Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(36)

There was a big sign on the concrete wall in front of the spot that said, RESERVED. PENTHOUSE.

Uh.

Penthouse?

The door at my side opened and Marcus let my hand go to put his to my hip and give it a light shove, encouraging in a murmur, “Let’s get you fed, baby.”

I slid out.

That was when I saw in front of the three spots next to the limousine, one that held Marcus’s Mercedes, one that held a black Escalade, and since the Escalade was so big I didn’t see what the other one held, but I did see the same sign on the wall that was in front of the limo and the other spots.

Four parking spaces.

All his.

My Lord.

Marcus took my hand and led me to the elevator that was right next to the parking spot the limo was in.

But of course the owner of the penthouse would have all the best spots.

The elevator came. We got in. Brady got in with us. Ronald and his sunglasses did too.

And it was Ronald that tapped in a code on the elevator pad then hit the button that had the letters PH.

They stood in front of us.

We stood at the back.

I looked up at Marcus. “You said you had a condo.”

He looked down at me. “I do.”

“A condo penthouse?”

He grinned again and squeezed my hand.

“Lobster, limos, and penthouses. You’re somethin’, sugar,” I muttered.

“I’ll take that as good,” he replied.

I looked to the backs of the boys in front of me, stating, “Seein’ as that’s how I meant it, you go right ahead.”

At that, he let my hand go but only so he could curve his arm around my waist and curl me so my front was pressed to his side.

I looked up at him again. “This is a long ride, darlin’. Your penthouse on the moon?”

With that, he burst out laughing.

And I loved every second of it, hearing it and watching it.

Unfortunately, in the middle of it, the elevator doors opened.

We walked out into a plush little hallway that had an armchair and a table with a lamp on it over which was a mirror, all this for reasons I didn’t know since you needed a code to get to that floor so I suspected no one would be hanging there waiting for Marcus to get home.

It also had a big, gleaming wooden door that had to be a foot bigger than normal doors on every side. This had a shining brass door handle that would fit a manor house, except it was snazzier.

Marcus walked us to it, but didn’t fit a key into the door. He slid aside the door over a panel on the wall I hadn’t even noticed and entered another code.

I heard the lock unlatch.

He opened the door and positioned me to move through it with his hand at my back, saying to the boys, “Tomorrow.”

“Yes, boss,” I heard Brady say.

Ronald wasn’t a big talker, apparently, since he again said nothing.

“Later, boys,” I called, looking over my shoulder at them as Marcus pressed me in.

Brady grinned at me. Ronald just stared at me through his apparently ever-present sunglasses.

Marcus shut the door.

My gaze went to Marcus and I saw Brady had handed off my bag to him.

“Does Ronald not like me?”

He got close. “Ronald likes beer, brats, Broncos, and busty women, not in that order. He hasn’t shared, but if I had to guess, my guess would be he loves you.”

That was good but I wasn’t sure it was true.

“Brady seems friendly,” I noted. “Ronald, not so much.”

“Brady is friendly because that’s part of Brady being Brady. Ronald is old school, and as far as he’s concerned, he isn’t paid to be friendly. Especially not to any woman I’d bring dinner to or have sitting next to me in my car.”

I tipped my head to the side. “How many of those are there?”

“In my car, enough. Bringing dinner to, one.”

I smiled.

He smiled back and got closer. “I’m going to change. Then I’ll show you around. After that, I’ll start dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Make yourself at home,” he invited, lifted his hand, touched my nose, then turned and sauntered up some stairs, carrying my bag with him.

That was when I noticed the stairs.

They swept at a curve off to the side of the entry and they had an elegantly carved bannister the likes I’d never seen. All whorls and swirls, it was amazing. And the treads of the stairs were covered with a thick, opulent carpet in the color of the palest mushroom.

Beyond that, I took in floor-to-ceiling windows with an uninterrupted view of the Front Range. Uninterrupted except for the elegant drape of oyster-colored curtains pulled back at the sides.

And in the space just beyond the staircase, on gleaming parquet floors, sat a table with a massive spray of delicate butterscotch-colored flowers, the type I didn’t know, these rising up from a huge crystal vase. Two curved, elegant chairs sat at angles to the table for no reason whatsoever, except to look posh, seeing as no one would sit there unless Marcus was throwing a big party.

I hadn’t even walked in and I knew his place wasn’t class.

It was class.

He had all this.

He could come from living a life that was close to squalor and build a life where this was what he saw when he got home.