Frank has too much cologne on, and it’s burning the inside of my nose whenever he leans in too close. I wouldn’t be romantically interested in Frank Hamilton if he promised me a private yacht and a hundred years of solitude. Everything about him is fake, even his smile. It’s like he’s trying to sell me on the idea of sleeping with him, always a salesman.

The only reason I walked off with him is because I need a good connection to buy the shop. A thought that still makes my insides turn to stone whenever I think about it.

I have a running mantra in my head whenever I get overwhelmed with the thought of it.

Murph is just another guy. I have to take care of myself first.

Murph is just another Hugo, really. I could put all of my faith in him, devote myself to our relationship, and end up so desperate to get out that I drive my car off a bridge.

And I’m never going back to that shit.

So, I need a buyer. The market is competitive, and primed to make me rich enough for a fresh start.

“I thought you wanted to talk about real estate,” I say to Frank as he tries flirting with me on the upper-level balcony. His hand is glued to my backside, right where my lower back begins to curve into my ass. He’s drumming his fingers against my spine, leaning in too close for comfort. His breath smells like top shelf vodka.

I fucking hate vodka.

“Oh, the lady wants to talk shop, huh?” he says as he leans back. “What’s your stock in that shop? Why do you care?”

“Because I might be interested in buying it myself,” I lie.

Frank laughs, and I narrow my eyes at him. I couldn’t hate this guy more. When the time comes, I hope someone else outbids him so I don’t have to do business with him.

“Why would he sell it to you?” he asks, his words starting to slur.

“Because he sure as hell won’t sell it to you,” I laugh, teasing him. He snickers again, putting too much effort into the fakeness of it.

“Now let me guess. You want me to tell you what the going offer is so you can go in higher?”

I shrug. He practically took the words out of my mouth.

“You don’t have that kind of money,” he says, but he phrases it like a question. Suddenly, I just became a lot more attractive to him, and it makes me want to puke.

“A lady never tells,” I whisper, dragging him along like a stupid little puppy. I could say anything to him, as long as it includes the promise of sex or money, he’d follow.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks, squeezing my ass and pulling me close.