“And I don’t let women out on random street corners in neighborhoods that aren’t safe after dark.”

“There are a lot of things that aren’t safe about this neighborhood, and I know them all. You’re the wild card here, Titan.”

I reached for the handle and tugged. It didn’t move. I ran my hand along the panel, looking for the lock. Stupid expensive cars, everything had to be sleek and hidden. I found it and popped the door open.

“Are you always this stubborn?” he asked as I climbed out.

I thought of the time in my life when I’d let a man walk all over me. “I am now,” I replied.

“Good, then you’ll recognize stubborn when I follow you to your door and make sure you get inside without getting shot or stabbed.”

I slammed the door, and he pulled into an empty spot along the road.

Screw that. It might have been undignified and downright ridiculous, but I ran across the street and ducked between two houses. Darting down the narrow space, I headed for the alley that skirted along the back of the house where my apartment sat on the second floor.

“Goddamn it,” I heard him grunt. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

A small grin tugged at my lips, and I jogged down the alley to let myself into the side gate. Apparently not everyone lived under the law of Lucas Titan. It should be a good lesson for him.

It wasn’t until I reached my door that I realized I’d left my car keys in the Aston Martin.

Shit. I sat down on the steps of the porch, listening for the sound of the Aston Martin to come purring up the road, but the low rumble never came. With a sigh of relief, I pulled out my phone to call my landlord to let me in. That was one way to distract myself from these unwanted thoughts of Lucas Titan.

MY HANDS SHOOK AS I read the letter. It was just a piece of paper, and yet it had enough weight behind it to rock the foundation of my world—and my world was centered around this store. I didn’t need to lift my eyes from the letter in order to visualize the bright blue walls of Dirty Dog and the shiny black trim. Or the vintage dress forms I used instead of mannequins, and the shabby chic armoires I’d chosen and refinished myself. This shop was my life.

But I only managed it. Harriet owned it. And now she was selling it.

The letter from a business broker, already creased from my sweaty palms, thanked Harriet for engaging them and said they were looking forward to finding the right buyers for her entire portfolio of businesses. I lowered it to the display case and eyed the envelope as if it might contain anthrax. It had been addressed to Harriet, but like all the other mail, I’d automatically opened it anyway.

I sucked in a breath but my lungs were malfunctioning; I couldn’t get enough air. Pain shot through my chest, and my stomach churned in big, swamping waves. My eyes burned with tears I’d never let fall.

I can’t lose this place.

The door chime jangled, snapping me out of my downward spiral. I hauled in a full breath and pasted on my customer-friendly smile.

“Hey, lady! How’s it goin’?”

Elle’s cheery voice filled the shop, and my lip wobbled until my smile fell away. If it had been anyone else walking through the door, I wouldn’t have revealed a chink in my armor. But this was Elle, one of the few people I trusted. The woman who’d held my hand and poured me tequila when I’d first heard my ex was up for parole. The woman who hadn’t called me crazy when I’d sat on her apartment floor and stitched a voodoo doll of him to take out my frustration, disgust, and bone-chilling fear. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d let see me in that state, and Elle happened to be at the top of that short list.

Elle’s forehead crinkled and her brows drew into auburn slashes as she took in my expression. “Whose ass do I need to kick? Is it him? Did he do something?”

The him she was referring to was obviously my ex. And—knock on wood—he was the one thing I wasn’t worrying about at this very moment. As far as I knew, he was still in prison, pending release.

“No. Nothing like that. It’s . . .” I didn’t even want to say the words out loud, because then what was written in the letter would be real.

Picking up on my mood immediately, Elle came to the counter and leaned her elbows on the glass. “Seriously, hon. What’s going on?”

I pushed the letter toward her. “Looks like it’s the end of an era.”

Her brow creased, and she picked up the paper. I watched her face as she scanned it, expecting commiseration, platitudes meant to placate me. But when she’d finished, instead I got a pointed look and her no-bullshit attitude.

“Why don’t you buy it then?” she asked as she handed the letter back to me.

It was such a simple concept, but my brain struggled to wrap around the idea. “B-buy it? I can’t—” I sputtered.

“Why not? You’ve run this place without Harriet’s supervision for years. There’s no one who would be a better owner. Actually, I’m surprised she didn’t come to you first. It would’ve made the most sense.”

That thought hadn’t even made it through my thick brain. Why hadn’t Harriet asked me first?

Because you’re nothing but a shop girl—not owner material, a voice inside me taunted.

My hands curled into fists. I’d been fighting that voice for years—the one that told me how worthless I was at every opportunity. And still I couldn’t shut it up. It was a remnant of him.

Who else could possibly love you? he’d told me. You’re lucky I even put up with your ass. Don’t you know how much better I could do? I picked you because I knew you needed me to love you.

I gritted my teeth as an unwelcome burst of his negativity flooded my brain.

Fuck. Him.

I could own this shop. Hell, I should own Dirty Dog. No one was more qualified to run it. Who else knew where to get the best inventory? Who else could keep the quirky reputation intact? This store was mine.

“You’re right,” I said as I lifted my head and squared my shoulders. “I should buy it.”

Elle’s lips curled into a wide smile. “Atta girl. That’s the sassy Yve I know and love.”

Seconds later, practicality battered my newfound determination. How could I ever pay for it? My savings account was okay, but not anywhere near flush enough to buy a business in the French Quarter.