Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
My assumption grew when I confronted him about the legalities he could face for ignoring his tenants’ ninety-nine-year leases.
It turns out it wasn’t solely Mr. Richler’s construction firm taking Isaac for a row.
His entire family was in the boat, steering its demise.
With most apartments revamped for a fraction of the money Holt Industries put up, the Richlers shifted their focus to other moneymaking deceptions. Increasing the rent on tenanted apartments netted them a cool thirty thousand a month. When that wasn’t enough, they commenced offloading apartments Isaac knew he wouldn’t profit off in his lifetime—if ever. Apartments like Angel’s were the equivalent of community housing for him. He didn’t care if they ran at a loss.
Understandably, Isaac’s trust was low when I presented him with an offer to purchase Angel’s apartment. He denied the ballooned price I gave in desperation in under a second, his verdict only altering when I announced my intention for the apartment. “I want to gift it to Angel for Christmas.”
“That’s an extremely generous gift,” he murmured, his interest piqued. “Some may say it is also a risky endeavor, considering you met only days ago.” His gray eyes bounced between mine. “What will happen if things don’t work out?”
“Nothing will change,” I answered, confident. “Angel’s apartment is her home, with or without me being a part of her life.”
That was clearly what Isaac wanted to hear. He mumbled something about wealth not being valued by money before he altered my proposal.
Angel’s apartment will be transferred into her name once I see through the construction we’d commenced only hours earlier. It will be a costly and timely project, but as I believed only last week, I strongly trust the benefits will outweigh the negatives, so I accepted it.
“Work won’t begin until early in the new year, so I figured it would be best to get out of your hair until then.” My arrogance breaks through a tension thick enough to slice with a knife. “All bets are off after Christmas, though. Most of the damage occurred here.” I point to the ceiling. “So it is only fair I spend the majority of my time in your apartment.”
Angel’s smile is minute but still noticeable. “Will there be set hours? I can’t have you nailing the floorboards at all hours of the night.” Now her smile is big. “What will Mrs. Roach think?”
“She’ll probably think you’re lucky.” I wish I were joking. Mrs. Roach isn’t as Goody Two-Shoes as her sweater-making makes out. Knitting needles weren’t the only things removed from her bathroom when it was cleared out to correct the mold. She could have restocked the merchandise Angel sold out of earlier this week. “But just in case, we moved her into apartment 4B until the rebuild ends.” My cock hardens when I murmur, “All the apartments surrounding yours are now vacant.” When heat flashes across Angel’s face, I correct, “Temporarily vacant.”
I realize it isn’t anger inflaming her cheeks when she murmurs, “For how long?”
“A few weeks at least. Possibly longer if we don’t commence work here.” I wave my hand at the stabilizers holding up the ceiling.
It seems as if she wants to request that I start the work at the furthest location from her apartment. She just can’t force her heart to say the words. “Will you oversee the entire rebuild?” My hum of agreement causes her to squirm. She hides it well, though. “How long do you think it will take?”
I twist my lips. “At a guess, I’d say around a year.”
“A year!” I can’t tell if she is excited or mortified. It could be a combination of both.
Again, I hum.
I lean toward excited when she asks, “Will you stay at the hotel the entire time?”
“Depends.” I shrug like I’m not dying to lower my eyes to the indecent length of her towel. “I had my eye on an apartment in the area.” Her miffed expression is her cutest to date. “But the advertisement I’d bookmarked for future use is nowhere to be found. Anyone would swear it had been taken down.”
Angel’s throat works hard to swallow, her throat as dry as mine when I discovered she had delisted her spare room on Airbnb hours before almost tripping me over with the lip of her front door.
When I arch a brow, wordlessly demanding answers, she swallows bitterly before blurting out, “My last houseguest was a real dick. He hogged the only bathroom for hours and wandered around half-naked as if he owned the place.”
Her fake eye roll halts halfway around when I murmur, “Can you blame him? It’s fucking hot here.”
“Florida—”
“Has nothing on the heat in apartment 17B,” I interrupt before finally granting my eyes permission to peek at her luscious thighs. “Hot. Enough. To. Burn.”
When my eyes return to her face, she murmurs, “Christian, I owe you—”