Scott Richards, my financial manager, purses his lips and looks across the desk at me.

He’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s been adept at managing my money all these years, so I’ve forgiven him for his occasional older man bullshit.

Right now, unfortunately, it’s in full force.

“Ms. Banks, I’m not entirely convinced that selling this asset would be in your best financial interests.”

“Why not, Scott?”

He taps his fingers together in front of his chest like the banker in Monopoly and takes in a breath through his nose. “When we originally purchased the storefront, it was worth far less. Your renovations, and increased traffic over the past year, have increased its worth considerably. I can only expect that to continue. Selling now could lose you millions in future profit.”

The word profit reminds me of the millions I’ve made off Ace, and it turns my stomach. Scott Richards never blinked an eye at that source of revenue, and that may be because he’s a member of the website himself.

Was. Was a member of the website. Right now, as I sit across the desk from Scott Richards, in the strange and stupid position of having to convince him to do what I want with the properties I own, my technical team is dismantling the website, downloading the data onto a secure drive that will be stored in a safe deposit box that only I can access, and securing the domain name and all related domain names for the foreseeable future.

Rainflower Blue went offline at ten forty-three this morning. I know, because that’s the exact time I watched the tech team take the site down. A man with a goatee—I can’t remember his name—turned to me and smiled. “We can still reverse it, if you want.”

I’d shaken my head. “Not a chance.”

“What if I don’t care about millions in future profit? What if I want to offload the property?”

Scott spreads his hands. “It is your property, Ms. Banks. I would be remiss as your financial adviser if I didn’t inform you that it might be a misstep.”

“Then what would you suggest?”

“Close the boutique if you’d like, but we can carefully select a tenant so that you’ve got some return on your investment.” He opens his mouth, like he’s going to tell me one more time that it would be unwise to get rid of the property at this juncture, but then closes it.

I lean back in my seat.

“You know what, Scott? I appreciate the advice.” I chew on the inside of my lip. An idea is forming, another in the crashing ocean of thoughts sweeping back and forth in my mind. “The reason I want to sell off the property is because I’m thinking of relocating.”

The instant the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s the right decision.

Whether all of this ends with Ace by my side or not, I’m getting out of New York City.

Scott does a double-take. “Ms. Banks, are you entirely sure?”

“Yes,” I say, my tone broaching no argument. “I’ve become too wrapped up in this city and its…dramas.” I find myself about to say rumors but stop short in the nick of time. “It’s time to move on.” The more I say, the truer this becomes. The idea is a spark in my chest. The more I think about it, the more it grows.

Scott’s eyebrows are so high they’re practically disappearing in his hairline, and his mouth works. How many words can he possible need to search for? “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” I say with a smile and a little shrug. “Seattle? London? I could go wherever I wanted.”

“That—that’s certainly true, Ms. Banks.” He blinks at me, no doubt wondering if I’ll keep him on as my financial adviser if I leave New York City. My account is probably one of his largest. Before he can launch into an attempt to pry that information out of me, I shift in my seat and put one hand on the desk, tapping my fingers lightly on the surface.

Maybe Scott does have a point. I might want to keep the storefront in my possession until I decide where I’m going.

Even a move of this caliber shouldn’t put too much of a dent in my trust fund, but until I’m sure, it’ll be nice to have an excuse to come back to the city if I need to.

What am I saying? I don’t need an excuse to come back here. All of that is secondary.

It’s possible that even Ace is secondary.

My heart twists at the thought, and I know it isn’t true. No. Ace affects everything. My entire world hinges on whether he’s going to forgive me or not.

Without him, it doesn’t even feel like the earth is spinning on its axis. It’s impossible, ridiculous, I know, but that’s exactly how I feel.

That’s why all of this—the boutique, the apartment—it doesn’t matter so much.

I stand up abruptly. “Scott, I’m going to need you to get in contact with my real estate manager. Do you think, between the two of you, you could work out how much I could expect to get from the sale of the storefront?”

“Ms. Banks….”

“And my apartment?”

His mouth drops open.

“And the backup property on the Upper East Side.”

Scott has gone beet red, but he stands up and offers his hand to shake. If I know him, his mind is already whirling, trying to figure out what number he can come up with that will dissuade me from selling everything I own and moving out of the city.

It makes no difference to me.

The website is being destroyed even as I stand here, and if I’m going to get the hell out of here, I’ll need to start right now.