Chapter 11
“This is stunning,” I gasped, taking in Penthouse One of The Crystal. Central Park stretched out below us like an emerald city of trees in the bitter white-wine sunlight. We were so high up that the traffic and bedlam from the streets below blurred as if we were swimming underwater.
The entire structure was an impressive feat of concrete and glass, tapering up to the sky in a point like a needle. All forty-six apartments and four penthouses would have floor-to-ceiling views from their great rooms. This penthouse alone stretched to almost four thousand square feet of outdoor space, the same as inside.
David’s design executed greatness, from the formal entrance lobby with macaubas stone floors and custom bronze sconces to the three floors of amenities. They contained an eighty-foot lap pool, sauna, treatment rooms, fitness center, and meeting space. There were on-call housekeepers and a dedicated concierge to cater to your every need.
I would never leave the building.
“Epic.” Jack leaned on the brick wall that enclosed the terrace.
At last, we agreed on something.
David was running late, so we met at the show apartment and started at opposite ends before meeting on the terrace to take it all in. It could almost be romantic… if I didn’t have to share the moment with Jack Shane.
“Did you like the GIF?” he asked.
My lips pursed. No good letting him know I liked it. “Not bad.”
“So you’re not planning on throwing me off the balcony?”
I was too caught up in roasting alive in my Max Mara tie-waist shirt and cropped trousers to summon any strength. “If I’m going to murder you, I’d use a more sophisticated method, like arsenic in your morning bagel.”
He inserted a finger into his shirt collar and stretched it out to give his Adam’s Apple some space. “Cue me never touching a bagel again.”
Maybe an old girlfriend bought him the wrong collar size. I’ve always made sure to buy boyfriends the right size. Jack looks at least a sixteen. Or sev?—
“There you are,” David shouted from behind us. “What do you think?”
“Breathtaking,” I assured him. Stop trying to guess collar sizes.
Jack shook his hand. “Amazing, David. I can’t wait to get started.”
“We can’t wait to get started.” I shook David’s hand as my hair was whipped around my head like a tornado by a sudden gust of wind. Why hadn’t I pulled it into a low ponytail?
David walked back inside. “C’mon—I’ll give you a quick tour and the specs.”
Jack extended his arm to indicate I could go first. I copied the gesture. Giving up, he walked in front of me, and I noted the yellow polka-dot socks that appeared when the hem of his trousers lifted at the heel. A stark contrast to the fitted grey suit.
David led us through the living room. “This is the model unit for the building: eight thousand square feet, and we’ll be asking nineteen million once the rest are sold. Whoever buys this unit is getting a discount because they can’t choose their finishes.”
In normal listing appointments, I’d be asking a thousand questions, etching the answers into my brain. But the space had taken my full attention. The book-matched grey marble of the countertop and backsplash and the mocha-brown walls made the space feel warm and inviting instead of intimidating.
David’s voice rattled off details. “Custom MolteniC kitchen with a cerused finish on white oak cabinetry, three dishwashers, two Sub-Zeros…”
Jack inspected the wine refrigerator. “Three dishwashers?”
David looked at him as if to say, Who doesn’t have three dishwashers? “Yeah.”
“Great for a bachelor then. The dishwasher gets full, you use another,” he joked, which got him a finger gun and a loud guffaw from David.
I don’t think I want to live in a world where people are that lazy.
“Did Sally send over the specs?” David’s face turned back to stone.
“She did,” I assured him.
David stretched out his arms. “This place is the most important building of my career, and it holds a great deal of sentimental value.”
“Do you mind me asking why?” I blurted out. You never knew where you could find a marketing angle.
His wrinkled forehead relaxed. “I named it after my mother. She used to collect half dollars on the street and shine them up. Hang crystal suncatchers all over the house so that you’d be half blinded anytime you walked in a room. My grandma must’ve known she’d grow up to love shiny things.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” I told him, feeling a pang of empathy at the grief that flashed over his face. “I’m sure she would be very proud.”
Of course Jack muscled in. “I told my mom I’d name my first yacht after her: The Bethany.”
Jack looked at me, expecting a proclamation of love for the woman who’d birthed me. I kept quiet. Nothing on earth deserved to be named after my mother.
David’s grey eyebrows joined together to form a bridge—the moment gone. “I chose you two because you convinced me you were up to the challenge. That means nothing but the best. No bullshit. Understand?” His gaze bounced between us.
“Understood,” we repeated.
“We’re going to work up a marketing plan straight after this at my office.” I gestured to Jack.
“We didn’t agree on your office,” Jack stage-whispered to me as David walked away to answer a call.
“I know. I decided,” I told him, keeping a smile on my face.
“I’m not coming to your office. We can do it at mine.”
“Why? Intimidated by women?”
“I wouldn’t want to distract them,” he said.
“Your modesty is astounding.”
His tongue clicked. “Thanks. Do you know where my office is?”
Maybe his office would be easier. The last thing I needed was Viv and Aria fawning over him while we were trying to get work done. Or worse, Clarissa. She’d eat him whole. Not on my watch.
“The tiny grey storefront in Chelsea? Yeah, I know where it is.”
David returned from his call. “By the way, did I tell you I want this sold out by the end of July?”
“This July?” Jack paled.
David nodded.
“Six weeks from now?” I double-checked.
“Yeah, didn’t I mention that in our last meeting? Shouldn’t be a problem, with both of you working on it,” he told us.
Jack’s face appeared to lose all its pigment as the words sank in.
“Not a problem,” I chirped, fighting the rising panic in my chest.
Fuck.
* * *
“How do you work with all this?” I gestured to the stacks of paper, model cars, and photo frames spilling over every surface.
“All what?” He hunted for something in his mammoth desk, and it didn’t surprise me he couldn’t find it. Did he ever bring a girlfriend back here to mess around on it? The huge metal monstrosity looked sturdy enough. Stop thinking like that!
“Crap.” I pointed everywhere, picking up the smallest of the silver photo frames. A picture of an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and Jack’s eyes stared out at me, faded with time. “Your mom?”
He gave a thumbs up. “You should be a detective.”
“She looks nice,” I told him, putting it back down and lifting another.
He didn’t look up from rifling through his desk drawer. “I’m sure your mom’s nice too.”
That ricocheted right off a nerve. “She’s not.” The baby-faced girl with freckles and red pigtails in the second photograph belonged in a movie. “Cute. Your daughter?”
His face lit up. “My niece. She’s ten now. Hates that I have that picture.”
I replaced it. “Hard age.”
The largest photo frame held the sharpest image, and I turned the frame to Jack. “Your brother?”
The guy in a grey tartan kilt could be Jack’s twin, aside from the blonde hair and thinner top lip. His hand grasped the waist of his petite bride, who posed for the camera while holding a baby’s breath bouquet tied with green ribbon. They looked like they’d drunk sunshine.
He stopped rummaging and took a deep breath. “Yes.”
I replaced the frame and nudged it back into line with his mom’s. “Older or younger?”
Jack’s fingers shook as he closed the drawer and tried another. “Younger. Was younger.”
Past tense?“Sorry, I’ve put my foot right in it. I didn’t?—”
“Know about it? Why would you? We’re virtual strangers.” He resumed his search, head down to inspect the depths of the open drawer. “Let’s get back to it.”
Losing my sister would feel like the world had collapsed in on itself. I couldn’t imagine a time when I could flick the reference of her death off my shoulder like a piece of lint and keep it together.
Jack Shane possessed more strength than his appearance suggested. I wanted to ask how he coped with losing someone that should still be here, but instead of words, a tiny squeak escaped my open lips.
He looked up, a creased Chinese takeout menu in hand. “Did you hear that?”
This is not the time for emotion. Pull it together. I shook my head. “It came from outside.” Return to annoyed. Annoyed is safe. “What the hell are you looking for?”
He swiveled and opened the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet behind him. “The marketing plan I drew up.”
I slapped the file I’d brought with me into the middle of his desk. “Lucky for you, I already have mine.”
“Don’t need it—I’ve got everything covered.” He swiveled back, holding up a laminated folder. “Bingo.”
“I’ve spent the last two months working on this,” I explained, folding myself into the reclining chair across from his desk and testing out the footrest. No wooden stools here. Every seat boasted soft leather upholstery, with a huge TV on the main office wall playing music videos on Vevo. Glass jars of varying sizes were filled with candy and nestled on black gloss side tables. The antithesis of The Lacey Group.
Jack flicked to the first page of his plan. “That all? I’ve spent three. And I’ve already talked to David about some of it.”
“You’ve gone behind my back again?”
His pupils dilated. “What do you mean, again?”
Trying to get out of the recliner felt like being an upturned turtle on a beanbag. “You swooped in and tried to steal clients that I brought to an open house. Or did you forget that?”
His lips twitched at my undignified movements. “I did that in front of your face, not behind your back.”
After an embarrassing few seconds, I made it to my feet. “So we’re going with your plan? Without a discussion?”
He crossed his arms. “I never said that. But we have six weeks, so time is of the essence.”
Six weeks—forty-two days until the end of July—to sell out a two-hundred-million-dollar building that hadn’t even been completed yet. David had withheld that time frame on purpose.
I folded my arms to stop myself from leaping over the desk. “I have a partnership riding on this, so you better believe that what I’ve dreamed up is excellent. What happens if this doesn’t go well for you? You go back to renting apartments to divorced dads?”
His eyes flicked to the picture of his brother. “We all have stuff going on.”
The way he looked at his brother’s picture stimulated my tear ducts. My phone trilled with a string of notifications: reminding me I had another two thousand things to do and all of them would help me make the money I needed to achieve my goal. “I have to go.” I grabbed his proposal and pushed mine across the desk. “Read that, and I’ll send you notes later.”
Without waiting for an answer, I dashed out the door.