Cellie's POV
I had prepared myself for impressive.
Demetrio DeLeon drove a Bugatti and wore suits that cost more than my rent and owned a restaurant where the pasta alone could make a grown woman abandon her principles, so I had walked into the elevator of his building with the specific mental preparation of someone expecting something well above average and telling themselves they would not be visibly affected by it.
The elevator opened directly into the foyer and all of my preparation turned out to be completely insufficient.
Grey marble floors with white inlays that reflected the overhead lighting like still water. A short wide hallway opening in two directions, the first to a terrace that I could see from the entryway had an infinity pool sitting against the Chicago skyline like it was the most natural thing in the world to have in your home, which it was not, which was an insane thing to have in your home.
