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Chapter Fourteen
“Excuse me,” thevoice said. “Jodi Bishop?”
I looked up from the contract I was perusing to see a handsome head—hazel eyes, light brown hair, patrician nose, full mouth—appear in the doorway to my office.
“Roger McAdams?”
“In the flesh,” he said, approaching my desk and extending his hand. He was tall and slim, stylishly dressed in gray slacks and a navy linen sports jacket, his handshake firm, his gaze steady.
“Please,” I said, motioning toward the two oak chairs in front of my desk, “have a seat.”
“I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.”
I smiled. “How can I help you, Mr. McAdams?”
“Roger, please.” He explained that he had relocated to Toronto from Detroit for a new job several months earlier and the time had come to move out of the tiny apartment he’d been renting and into a place of his own.
“What kind of place are we talking about? House? Condo?”
“Condo, definitely. I’m divorced, no kids. Not expecting a lot of visitors. But maybe two bedrooms, so I can use one as an office.”
“Any particular area you’re considering?”
“Well, I work on Bay Street. So preferably something downtown. Maybe overlooking the water.”
“Condos on the water run pretty steep. What’s your budget?”
“Flexible,” he said. “Maybe you could show me a few places, so I could see what’s available and for how much, and that way I could get a better feel for what my options are.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said.And vague,I added silently, understanding that unless we were very lucky, the search for a suitable condo could take some time. “Why don’t you look through our listings online and see if anything stands out. And meanwhile, I’ll try to put together a good cross-section of what’s available, and get back to you by the end of the day.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Are there any times that work best for you, in terms of showings?”
“Well, evenings or weekends, I guess. If that works for you.”
“Whatever works for you, works for me,” I told him honestly, although I could already hear Harrison’s objections to my schedule slamming against my ears.
He handed me a card with his name and cellphone number. “I look forward to hearing from you,” he said as he was leaving.
I look forward to being heard,I thought, watching him go.
—
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re going to be working all weekend,” Harrison was saying as we were getting ready for bed.
“Not all weekend.”
“No. Just mornings and afternoons.”
“Not all morning,” I said evenly. “Not all afternoon.”
“Really?” he challenged. “How does that work, exactly? Break it down for me.”
“I have showings between ten and twelve, and two and four on Saturday.”
“And Sunday?”
