Sandy - Vested Interest

I picked up the wine and headed toward the living room. My doorbell echoing in the emptiness of the house startled me. I looked at the screen of my phone, surprised, but pleased, to see Jordan on my doorstep.

I opened the door, smiling. “Hello. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

He hesitated. “Is it all right that I came over? I know I said I would call—”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Of course. Come in.”

He strode in, stopping to kiss my cheek, his lips brushing my skin, leaving a trail of warmth.

I took his coat, got him a glass of wine, and sat next to him on the sofa. “Did you have dinner?” I asked.

“I had a sandwich.”

I laughed. “Me too.” I indicated the file in his hand. “What’s that?”

“This is what I came here to talk about.” He faced me fully on the sofa. “I need your unbiased advice, Sandy.”

I tilted my head to the side. “I’m not sure how unbiased I can be about you anymore, Jordan,” I confessed.

He smiled and closed the space between us to drop a kiss on my mouth. “I like hearing that, but I think you can be in this case.”

I squared my shoulders. “Okay, hit me.”

He opened the file and spread out the documents. “This is the asking price the real estate agent has suggested.”

I read the large number. “Given the market, that seems right.”

He chuckled. “I bought the house for less than two hundred grand thirty years ago. I never imagined it would be valued at over ten times that price one day.”

“Toronto is hot. And it’s a large house with a yard in a great neighborhood. It’s hardly surprising.”

He set another document on top. “This is the price Bentley gave me for the condo.”

I glanced at the amount, noting he had chosen the larger one with three bedrooms. It had been my favorite as well. “That’s in line with what he gave to Maddox and Reid.”

“But they’re partners, Sandy. I’m not a partner. This is well below market value.”

“Bentley believes in rewarding staff, Jordan. To him, you are as valuable as Reid and Maddox. As any of his staff.” I smiled as I teased him. “If you’re worried about Bentley’s bottom line, I assure you he made millions on this project. And the way Maddox structured and invested the holdings, he’ll make many more.”

He chuckled, then rested his chin on his hand as he studied the papers. “He also told me I could have the condo whenever I wanted it if I decided to go ahead with this. The agent said she would help me thin out the house and put things in storage if needed.” He was silent for a moment. “One signature—one stroke on a pen, and my entire life as I know it will change.”

“Are you ready for that?” I asked.

He pushed at the papers with his finger. Back and forth, he moved them in a repeated restless pattern.

“There’s no smoking gun here, Jordan. You don’t have to decide tonight, or even this week. Maybe you should talk to your kids about it. Look at the condo again.”

He met my gaze. “That’s the odd thing. I’m not conflicted or worried. I really liked the condo, and the thought of not having to deal with all the outside stuff and being alone in the house, filled with nothing but recollections of what my life was like before, is actually a relief. I want to sign the papers. Move ahead.”

“And that worries you.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “Yes. It’s not like me. I’m usually a very methodical decision-maker.”

“Perhaps there’s another way to think of this then, Jordan.”

“Tell me.”

“Maybe you had already thought it through. You told me when Gina brought it up two years ago, you weren’t ready. That when Gina questioned you again at Christmas, you had already begun to change your mind. You said you’ve been thinking about it ever since. As for the condo, they say you know if the place is right for you ten seconds after you walk in the door.”

He stared at the documents, deep in thought. He turned his head, a smile ghosting his lips. “You are a very clever woman, Sandy Preston.”

I laughed. “I try.” Then I became serious. “Do what it is you want to do—for you, Jordan. Nobody else.” I exhaled. “Don’t factor me into your decision.”

“Are you breaking up with me already?” he asked lightly, although his eyes were worried.

“No, but we’re still so new. Make this decision as if this happened two weeks ago, not now. Can you do that?”

“It would still be the same.”

“Then do it.”

He relaxed back into the sofa, and I handed him the glass of wine. He sipped it.

“Have you ever thought of selling?” he asked.