Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“You’re Jesse Ward,” he breathes.
“I’m Jesse Ward,” I confirm. “My office is this way.” I pass him and head toward the summer room. “So something came up earlier today?”
“I can explain.”
I laugh. “Only my wife ever needs to explain to me.”
“Oh, you’re married?”
“Yeah, I’m married.” I stop in my tracks and look back at him. “You sound surprised.”
The guy was so together previously. Almost cocky. Now, he’s in a bit of a fluster, looking between John and me, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “I heard—”
“You heard?” Has he been asking around about me?
His shoulders drop, and his eyes roll. “It’s just part of our background checks.”
“And what did your background checks unveil?” Obviously shit background checks if they don’t know I’m married.
“Not a lot, actually.”
“I’m a private man.” I tilt my head, feeling John studying me. A private man who put it around. A lot. But that was before Ava.
“That’s quite obvious.”
“I’m here to listen to what you’ve got to say, Owen. Nothing more.”
“But you’re not interested in selling?” he asks, almost coy.
“I don’t need the money, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Let’s be clear on that.
“I figured.” He smiles. “You have an Aston, a penthouse in central London, a villa in Marbella.”
Obviously not private enough. Who’s he been talking to? “Very good.” I carry on to my office, leaving the door open and going to the couch, motioning to the one opposite and looking at John in instruction to sit next to me. Both men lower to their places. “So why are you late?” I ask.
“I went back to the CFO of Fairlands, my client, to get the go-ahead for a wider window for negotiations.” Owen places his briefcase on the table in front of him and reaches forward, releasing the catches. The loud clicks fill my office.
“I’m not here to negotiate, Owen. I’m here to hear what you’ve got to say.”
“Of course. You don’t need the money.”
I sigh and settle back, semi-scowling. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Five million.”
John does a terrible job of hiding his cough. But not because he’s surprised. He’s insulted. I smile across to Owen, trying to conceal it with a light brush of my top lip with my index finger. “Owen,” I say, his name a breathy sigh. “I make sixty times that in one year.”
And like John can’t hide his cough and I can’t hide my smile, Owen can’t hide his balk.
“Perhaps you should have requested the company accounts.” Not that I would have sanctioned the release of them. So much for his background checks. I stand. “I think we’re done.”
“No, no, no, Mr. Ward, please.” His hand comes up. “Ten.”
“You double your offer in the space of sixty seconds?” I scoff, insulted. “Time to go, Owen.” I check my watch and text Ava again.
“Fifteen,” he breathes, beaten.
The cheeky fucker. I lower my phone, eyes narrowing in interest and nothing more. “Something tells me your commission depends on what price you can secure.”
He looks guilty. I don’t know why. He’s a salesman.
“Let me educate you on a few things, Owen.” I pull my trousers up at the knees and lower to the couch. “My uncle bought The Manor in 1989 for a cool two million.” I glance at John. He’s looking slightly reminiscent, almost sad. “He spent another two renovating the building and the grounds, not to mention the blood, sweat, and tears.”
“It was three,” John says, his voice flat and gruff.
“Three,” I say. “That’s five million. The property was valued at eleven on completion in 1990. My uncle was twenty-six at the time. It’s not official, but I’m pretty sure that would have made him one of the youngest millionaires in the country at the time. The property and grounds are just a fraction of The Manor’s worth. The running of this business brings me in a hell of a lot more a year. So, if I were to sell this grand, glorious old building, it would need to be a pretty fucking big carrot being dangled. Gold plated. The tastiest thing I’ve ever tried, and I’ve tried some tasty things in my time, if you get what I mean.” God help me if Ava heard me say that. The only thing I’d be tasting is blood from my split lip. John clearing his throat confirms it. Owen looks like he’s prepared for a donkey and got a racehorse. “Want to take time to regroup?” I ask.
He breathes out, the sound filling the room, and pulls out a folder from his briefcase. “Let’s pull back on the money talk and have a chat about Fairlands.” The folder slaps on the wood, and John and I both look at the photograph on the front of a pretty impressive golf course. “They have one other location in the north of the UK. Dozens across Europe. They want another in the south and this is perfect.”