“Holy macaroni.” My jaw dropped to the floor. The elevator had opened straight into a gorgeous modern foyer right off a huge sunken living room. The foyer alone was easily three times the size of my entire apartment. “Ohwow.”
Samuel swept his arm toward the open doors with a smile. “Welcome to the penthouse, miss. Enjoy your time here.”
Right. This was my stop.
Still gaping in awe, I hesitated before stepping out of the lift, then turned to wave at the elevator guy. “Thanks for the ride, Samuel. And the candy!”
He waved back. “Of course, Miss Darling.”
“Oh, please call me?—”
The doors glided shut, and my reflection blinked back at me in the polished brass.
“Ellie,” I finished softly.
With a shrug, I tucked the strawberry treat into my duffle bag to save for later and peered around the space.
Nothing about Mr. Westbrook’s profile indicated he was filthy rich, but the penthouse screamedeligible bachelor with the net worth of a small country.
The high ceilings alone must make heating and cooling cost a fortune. Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the far wall, framing the sunken living room and giving the most gorgeous view of downtown Westport. From this height, I could even make out the coast.
It smelled like the ocean, too—a subtle, salty breeze—but I chalked that up to air fresheners.
I swallowed and took another step inside the gorgeous penthouse. Warm lighting gave the space a soft, welcoming glow. The view from the balcony must be absolutely breathtaking at sunset. Even the air felt cleaner, like it’d been purified by the gods.
I did a little twirl on the shiny floor. Was this how royalty lived?
I was so busy soaking in the glamor that I completely missed the large man lounging on a black leather couch until he cleared his throat and made me jump out of my skin with a yelp.
Barely stopping myself from tripping midtwirl, I pressed a hand to my chest and willed my heart to calm down.
The man wore all black and blended right into the sofa, lurking silently like some sort of ninja assassin waiting for his prey.
Okay, let’s get that overactive imagination under control, Ellie.
He rose from the couch with the grace of a panther, crossing his arms and revealing a black gun resting on his belt.
I gulped before giving him my best smile.
“Hi. I’m Ellie Darling with Steve’s Cleaning Services.” I winked to show him I understood the little game he’d started. Our app didn’t make clients upload photos of themselves to their profiles—discretion, remember?—so step one was confirming his identity. “Mr. Westbrook?”
“No. Mac Lawson. Head of Mr. Westbrook’s security.” A deep crease formed in the man’s brow with a matching frown. “You’re the one who caused a scene and tried to attack my boss outside.”
Oh, great. That must make him the ruffian who’d manhandled me.
My laugh came out a tad strangled. “That was just a tiny misunderstanding. It was cleared up, and Preston let me up for my appointment.”
Mac looked me over, and if it was possible, his frown lines deepened. “You’re not wearing the proper attire. And where are your supplies?”
Well, he must be fun at parties.
“Don’t worry. Everything I need is in here.” I patted my duffle bag and tossed in another wink to lighten the mood.
It didn’t work. If anything, Mac just looked more disturbed as his nostrils flared.
Note to self: Stop winking at men who look like they could kill you with their pinky finger.
“Cade is sleeping in his room, so don’t wake him,” he warned, glancing down one of the hallways, which I assumed led to Mr. Westbrook’s bedroom.
