Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

“Please,” Wyatt says.

Spencer takes my hand again and strides back down the corridor to the elevator that’s still waiting. We ride in silence to the fifteenth floor.

We arrive at two huge black double doors. Spencer swipes his key and they click open. When he reveals his room to me, my heart catches in my throat.

Holy cow!

I look up at a mezzanine level that hangs over the main living space and I smile to myself.

The room I’m in has polished concrete floors, with a beautiful pale timber ceiling. It looks like something out of a trendy home magazine. Perhaps a ski lodge in Aspen.

“This is your house?” I ask.

He winks at me.

Wyatt and Anthony look around, back at each other, and then back to Spencer as if shocked.

“What?” Spencer smirks. “Not what you were expecting?”

“You’re rich, too?” Wyatt frowns.

Spencer smiles. “I do all right for myself.”

I bite my bottom lip to hide my stupid smile.

Spencer walks through the apartment. “I’ll give you the tour.” He holds his hand out as he walks past us. “This is the kitchen.” He points to a stainless-steel kitchen with a huge timber island bench sitting in the middle. He then points to the glass wall. “City of London, obviously.” We all peer out to see an expansive view of London before us.

Wyatt rolls his eyes, as if completely unimpressed.

Spencer chuckles. “I do love showing off my house, I have to admit.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Wyatt mutters dryly while Anthony and I giggle.

“This is the dining room.” There’s a large, rustic, oval dining table that seats ten around it. There are differently upholstered chairs there, all of which kind of match but don’t really. “Living room.” That’s a huge living area with chocolate, slouchy leather couches and a big gas fireplace sitting in the middle.

Wow.

“This is the guest bedroom.” He points to it as we walk into the hallway, and I stop in my tracks.

“Oh my God,” I gasp.

The whole length of the hallway is lined with black bookshelves filled with thousands of books. It’s a lot wider than a normal hallway, and it gives off the feel of a library. It even has one of those rails with a ladder going up to the top shelves.

“You do read?” I ask in surprise.

He smirks over his shoulder, grabbing my hand to lead me along. “I told you I did. I don’t lie, Lady Charlotte,” he teases. “My office.” He continues with the tour, and I peer inside to see an office with a large mahogany desk facing the door, a big high-back, black leather office chair sitting behind it.

“Laundry, gymnasium,” he says as he points to several rooms we walk by.

I peer in and see a large room with a treadmill, rowing machine and weights. A television is mounted on the wall.

I can hardly wipe the goofy smile from my face. I thought my hotel room was nice.

It has nothing on this place.

“Upstairs.” Spencer gestures as he continues to play tour guide. We all peer up to see a floating staircase that hangs out of the wall. The bannister is nothing more than a sheet of glass.

“This place is beautiful, Spence,” I tell him.