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.

“Just make sure you give me a rundown of things you want to change and get it to me. I can run at least some of it by the board so you don’t have to be, you know, bored anymore. That’ll give you a bit more freedom to go ahead and get some things done.”

“Just write the word ‘everything’ on a sheet of paper and slide it across the table. I’m sure they’ll get the message then,” I said.

The guy I was talking to was my project manager. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t care. He was a full-time worker when I needed him, and he sat on my board taking up space when I didn’t. Honestly, I was really hoping he’d bring me something more interesting. I’d always wanted to revamp a theater or an opera house. Something in the entertainment industry that hadn’t sold itself out just yet to the modern era of entertainment.

I could bring a richness back to the arts that had long been lost. Every time I went to the symphony or the opera they were always trying to raise funds because they couldn't get enough asses in those seats. Sure, there were people who found that kind of thing stuffy. But, choirs and symphonies alike were updating themselves to become more appealing to the masses.

But those fucking amphitheaters and concert halls. They looked like something out of a dusty 1940s sleazy sex joint.

I could sink my bored-ass teeth into a project like that.

I took over the company after my dad passed five years ago. He didn’t have any help from his parents when starting this business, either. But I had a start. I shat on my parent’s views of college and started taking out loans and flipping houses to get money. Then, I started flipping those homes and renting them out. At one point, I had over one-hundred properties in my name and was raking in the money. I invested well and was living just fine until my dad passed, then the responsibility of his business fell to my shoulders.

Now-- at thirty-seven years of age-- I was the largest and wealthiest real estate mogul in the country. I specialize in all things real estate, but my passion was buying out all these failures other people endure just so I can make them better.

And it all started because I was crushing down walls and updating homes.

Honestly? I thought my father’s business would be more exciting when I was a kid. I saw him showing all these awesome properties and making people so happy. I thought he was, like, Superman or some shit. He was giving people their dreams in the form of houses, and I watched him grow from selling cookie-cutter houses in the suburbs to managing some of the most expensive properties New York City had to offer.

But holy fuck, showing homes was boring. You had to know shit about the house, like the plumbing and property taxes. You had to answer questions like ‘would this room be good for a nursery?’ or ‘when was the last time this bathroom was updated?’

Bitch, I don’t know. I don’t live there. Do you want it or not?

That’s why, when I took this company to the soaring heights it flies now, I now hired people to do all that shit. The realtors that worked underneath me didn’t work for a salary, but they were paid some of the highest commissions in the city. I had real estate agents knocking down my fucking door just to put in their application in case someone quit. Not having a salary forced them to sell, and the high commission percentage let them know how much I appreciated their enthusiasm for selling.

It was a win-win scenario.

But, even though I got that part of the business off my back, I still had to deal with other types of bullshit. Like stocks and the shareholders and boring ass boardroom meetings. Holy hell, the old men around here loved their board meetings. And those suckers weren’t like, five or ten minutes.

I fucking sat in a boardroom meeting for four hours last week.

Four hours!

Last fucking week!

But, now that the meeting this afternoon was canceled, I decided to take an early day. I could already feel my stress levels rising just thinking about the board meetings to come. I’d need to approve everything through them to make sure everyone was onboard before I’d be able to do any of the shit I actually liked doing, which was making everything better than it was in the beginning.

I was a fixer.

An improver.

The club downtown, The Rose Club, boasted of some of the finest women this city had to offer. They were vetted by appearance at the door by the bouncers and there was always someone willing to sit in the billionaires’ lap. They’d do anything to get into the VIP area with me, especially when I was known for wining and dining them in the evenings.

You know, before fucking them stupid into the mattress and ruining them for any other man in their lives.

So, in order to blow off some steam, that was exactly where I was headed. I was going to find me a nice piece of ass to come sit on my lap. I was going to feed her wines and decadent fruits she’d suck between her lips before I pulled out my cock and mesmerized her with it. Never had a woman refused the thick dick I had packing underneath my pants, and I could feel it.

Tonight was my night.

I was going to find me a little crimson-lipped beauty with long legs for hours and hair that dripped down her back. I was going to wrap my hands within it while I took her from behind, then I’d hold her close to make her feel special before making her breakfast and escorting her out.

If she was going to be my little slut for the evening, the least I could do was treat her with respect in the morning.

My cock twitched at the mere idea of it as I climbed into the seat of my car, and I started home so I could go ahead and get ready.

I had a bed to make just so I could mark it with some lucky woman’s lipstick.