The suggestion that she didn’t have enough, that she couldn’t afford it pushed an old, sore button and launched her right over the railing of the already sinking ship.

“Put in the offer,” she said, her voice brooking no argument. “This isn’t about heart eyes.”

Ferris paused for a long moment but then sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that right now.”

“Thank you, Ferris.”

She ended the call and turned to Liv, who had a horror-movie expression on her face. “Girl, what are you doing?” she whisper-shouted.

Kincaid swallowed, the phone call catching up with her and a hot panic rolling through her. “I think I just bought myself a bed-and-breakfast.”

One she hadn’t planned on.

One she couldn’t afford.

One she simply could not walk away from.

Two

Ashton Isaacs had never been evicted before, which was surprising considering how little money he’d left his hometown with all those years ago, but today he might break that streak. If he didn’t get his shit out the door and his ass out of his Brooklyn apartment, he was going to get booted to the curb in front of all his neighbors.

Former neighbors.

He checked his watch and then set a box of carefully packed books in the hallway outside his apartment door. A box of random items his now ex-fiancée had left behind was sitting out there, too, hastily labeled Melanie’s Crap. He wasn’t proud of scrawling that on the box, but last night when he was packing up an entire apartment alone, it’d made him feel better. Plus, it’d been safer than his first instinct—to burn it. Not that it really mattered anyway. Ash doubted Melanie would even come back for it. Harlan from the Hamptons would probably replace anything she was missing. Hell, she didn’t need Harlan from the Hamptons. She could replace it herself.

Mel’s attorney income was the reason Ash had ended up with such a high-priced apartment in the first place. They’d been sharing his dingy flat outside London, where they’d met, while she was doing an internship in international law, but once they’d moved to New York, Melanie’s standards had changed. She’d covered two-thirds of the rent, which he’d protested up front, but she’d insisted. “I’m not living in New Jersey just so you can feel like we’re even. You’re a writer. It’s just the way of the world that you make less. Not a sign of you being less.”

He didn’t want to act like some chauvinist who was threatened by his girlfriend making more money. He hadn’t been threatened by that. He’d just spent most of his time since graduating from high school living as frugally as possible because he hadn’t walked out of Long Acre with anything to spare. Being careful had kept him afloat and traveling to all the places he’d wanted to see and write about. But he’d loved Melanie and had wanted to make her happy and comfortable. Now he realized why he should’ve fought harder against the uneven split. When you’re the one making less, when things end, it’s your butt on the curb without a place to live.