Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
“Tell me Katie,” he rumbles, looking back at me. “What drew you to Hudson in the first place? And don’t tell me it was the beauty and grandeur of the Marks Building,” he says with a rueful smile.
I laugh then, the melody tinkling a bit in the breeze.
“No, it wasn’t the architecture, although I was impressed when I set foot on campus. Where I’m from, you don’t really see Gothic Revival or Palladian architecture. It’s more clapboard and shingles where I’m from,” I say wryly.
He cocks his head, looking at me oddly.
“Where are you from sweetheart? I’d love to know. I’m around New Yorkers so much, and you know how we are as a group. We think the world begins and ends with this island. The outer boroughs don’t even count.”
I giggle at that one.
“I know, and Manhattan’s only something like three miles wide and fourteen miles long. It’s crazy right? Brooklyn’s right over the water, but I hardly ever go.”
Mr. Marks smiles ruefully again.
“I know. I don’t think I’ve been to Brooklyn in about fifteen years.”
“Fifteen years?” I gasp. “But it’s right across the river.”
Mr. Marks nods. “Yep, I’d say about fifteen years is right. It’s not that it’s geographically far. After all, I could just board my private helicopter and land somewhere in a different borough. It’s that I ask whoever’s in Brooklyn to come meet me, so there’s no need to travel.”
I laugh then.
“Well, I’m not so lucky,” are my words. “I can’t just snap my fingers and say, “Come find me here.” A lot of people actually expect me to go to them, so I’ve been to Williamsburg a couple times. Besides, it’s a really great scene. Lots of different people with wacky hair and wild clothes.”
“It’s the new downtown, hmm?” Mr. Marks muses.
I nod.
“Absolutely. I guess Manhattan is just so high priced now that all the artists have moved. It makes sense,” I say. “I don’t know that much about real estate, but I think the per foot price in Brooklyn can be half of what it is in Manhattan.”
“Less than that,” snorts Jordan. “Half would be a neighborhood near Prospect Park, like Windsor Terrace or Kensington. The further out you go on the train, the cheaper it is. I’ve thought about doing some development there, so who knows? Maybe I’ll head over to scout for some properties.”
“But I thought you said you never go to Brooklyn,” I tease. “Or is it going to be different this time?”
Jordan lets out a laugh, eyes twinkling.
“You’re right,” he concedes. “I usually send my lackeys to do all the prep work, and that includes the preliminary footwork. But hey, you never know,” he grins. “If there’s money to be made, then I’m there. In the end, they’ll need my signature anyways.”
I nod, but everything about this conversation has just reminded me about the chasm between me and this alpha male. After all, he’s a billionaire property developer, whereas I’m a penniless student at Hudson. He’s got droves of people working for him, whereas I’m lucky if I can get the barista to take my order at the campus café. He has a lifetime of experience under his belt, whereas I’m naïve, unknowing, and most likely just too young.
But Mr. Marks doesn’t seem to mind. He shoots me another dazzling smile, the sunlight glinting off that coal black hair.
“So Katie, you never did tell me where you’re from,” he rumbles. “We’ve established that it’s not Brooklyn. But maybe New Jersey? Queens?”
I laugh then.
“Hardly. I’m from Iowa. Have you ever heard of Grinnell?”
“The school?” he asks, brows lowering.
“Yes, the school. But also the town that Grinnell’s in is called Grinnell. I’m from there,” I say. “My parents are professors at the college.”
“Nice,” says Jordan approvingly. “What do they teach?”
“Well,” I say, drawing a deep breath. “Both teach studio art. They’re in the same department, but the thing is that they split a job. They’re both faculty, but they share one position.”
Jordan quirks his head then.
“What do you mean, split a position?” he asks. “You mean the way there are co-CEO’s?”
Again, this man’s experience is on a different level than mine, so I nod slightly.
“Sort-of. I don’t know much about CEO positions, but I’d imagine that if there are co-CEOs, there might be two jobs at the corporation. By contrast, my parents don’t have two jobs. They share one. They’re both the Distinguished Professor of Studio Art. It’s kind of like when you have working moms, and two moms might split one job? That’s what my parents do.”
I can tell Jordan’s a little puzzled.
“But why did they do this?” he asks. “Did it start when you were a baby, and they wanted to be home more to help take care of you?”
I shake my head.
“No, it started about seven years ago. My mom was the professor with tenure, but then she decided she wanted to go part-time. The thing is that there aren’t really part-time professor positions. It’s all in or nothing. So she proposed that my dad, who was a lecturer at the time, fill in for her twenty hours a week. The Dean said okay, and that’s that. But the thing is that now we only have one income,” I murmur. “That’s why they couldn’t come out for Parents Weekend. The cost of two plane tickets and a hotel on one professor’s salary isn’t enough.”