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Jude was the only friend who I kept in touch with for a while after marrying Beth. She didn’t know that I was still in touch with him. But there was no way that the first friend I made after my father retired and we moved to Cherokee Springs was about to be cut out of my life.
The rest of the homies, Malik, Jabari, Travis, and Nathaniel were wildin’, but Jude was on some other shit. He had his mind on stacking his paper and building his career, not on hoing around and getting high. That was why I still rocked with him. He was the only one who didn’t judge me for marrying Beth, either.
The rest of my boys were calling me a sell-out for marrying a white woman, but truthfully, any one of them would have jumped on that train if it meant being a part of the richest and most exclusive family in the state of Georgia. They would have willingly sold my ass down the river for a chance to be in my shoes. I guess, in some ways, I could be considered a sell-out, even if I did that shit for my father. This would be the first step to reclaiming who I was.
Jude pressed the elevator button and slid a keycard into a slot.
The first stop was the fitness center located on the second floor. It was spacious and took up an entire floor. The state-of-the-art fitness center offered high-tech cardio and strength training equipment. There was a glass-enclosed studio forpersonal training and group classes, and that was further divided into individual rooms, and a yoga and stretching lawn.
Our next stop was the Hub, located on the third floor. The entire floor was dedicated to business and offered private rooms to book for work and study, communal meeting spaces, business lounges with seating clusters, an outdoor terrace, firepits, work desks, private conference rooms, phone booths, boardrooms, and a beverage bar with coffee, tea, and snack machines.
“You already know. The Vista is located in the most prestigious residential neighborhood of Blossom Springs. The swim deck has a resort-style pool, spa, poolside cabanas, pickleball court, a dog park, and a grand event lawn with seating features with views of the springs and downtown. There’s also a lounge and entertainment area with dining tables, a bar, an outdoor kitchen, and a cozy firepit,” Jude explained when we stepped off on the tenth floor and out of double doors that led to a rooftop.
The amenities area was just above the tree line and provided a sweeping panoramic view of the city. It was nice and provided everything that I could imagine.
“Damn, JR, this is sweet,” I replied, reverting to his nickname for Jude Rome.
“Wait until you see the rest of the building.”
Jude led me through the club area which was right off the amenity area, and it included a game room, a lounge, a bar, a kitchen for catering private events, and even a screening room to watch movies.
“You ready for the pièce de resistance?”
“Shiiid. That wasn’t it? Hell, a nigga like me could live in the amenities area and be all right,” I joked as we stepped back inside and took the elevator again.
“I told you. Only the best for my guy.”
“Yeah, yeah. Only the best price, too, I bet.”
He side-eyed me and then snickered.
“Just keep an open mind before I tell you the price.”
“I’m betting your ass ain’t gonna tell me until after I’ve seen everything.”
“You know how a nigga like me do it,” Jude replied and popped his collar.
I looked up at the numbers ticking off as we passed several floors.
“This is one of several penthouse suites that I’m showing you. They are in high demand, and there’s usually a waiting list for three years to get one. I happened to have connections and was able to swing this one your way before it was listed with other realtors.”
“Shit, what’s wrong with it? Is it haunted?”
“Nigga, nah,” he replied.
“Then what’s the deal? You fucking the owner or something?”
“Something like that.” He smirked.
“Oh, so she’s ready to dump this apartment off her hands, and you had the perfect target. Nigga, what it’s gon’ cost me?”
“Nah. Not like that. I’m talking about the woman who owns the building.”
“Oh, damn. You fucking prime pussy. I thought the woman who owned this building was Gretchen Harrel.”
“It is.”
“Nigga, she’s fifty-two years old. Damn!”