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As the door slid shut and the elevator whirred with movement, I let out a small groan. Of course the super-important client would own the penthouse. How silly of me not to realize that sooner.
I wiped my clammy palms against my pants. This was such a bad idea. I wasn’t a masseuse, not even a real student. The little that I knew came from getting massages from Marissa and covering for her a handful of times.
I didn’t even know who this client was, but they were sure to know I was a phony.
Maybe I could pretend to trip and twist my ankle or something…
The elevator dinged, interrupting my thoughts, and the doors slid open again. My eyebrows shot toward my hairline.
Holy coconuts, Catwoman.
CHAPTER 5
Bree
Istepped off the elevator and straight into a world of filthy-rich opulence. The moment I crossed the threshold, the sheer grandeur of the condo overwhelmed my senses.
Glossy white tile stretched out before me, the floor’s polished surface reflecting the glow of recessed lighting above. The walls, painted in a sophisticated and understated shade of grey, exuded an air of refinement and elegance. Both the floors and walls served as a subtle backdrop, allowing the true stars of the space to shine.
And what stars they were.
Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the far side of the living room, commanding attention with their expansive presence. They framed a breathtaking view of the Potomac River, which had been transformed into a river of liquid gold by the mid-morning sun. The glimmering ripples danced and sparkled, casting a spell of enchantment upon the entire living space.
No one greeted me, so I clunked my way over and stood gaping at the beautiful scene below. The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing, as if the river itself had been carefully sculpted to enhance the condo’s already lavish atmosphere.
As I stood there, captivated, a mix of awe and envy swirled within me. This was a place where dreams came to life, where the boundaries of possibility dissolved in the face of grandeur.
This client’s life was a stark contrast to the humble space I called home, a visual, visceral reminder of the chasm that existed between the world of haves and have-nots. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself why I was there.
I’d left a life of luxury behind, and now I had a job to do.
“Ms. Johnson?” a man’s gruff voice asked, startling me so much I nearly fell over.
My plan for tripping and twisting my ankle might work out after all. The table banged against my hip, and I grimaced.
This was off to a fan-flipping-tastic start.
Tall and commanding, the man had a physique that hinted at hours spent honing his body to peak condition. His jawline was strong with a hint of dark stubble that added ruggedness to his otherwise refined appearance, and black hair framed his handsome face.
The man’s dark-eyed gaze appraised me as if I were a potential threat. I couldn’t tell what he thought of me, but I needed to pass the test.
I swiped strands of hair that had escaped my rushed ponytail out of my face and tried to smile. “Yep, that’s me. Marissa Johnson, at your service, sir.”
He frowned as if finding my answer odd.
I mean, my answer was odd. Who repeated their name like that?
This girl.
“You’re late,” he said.
Stating the obvious was turning into a real trend today. “Yes, well, I’m here now.”
“Follow me.”
Unfortunately, the man made no move to assist me with my things before turning around and walking away. Rich and polite didn’t always go hand in hand. I lugged the giant table down a hallway and into an oversized bedroom.
The room was simply furnished considering the rest of the digs, but ultra-modern. A shiny black comforter covered a king-sized bed, hugged on either side by matching nightstands, and a mirror hung over a long dresser. No knick-knacks decorated any of the surfaces, and, other than the mirror, the walls were bare.
