The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Rosa stepped in like she’d just wandered onto the set of a movie she wasn’t sure she was allowed to watch.
Her eyes flicked to the polished marble under her boots, up to the brass paneling, then to the sleek mirrored walls that caught our reflections in triplicate. Even the air smelled like money ,citrus and cedar, subtle enough that I’d stopped noticing it weeks ago.
“You didn’t tell me it was like this,” she whispered, clutching her purse to her chest like it might try to escape.
“I did,” I said, pressing the button for the penthouse. “You just thought I was exaggerating.”
“No,” she muttered, still wide-eyed. “I thought you were lying.”
When the doors slid open again, she froze. Not a polite, impressed pause; a full-body, breath-st
