Page 78 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Fifty-one

Jordan

Jordan’s dinner meeting with Charles Farmer had gone so well that she rolled her eyes as her phone buzzed with yet another message from him trying a flimsy attempt at casual communication, pretending he wasn’t pressing for her acceptance of their offer.

It was a generous one, worth an easy eight figures over five years, and so rich with cash that she was in Chicago touring a penthouse condominium that she’d only dreamed about even a few years ago.

She’d brought her mother along, in part because in her girlhood, they’d always wonder, walking down Michigan Avenue, who it was that lived at the top of those tall buildings, the imposing structures that exuded wealth and control, power and imperviousness.

And here they were, in one of those very fortresses in the sky, all windows looking down, all perfectly placed and tastefully decorated in neutral tones.

She’d be safe up here, comfortable, ensconced in luxury, and she wanted her mother to knowit.

“Jordan, this is beautiful, but do you really want to give up living in Malibu? You were right there on the beach.”

“Mom, living at the beach is overrated. It’s overcast half the time anyway. With this job, I can go anywhere I want for vacation. I could probably buy an island.” Jordan smiled at the thought; she was only half kidding.

Her mother turned from the window and walked over. The sound of her heels clacking along the hard floor echoed throughout the expansive two-story living room. When she was close enough, she joined her hands with Jordan’s and met her eyes. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

What else am I supposed to do? Jordan’s mind silently replied.

The real estate agent reentered the room with a brisk stride to the two women.

“So sorry, I just had to take a quick call. So, where were we? Oh yes, of course. This is a double-unit penthouse. The prior owners bought the unit below them and expanded through two levels. And it’s really impressive how seamlessly this was done.

Now you have this massive living room, just majestic, looking down over all of Chicago.

And of course you have the views of Lake Michigan.

” The agent continued her enumeration of the selling points—twenty-four-hour concierge in the lobby of the building, a two-story fitness center, aquatic center, three bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, an office, and, if she wanted, the owners would throw in some of their art collection and furniture.

The art and furniture alone were worth what some of her friends had paid for their entire home back in Los Angeles.

“I like it,” Jordan said confidently. With the signing bonus alone, she’d be able to make a healthy down payment, and could move in within weeks. “Mom, you like it, right?”

Her mother’s face was unreadable, which was strange for a moment like this.

You’d expect any parent to be proud to see their child come from modest beginnings and go all the way to the top of the world.

But that wasn’t all that her mother wanted for her.

“It’s…nice,” she said. “Amazing, just beautiful. But are you sure, Jordan, that this is what you want?”

Jordan rolled her eyes like an annoyed teen.

“Mom…” Jordan readied herself to dismiss the trophy wife when her mom stepped in close.

“Honey,” she said as she took Jordan’s hand with a maternal love and concern.

“Is everything okay? Did anything…happen?” Mom’s eyes locked onto Jordan’s, searching for an answer.

Jordan wanted to look away. But the softer side wanted to collapse into her arms, confess she was hurting, bawl her eyes out, and get the nurturing that she knew her mom was longing to pour all over her. Instead, Jordan remained steadfast.

“I’m fine, Mom. I know what I’m doing,” Jordan insisted. “Trust me. This is great. A great development.”

“Okay, Jordan, you’ve always been your father’s child.” She smiled weakly.

Yes, yes I am, Jordan thought, looking out the window and surveying all the world below.