Rosa’s POV
The interior of the penthouse was a statement. It wasn’t loud, but you could see all the intention put into it to make it perfect.
Every item whispered money, the kind that didn’t need to announce itself, the type that had seen kings rise and fall. The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the city like it belonged to him, and I imagined it was one of his favorite spots. And when I had finished looking at the window, original large sized art and photographs of William Bush with presidents, monarchs, and oil magnates welcomed me.
He knew I was stunned. In fact, he had created this room for that purpose —to introduce who he was without saying a word. And suddenly, I felt like a flea that had wandered into a banquet hall.
He stood by the bar, his expressio
