texting his assistant to let him know he’d be arriving soon. In seconds he was inside the lobby of the building, which they shared with a few other businesses. He waved at the security guard up front and then headed to the bank of elevators that would take him to the top floor.
The elevator door barely opened before his assistant, Hailey, greeted him with a piping-hot cappuccino, foamed up just the way he liked it, an elaborate swirled pattern down the center.
“Good morning, sir,” Hailey said, beaming her million-dollar smile as she handed him the perfectly foamed cappuccino. Blond perfection in a steel-gray pencil skirt and blouse, Hailey was all business, just the way he liked it. Clients were stunned by her beauty, but he loved the fact that she never missed the smallest detail.
“Here are the dailies,” she said, handing him a folder with the highlights of the day as well, including the brewing deals in the office. “And the Housing Network called again. They wanted to know if you’d given any more thought to their show.” Hailey paused at his door, waiting for his answer.
Jackson shook his head. “Don’t have time for reality TV discussions this week,” he said, even though he knew HN wouldn’t give up. They’d been hounding him for months to come do a guest spot on their show that put experts in touch with amateur home flippers. While the possibility was intriguing, Jackson had his hands full with current projects, and fame had never really interested him much.
“Thank you, Hailey.”
“Yes, sir,” Hailey said. “Oh, one more thing. Mr. Roberts is waiting for you. In the lobby.”
“Why?” Jackson frowned. Roberts was his major competition in Chicago, and the only other developer who flipped buildings as fast as Jackson did. But while Jackson believed in revamping the community and trying to keep housing reasonably affordable, caring about the city as a whole, Roberts was a typical slumlord: he’d been born wealthy, a trust fund baby who had gotten richer on the backs of the poor. He had a vast holding of decrepit properties on the South Side. The two never saw eye to eye on anything. So why was he waiting for a meeting?
“He would only tell me that you’d want to hear his proposition.”
“I’m not interested in any deal that man offers.” Jackson took a sip of his cappuccino and then headed into his spacious corner office, made almost completely of glass. His sleek glass-legged desk waited for him, as did his new laptop. From his vantage point, he could see Lake Michigan, dotted with small white sailboats, the beaches nearby filled with sunbathers, even on a weekday.
Hailey barely hid a smile. “That’s what I figured. Shall I tell him to leave?”
“No need, Miss Hailey,” came a baritone from Jackson’s office door. The two turned to see Kent Roberts standing there. Jackson frowned. He glanced at the tall, fit, dark-haired real estate baron hanging in his office door and hated the look of him: the preppy blue blazer, crisp khakis, expensive loafers and gleaming designer aviators perched on top of his wavy dark hair. His preppy, too-buttoned-up style rubbed Jackson the wrong way. It was as if he’d never grown out of the exclusive prep school uniform look. Then again, he probably went to boarding schools as a kid, so maybe he didn’t know how else to dress.
Jackson was a man who liked to get his hands dirty, who would be just as likely to pick up a hammer on a construction site as blueprints. Kent, however, had delicate, manicured hands that had never seen a day’s hard work in his whole life. The two were polar opposites.
“Sir?” Hailey asked, her single word loaded with meaning.
“It’s all right, Hailey. I’ll handle this.”
With a swift nod, she backed out of his office, leaving him and Roberts alone.
Jackson ran a hand over his goatee, which was quickly on the border of turning into a full-fledged beard. He took smug satisfaction in Kent’s baby-faced chin. The man couldn’t grow anything, he was pretty sure. Jackson sneezed and had a moustache.
“What can I do for you?” Jackson braced himself. He’d learned long ago not to underestimate his adversary. He might look like he never got his hands dirty, but he wasn’t afraid to stab anybody in the back.
“It’s what I can do for you, friend.” Kent smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I heard you moved into your house on MacKenzie. We’re neighbors.”
“Neighbors?” Jackson asked stiffly.
“Well, I just bought the property next door.”
Jackson frowned. How did he not know the building was for sale? He would’ve scooped it up, if only to protect his property values. Kent grinned, knowing he’d won that small victory.
“Which one?” Jackson asked.
“1209.”
That was when Jackson realized it was Chloe’s building, his sexy new neighbor. Now it really didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t like the idea of Chloe having a new slumlord owning her lease, a man who’d no doubt raise her rent but then refuse to fix anything. He might not know Chloe well, but what he did know he liked, and besides, no one deserved that.
“What do you plan to do with it?” Jackson asked.
Kent grinned even bigger. “Why, sell it to you, of course.”
Now Jackson was on full alert. Kent was not the kind of man to ever do him any favors. “Why?”
“Because I know you’ll make me the best offer. You’ve got all that new money lying around.” He tapped Jackson’s desk to make sure he hadn’t missed the dig. “I’m sure you can afford it. Unless...you’d rather save your money for NASCAR, or whatever it is you like.”
Kent always made a point of referencing the fact that Jackson came from humble beginnings. Kent had inherited his wealth. Never really worked a day in his life. Jackson’s father worked as a carpenter. He just happened to have a heart attack on the job when he was near retirement, and that gave Jackson the ability to buy his first office and flip it. Sure, they’d both inherited money, but Jackson’s inheritance came with much fewer zeros.
“I earned my money,” he said. “I’m not embarrassed about that.”
Kent frowned. “Well, like I said, I think you should think long and hard about making me a good offer.” Jackson suddenly felt that if he didn’t buy the building, Kent might turn it into something terrible, like a truck stop in the middle of the city. Or a strip club. Something that would make living next door impossible. “How about I have my people get in touch with your people... I just know we can make a deal.”
Kent stood, arms crossed, a fixed grin on his face that said he was enjoying this little meeting a little too much. Kent loved lording this over Jackson. He had no doubt the developer would insist on the most unreasonable price for the building, just so Jackson would keep it out of his hands. Honestly, it was lazy and stalkerish of Kent. Was his plan just to follow Jackson around the city? Buy up anything next door?
Jackson sighed. “Fine,” he said, hating this little game of cat and mouse. He’d rather just ignore Kent, pretend he didn’t exist, but Kent had other ideas. He’d seemed obsessed lately with picking a fight, and it was in no small part due to the fact that Jackson was far more successful than Kent, had reality TV offers when Kent had none, and had outbid him on a recent parkland deal with the city,
