“It’s a fifty-billion-dollar-a-year industry, Finley. He’s going to invest with three others in an indoor grow facility. He just needs some cash upfront to get in on it.”
There’s no stopping my jaw from dropping. I’m not surprised Rich wants to help Daniel. He loves his kids. And there’s no judgment from me that Daniel wants to go into marijuana production. It’s completely legal here.
But I’m stunned Rich wants to sell the shop. It’s been his life for the last thirty-two years. It’s part of his identity.
“I just…” I stumble for the right words. “I just can’t believe you want out. I mean… this place is you, Rich. It’s your legacy, and I always sort of thought it would pass to Richie or Daniel.”
Rich shakes his head, lips pressed flat. “Richie would run it into the ground. As you can see, Daniel has an incredibly good opportunity here. That’s why I want to offer it to you. And you’re right… it’s a legacy, and I trust you to take good care of it.”
“I can’t afford to buy—”
Rich holds his hand up. “Just listen to my offer. If you’re not interested, I can open it to outside bidders. But I’d rather you have this place over anyone else. I’ll finance it for you, but I’m going to need some cash upfront for Daniel.”
“How much cash?” I ask, my tongue feeling thick and swollen in my mouth.
“Two hundred thousand,” he says, and I gasp.
I can’t afford that. I can’t even afford five percent of that. And while it would be a dream I didn’t realize I had to own this place, I now feel my very existence is crumbling away at the foundation.
“Rich… that’s impossible for me.”
“Don’t say that,” he demands, looking at me much the way my father would when I was frustrated and ready to give up. “There are all kinds of ways. Fallon could help you, or you could get a second mortgage on your house. I’ll help you figure it out.”
“How soon do you need an answer?” I ask hesitantly.
“Soon,” he replies softly. “Daniel’s on a deadline to make his buy-in. He needs to have it by the end of the month.”
Shit. That’s only three and a half weeks away. Despite what might seem like impossible odds, I promise Rich to give it some serious thought. Still, as I trudge the four blocks to Finley’s condominium—which happens to be uphill—the only conclusion I can come to is that it would be nearly impossible for me to come up with that much cash.
Which means Rich will have to sell to an outside investor. My job could be at stake. Life could change drastically for me, and it puts me in a piss-poor mood by the time the doorman greets me at Fallon’s building and opens the door for me to enter.
I don’t come here often enough to know the people who work resident services, but the doorman dressed in a red frocked coat, white gloves, black pants, and black top hat gives me a warm smile. I receive his smile at the same time I get a frothy, buzzy feeling welling inside me. It makes me want to dance and twirl around. It’s like happy champagne bubbles, and the feeling seems to shoot directly from the man holding the door open straight into my body.
Those vibes have nothing to do with his smile or genial personality, but everything to do with what’s deep inside him. Just as with Dan and Mr. Pelman, I close myself off to it. Slam a mental door tight and cut those fizzy vibes off at the root.
While this man doesn’t make me think of serial killers, he is definitely not natural no matter how good he makes me feel. I duck my head, shooting him a brief smile, and scurry into the building’s foyer.
CHAPTER 3
There’s no denying The Sapphire is a beautiful building, named for the blue-tinted reflective glass on the exterior. The lobby is what one would expect for a luxury high-rise condo with Italian marble flooring, expensive crystal lighting, and an officious-looking receptionist who sits behind a curved desk to welcome people. Everything is done in white and chrome, which Fallon calls contemporary elegance, but I call hospital sterile chic.
I cross the lobby to the desk, my Chucks making a faint squeaking noise against the floor that causes the woman sitting there to purse her lips in distaste. She’s just a receptionist, but she is voguishly polished and I’m sure probably makes more money sitting here directing people than I do busting my ass as a coffee shop manager.
“May I help you?” she inquires cordially with a pasted-on smile, but I can tell she thinks I may have wandered into the wrong place.
“I’m here to see Fallon Porter. I’m her sister Finley.”
A bit of warmth seeps into the woman’s expression, and she nods. “Yes, of course. Miss Porter said you’d be coming.”
Pointing to the bank of three elevators, she types something onto her keyboard and the farthest one opens. It’s an express elevator that leads to the top five floors. It can only be opened by the computer the receptionist commands, or by a resident’s thumbprint on the pad beside the elevators.
Welcome to the modern world. I remember being slightly impressed with it the first time I came to visit, but, after that, it was just a novelty.
“Thank you,” I reply before moving quickly toward the door. In my mind, I know it won’t shut, but there’s still an urge to break into a run in case it does.
It waits for me, as it was programmed to do, and I step onto its marbled floor. Holding onto a chrome rail, I push the button to the thirty-seventh floor. While The Sapphire is forty floors in height, the top five condos are all equally identical in size and amenities. There isn’t a cream-of-the-crop penthouse in this building with extra features, size, and appointments. The only thing that distinguishes them is their height relative to where the ground is. However, Fallon’s fiancé complained to me once that he lost his bid for the top floor, and, as such, they’d probably be moving at some point to somewhere more prestigious. I could only stare at him blank-faced because I didn’t get why it was so awful being on the thirty-seventh floor versus the fortieth when they were identical in features.
But that’s Blain. Everything is about status with him.
The elevator takes off and I hold tight because it’s built onto the exterior of the building with transparent glass walls so that once it surpasses the second floor, it shoots out over Seattle and flies upward. I’m sure many people love the thrill and the chance to gaze at the beauty of a portion of downtown and the Sound beyond, but I’m afraid of heights, so my stomach rolls over and over again.
I close my eyes.
It doesn’t help.
I take deep breaths, but it makes me want to puke.
So I concentrate by staring at my feet and trying to ignore the outside whizzing by through my peripheral vision.
You know, if Fallon truly wants to know why I don’t visit more often, this puke-inducing ride up is one reason.
The elevator slows, coming to a smooth stop on the thirty-seventh floor. A cultured but digitally engineered female voice serenely states, Floor thirty-seven. I exit after the doors silently slide open, then turn left to Fallon’s condo. It sits on the west-facing side of the building and as long as it’s a sunny day, it has a prime view of the Puget Sound, Bainbridge Island across the water, and the Olympic mountains beyond that.