Maya had decided that the Blackwood estate was either the most beautiful place she'd ever been or the most intimidating. Possibly both simultaneously.
She'd woken up that morning in a guest bedroom that was larger than her entire apartment, in a bed so comfortable she'd genuinely considered never leaving it. The sheets were some kind of thread count that probably had its own zip code. The bathroom had a rainfall shower with approximately forty-seven settings, most of which she hadn't been able to identify. There was a heated towel rack.
A heated towel rack.
Maya came from a world of lukewarm radiators and bath towels that had been washed so many times they were essentially decorative. The heated towel rack alone had nearly reduced her to tears.
