Page 41 of Diego

That alone gets my attention.

There is no shared hallway, no neighboring door ten feet away, no possibility of stepping out of my apartment and finding someone waiting for the elevator outside it. Blair had mentioned the private access downstairs while we were crossing the lobby, but I had been more interested in the fact that she somehow managed to get us into a unit that technically is not yet for sale. Now the elevator doors slide apart, and I understand immediately why she saved this place for last.

She steps out beside me and gestures toward a small panel built discreetly into the wall near the elevator. “The elevator requires coded access to reach this floor. There’s also a secondary lockout from inside the residence, so even someone with building access can’t come straight up without authorization.”

The penthouse is nothing like the places Randall showed me.

That realization comes quickly.

It is contemporary, but there is warmth to it. The floors are dark wood rather than polished stone, and the walls are broken up by architectural details that keep the open layout from feeling like one enormous room. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around two sides of the main living space, giving me the city instead of the lake this time, the skyline stretching out in every direction from high enough above the surrounding buildings that very little interrupts it.

I stop near the center of the room and turn slowly.

Blair watches me without saying anything.

That, too, is something I have noticed about her today. She knows when to talk, but she also knows when the property should do the work for her.

“This is better,” I say.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

The main living area is large, though nowhere near the scale of the houses we have been touring all day. There is enough room for a generous seating area, and a fireplace is set into one interior wall with built-in shelving around it. The windows do most of the work, though. Chicago spreads below us in a way I am much more accustomed to than the lakefront house or the mansion, and there is something immediately familiar about the height and privacy.

Blair walks toward the windows. “This is the only residence on the floor.”

I glance over.

“No one on either side of you,” she continues. “The service elevator comes up separately and opens into a secured back entry, so deliveries, staff, maintenance, anyone like that can come through without using the main entrance.”

“That I like.”

“I thought you might.”

She leads me farther into the space, where the living room transitions into a dining area large enough for a proper table. Beyond it is the kitchen, open to the rest of the room but partially screened by a wide stone island and a wall of cabinetry.

“This feels more like you,” Blair says.

I look at her. “You’ve known me for one day.”

“I’ve shown you enough houses.”

“And?”

“And I think you like space, but you don’t necessarily want to maintain an estate just because you can afford one.”

I lean one hand against the island. “Go on.”

She smiles, clearly hearing the challenge in my voice. “You liked the lake house because of the privacy and what it could do for your family. You liked the mansion because it had character and enough room for everyone. You liked the other houses I showed you for many of the same reasons. But each time, you kept coming back to how much house they were for one person.”

“True.”

“So this is the other version.” She gestures around us. “You still have room. You can still have people over. You still have privacy. But when everyone leaves, you don’t have four floors of house and half an acre of landscaping reminding you that you live alone.”

I stare at her.

She lifts her brows slightly. “Too much?”

“No.”