who at The Chest last night?”
I fail at stopping myself from looking stupefied by her question. I really don’t want to outright lie to my friend. It takes me several seconds to realize that the truth will suffice. “Yeah, it was hard.”
“Aww… well, let’s hope you get some rest after we’re done,” Van says, redirecting our attention back to him. His tone indicates that he doesn’t know who we’re talking about, nor does he care to know. I think he wants me to make a decision so he can move on with his day.
“Seven point five million cash,” I say. “And we can close in seventy-two hours.”
Van laughs with no humor. “The asking price is nine million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine.”
I want to blurt a laugh at that ridiculous price, but I keep my wits about me. “All cash, add the furniture, no inspections, four-day close, and I’ll give you seven million.”
“Except the bed,” Lake says, finger raised. “Actually, all the beds.” She shakes her head at me. “I promise you, Paisley, you don’t want them.”
* * *
Davey counters with eight million,which I thought he would, and I accept. I call Corina Correa, my personal financial advisor, who has no ties to the family bank. She’ll handle the sale on my behalf.
After the deal is made, I’m too anxious to go home and sleep for a few more hours. Instead, I go upstairs to Lake’s place, and she makes pancakes and scrambled eggs for us. She reveals that when her fiancé called during dinner, he said that he had passed out again. He was walking to the bathroom, and the next thing he knew, he was coming to on the floor in the hallway. He suspects he hit the wall first, and that broke his fall.
“He could’ve hit his head and died. And I wouldn’t have even been there for him.” Lake’s shoulders have collapsed, and she looks so worried.
“You said it happened ‘again.’ Has Mason fainted before?”
She nods softly. “We think he’s just overworked. LTI isn’t doing so well financially. Their new products keep flopping. Mason has no idea what to do about it. It’s stressing him out.”
“Oh,” I say, frowning sympathetically. I wonder why Hercules hasn’t mentioned his company’s woes to me.
