“What did you find out about that brownstone?” he asked. Brandon stuck by his side, matching his pace as they walked toward his office.
“I’ve got the owner’s name, phone number, and the current market value with the specs on the house.” He handed Thad the information, neatly printed on expensive card stock with the company letterhead. Thad brushed his thumb over the name Annette Becker.
“My father in yet?”
“He is. Your mother will be by for lunch with the both of you later.”
“Thanks, Brandon. I sent you some reports early this morning. Review and we’ll discuss them in an hour. I want to hear your thoughts.”
“You got it,” the young man replied eagerly. He was the son of a friend of Thad’s father. Despite how nepotism usually worked out in the workplace—that is to say, badly—Thad had been pleasantly surprised by the Brandon’s intelligence and work ethic. Most Ivy League kids were smart but putting in the necessary effort left most of them clueless. Thad supposed most people would think the same of him, but they would be wrong. He’d gone to Princeton on an academic scholarship and later approached his father, who’d been an investment banker at the time, to open Worthington Enterprises with him four years ago. With Thad’s aggressive confidence and his father’s reserved analytical approach to balance each other out, they made a great team.
Thad didn’t go see his father just yet. First, he went to his own office and pulled his cell out. He dialed the number for Annette Becker and watched the Chicago skyline as he listened to the phone ring.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Ms. Becker?”
“Mrs. Becker,” she corrected, and he realized he was speaking to someone a little older, perhaps his parents’ age. “Who is this?”
“Mrs. Becker, my name is Thad Worthington. I understand you own a brownstone on North Astor Street? The one with the coffee shop on the first floor?”
“It’s actually in a trust over which I’m the sole trustee with discretion to sell. Has my tenant done something? If that—” the woman cut herself off. “I’m sorry, what did you say was the reason you called?”
“I am interested in making an offer on it, if you wouldn’t mind showing me the rest of the property at a time that’s convenient for you?”
“I might,” Mrs. Becker said slowly. “My asking price is three and half million.”
He checked the details that Brandon had written down. “Zillow has it listed for $2,895,000.” The report said it had three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs with a business property on the first floor for a total of 5100 square feet. Half of that was likely downstairs and had been modified with the construction of the coffee shop, but he could easily put money in to have it restored to a normal residence when he moved in.
“Yes, well, the home has sentimental value. It belonged to my late husband.”
“My sincerest condolences.” He said at once, even though the woman didn’t sound at all that upset. “If you aren’t interested in selling, I completely understand.” He gave the customary pause, letting her think it over.
“I can make time to show it to you on Sunday. I will make sure the renters are out when you arrive.”
“Wonderful.” Thad gave Mrs. Becker his cell number. “Just text me a time for Sunday.”
“I will,” she assured him in a much sweeter voice than she’d initially used. She was definitely willing to sell and the thought made him smile. Today was Friday, so he would only have to wait a few days to check out the brownstone’s upper floors.
With his personal project out of the way for now, it was time to visit his father. Whereas most men in his father’s position would have a corner office, or at least have a large window, Timothy Worthington did not. Thad’s father preferred an office in the center of the floor, where he could be close to his employees and feel approachable. It represented the sort of man Timothy was: a good, kind man who’d been glad to leave the exhausting hours of investment banking behind. Thad’s mother had also been thrilled by the career change.
Thad knocked on his father’s half open door.
“Come in.”
Thad pushed his way inside and grinned at the sight of his father examining a model of a new hotel structure. It was one Thad didn’t recognize.
“New project?”
His father gave a delighted smile. “Yes, it’s the model for a series of two-story beach houses along the Gold Coast, though I’m tempted to rebuild some of the old mansions that were torn down. What do you think would be better?”
“You know what my vote would be.” Thad would rather have a glorious mansion turned into a modern hotel than have dozens of small beach homes litter the coast.
“Restored mansions it is.” His father set the beach house model aside and leaned back in his chair. “Our afternoon meeting got pushed back to tomorrow. You’re free if you have anything you need to do around the city.”
That was good news. Thad wanted to see the brownstone again in daylight. He’d learned early on that a person had to see a space in both the light and the dark before they could truly judge its worth.
“I’m thinking of buying a place on North Astor Street…” He wasn’t sure why he needed to tell his father, other than to see if he approved. That was rare; he usually didn’t seek approval from his parents. Thad was close to both of them, but he’d always been confident enough to do what he wished on his own. But something about this property felt different. It was a personal investment as opposed to a business interest.
“One of those lovely houses?” His father stroked his chin. “Are you thinking of moving out of the penthouse?”
“Sort of. I still want to keep that space for entertaining.”
Timothy chuckled, understanding what Thad meant, albeit in a vague way. “Well, you never needed my opinion before, but I’d say go after it. Those places were built to last.”
“Thanks.”
When Thad returned to his office, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. The walls were covered with black and white photos of various real estate projects. He liked the sharp contrast the photos provided. His gaze drifted past the frames and far into the distance as his thoughts left work behind.
All he could think about was that house, and how he’d felt last night as he sang with his whole heart and soul under its roof.
“He’s back!” Zelda announced with an excited whisper.
Veronica was busy cleaning out one of the smoothie blenders in the sink. It had broken…again. The damn thing had been a piece of crap from the moment it had arrived. “Who?”
“Chris Hemsworth!”
“Zelda!” She spun around to tell Zelda to hush but froze as she saw that he was standing at the counter. Zelda was in a daze, as though the man’s ridiculously good looks were somehow more hypnotic in daylight.
Veronica gently nudged Zelda away from the cash machine to talk to the attractive stranger.
“What can I get you?”
“Black coffee, light cream.”
“Sure thing.” Veronica accepted his credit card and couldn’t help but notice the name. Thad Worthington. He had one of those heavy black credit cards she knew had no monetary limit. The thought made her dizzy and his name sounded super rich, like the hot jerk a girl would crush on at an elite boarding school in some cheesy coming-of-age rom-com.