Downstairs?
Which downstairs?
“Platinum!” The voice interrupted Britney’s guess.
Manuel, are you seriously spying on me? Do I have no secrets left?
Five minutes later, Britney went downstairs and saw the impressive Ford parked outside, turning heads with its bold, sleek look.
The black car gleamed in the light, and Manuel, wearing a dark blue long coat, was casually leaning against it, holding a bouquet of vibrant roses. As he saw Britney walking toward him, a gentle gleam flickered in his deep eyes.
Britney approached and stood in front of the tall and graceful Manuel, feeling small beside him. He seemed like the moon in the sky—cool, noble, and out of reach.
Taking the roses from him, Manuel opened the passenger door for Britney and gentlemanly shielded her from the rain.
