Page 196 of The Last Good Man

“What about this?” she asks, tapping the screen with her finger. “Does it look like something you’d be interested in?”

I tip my gaze down and take in the first picture. It’s an open-layout, medium-sized apartment with a decent view.

“Where is this?” Iask, scooping up the tablet and checking the rest of the pictures.

Unlike the other places, this one has been completely renovated and has a beautiful kitchen and a bathroom, high ceilings, and wooden floors. All done in white and shades of chocolate brown and cognac.

There is something about this place that makes my heart rush. It’s not too small or too big.

It’s warm and welcoming despite only having off–white cabinets, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, warm lighting, and a kitchen island.

I see myself cooking for myself, which I rarely do, lingering on a sofa with a book, which I now rarely do, and napping on Sundays.

The open space gives me the sensation that I can finally breathe in peace while watching the flickering lights outside and pondering little nothings.

“Where is it?”

She gives me the address, and it’s not far from my current residence.

“Price?” I ask.

It’s too good to be true.

“That’s the problem,” she says like the experienced agent that she is.

Always whet a client’s appetite before negotiating.

Saying nothing, she swipes the screen a few times and points to the figure.

“Four million dollars?”

It’s not the number that makes me gasp despite being doubleofwhat I had in mind.

It’s how expensive these places have become.

“It’s a new listing,” she continues, and I know what that means.

Part of its appeal is not being on the market for long.

Thenicestplaces are snatched up even when overpriced. Everything else–like the places I have seen–has been there for a while, and I’m not the only one finding them less than perfect.

It makes sense.

This place won’t be on the market for long. Someone will make an offer for sure.

“Is there room for negotiation?” I ask.

“There may be,” she says unconvincingly. “Unless someone buys it outright.”

I feel the pinch of pressure, and I hate it when salespeople do that, but it’s normal for her to do it.

She needs her commission, and I’m a little hooked. She’s noticed the glint in my eyes.

But four million dollars? Is it even a good investment? Does spending that much money on something I don’t want to live in for long make sense?

And that is not even the problem.

Will I be able to sell it when I’m done with it?

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