Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
One of them spots me and steps forward, his expression softening when he sees me fumbling with my phone.
“Miss Bennett?” he asks, taking pity on me.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice smaller than I intend it to be.
“Mr. Ortiz is expecting you. This way,” he says, gesturing toward the door, and I smile in thanks as I move inside.
The main lobby of the building is absolutely breathtaking. High ceilings stretch far above me, and the walls are lined with sleek marble and gold accents that scream out expensive. There’s a large, matte black desk located immediately ahead, and the two women sitting behind it are dressed immaculately with their dark hair perfectly slicked back.
Meanwhile, I stick out like a sore thumb.
Thankfully, the security guard stays close and leads me towards what I come to assume is a private elevator. He presses a button before stepping aside, signalling with his hand for me to step forwards towards the gold-plated doors.
“It’s the penthouse,” he says when the elevator arrives and I step inside. “You’ll go straight up.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, smiling weakly at him whilst clutching my duffel bag tightly.
He doesn’t say a word in response, silent and stoic as the doors slide shut.
The ride up feels impossibly long, the gentle hum of the elevator doing nothing to quiet the nerves bubbling in my chest. I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls, smoothing my hair and adjusting my t-shirt for the hundredth time.
I knew I should have changed out of my navy loungewear set. I feel far too casual for this gorgeous building - like I’m offending it just by being here.
It wasn’t as if I expected Santi to live in a hut or something, but this? This is beyond insane, and far, far away from any expectations I could have had.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I’m met with an expansive, open space that takes my breath away.
Santi’s penthouse apartment is stunning, to say the very least. It’s all open-plan, with a sleek and modern interior. Decorated with plush furniture in neutral tones, warm lighting and carefully placed artwork that screams understated luxury, it’s clear that not just anybody lives here: the entire apartment screams wealth.
I try and drink in all of the details, my eyes greedily jumping around every corner; however, I can’t help but focus in on the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the kitchen and living area. They offer unobstructed views of Valencia’s city lights - one that even certain rooftop bars would be envious of.
There’s a faint, familiar scent lingering in the air; something clean yet masculine that instantly makes me think of Santi.
“Olivia,” his deep voice calls from across the room.
I turn on my heel from where I had been admiring the view of the city to see him walking toward me. It’s admittedly a little strange to see him barefoot and dressed in a simple black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, although somehow he still manages to look effortlessly put together despite the casual attire.
His dark hair is damp as though he’s not long stepped out of the shower, and the sight of him looking so comfortable and casual in this space - a space that feels so distinctly his - has my heart racing.
“Hey,” I say softly, suddenly feeling shy as he approaches.
“You’re here,” he says, his tone filled with relief.
He doesn’t hesitate to pull me into his big arms, wrapping me in a tight embrace that instantly has my nerves beginning to settle.
“I am,” I reply, my voice muffled against his chest.
“I’m glad.” He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on my shoulders as he looks down at me. “Thank you for coming. I know this wasn’t easy for you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, though my voice wavers slightly. “I just - I wasn’t expecting it to be so... fancy.” I gesture vaguely around the penthouse, trying to smile. “It’s beautiful, though.”
“It’s just a place,” he says, his green eyes fixed on mine. “What matters is that you’re here. I needed to know you were safe.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tighten, and I nod, unable to find the words to respond.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me further into his apartment. “Let me show you around.”
The tour is brief but impressive. There’s a spacious living room with a modern fireplace, a sleek kitchen with a huge island and marble countertops, and an office space and gym room. There’s a balcony that wraps around the entire penthouse, offering panoramic views of the city along with the floor-to-ceiling windows, along with three large bedrooms and en-suite bathrooms in addition to the main bathroom.
His home is absolutely incredible - jaw-droppingly so - but my nerves still hum beneath the surface as I follow Santi back to the living room. He motions for me to relax on the plush cream sofa, its cushions so soft that I sink into them the moment I sit down.