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Nicole
Dirty Daddy
Her Billionaire’s Baby Book 1
Ellie Wild
1
Foster
“The building really is a steal. The company’s going out of business, and the price they’re offering is all inclusive. They aren’t even trying to sell off the furniture on any of the levels in order to try and recoup money. The guy’s just fucking bailing.”
“Doesn’t sound like a very smart man to me,” I said. “I’ve got no issues buying from him the potential he doesn’t see.”
“That’s why I wanted to meet you at your office today instead of waiting until this afternoon. If I can secure this price, then we’ll have our pick of what they’ve got in that building to use. I can hire someone to haul out the rest of the shit, and we can get this project going.”
“Sounds like a plan. Does that mean the meeting this afternoon is canceled?” I asked. “Can you guys handle something like that without me there?”
“Yes, Mr. Dobson. We’ll be just fine once we’ve gotten your approval.”
“Then, you’ve got it,” I said.
“This’ll put you on the map.”
“I’m already on the map,” I said. “Now, I want to be the map. I want people to come to me when they want something from that building. I’ve got massive plans for it.”
“Then, that is something we can do. All you need to do is-”
“Approve every single solitary change I want to make with the board, no matter what. Every faucet. Every piece of wallpaper-- which there will be none-- and every change of every toilet seat. Got it,” I said.
“I know you don’t like that part-”
“No, I don’t. I don’t like the fact that I own this company and have for five years, and yet a table full of old ass rich men somehow get to decide whether I’ve done my job well enough. They don’t own this company. They aren’t the experts. They simply hold stock and invest consistently in my projects. If I was bad at my job, they wouldn’t keep investing. That’s proof enough, the fact that they’re all still sitting there,” I said.
“And I agree wholeheartedly, Mr. Dobson, but that’s just the way things are.”
“Well, maybe things need to-...change.” A yawn peeled from my lips even as I was saying it. I’d done this song and dance a million fucking times. Some independent idiot would come in and want to start their own complex or condominium station and try to pimp it out. They’d really do it up-- jet bathtubs in all the main bathrooms, king-sized beds. Really furnish up the place and rent out the rooms to businessmen.
What they didn’t understand was that businessmen who came to New York either stayed in hotels because they wanted to discreetly bang someone or they stayed in the home of whoever they were banging.
Luxury condominiums never worked anywhere in the city unless you were selling them.
It was my fifth property I’d acquired in the past seven years doing this type of shit. I’d come in to the owner panicking with his balls between his legs and he’d beg me for the best possible estimate I could provide. I’d buy him out, so he wouldn’t be in half the debt he’s currently in, then I’d take everything and turn it into what it should’ve been. The money I brought in from these projects could power an entire third-world country for ten years.
And I was about to make a shitload more money with this latest venture.
“Something boring you?”
“Yes. You. Get out. You’ve got my approval. Come back to me when the construction crew is ready to revamp. I control that part,” I said.