Page 89 of Diego

I had known she loved classics. I had not expected that.

She caught me staring at it and looked almost smug despite being furious with me, as though finally having one piece of information I had not managed to pry out of her gave her some tiny victory over me.

Beautiful woman. Beautiful car.

“Diego.”

I blink and come back to the foyer.

Tomasso is staring at me.

More specifically, he is wearing a wolfish smile that tells me I have apparently spent far too long standing here thinking about Blair.

I immediately dislike where this is headed.

“What?”

He lowers his coffee mug slowly. “It must be one hell of a view.”

"Oh, it is," I say and walk past him. "It sure is."

I walk into Conti Enterprises, showered, in a fresh suit, and with enough coffee in my system to make me functional. I've somehow managed to hold on to the same excellent mood I woke up with.

I cross the executive floor toward Lorenzo’s office with the address of the penthouse saved on my phone and absolutely no intention of repeating the mistake I made with my previous residence. Three years in a place someone else owned, and one structural integrity notice later, I am temporarily living with five men in their twenties while half my belongings sit in labeled boxes.

Lesson learned.

This time, I want everything.

Ownership history. Structural history. Any permits, repairs, assessments, lawsuits, liens, complaints, building issues, board problems, anything buried deeply enough that a normal buyer might never think to ask for it. I also want the unit inspected independently from top to bottom before I sign anything.

We have people for that.

People who know where to look and who to call.

I reach Lorenzo’s office, knock once, and walk in without waiting for an answer.

He is behind his desk with his phone to his ear, speaking in the clipped, efficient tone he uses when someone on the other end is taking longer than necessary to reach the point. His eyes lift when I enter, but he only gestures toward one of the chairs.

I sit.

Lorenzo finishes the call a few minutes later, says goodbye, and sets his phone on the desk before leaning back.

“What?”

I pull out my phone, open the address, and slide it across to him.

“I’m buying this.”

His eyes drop to the screen, then back to me. “You found a place.”

“I did.”

“That was quick.”

“Yes.”

He looks at the address again. “It’s a penthouse.”