“Who was that guy?” Kate asked.

I glanced over my shoulder. Travis had already vanished.

I let out a relieved breath—which was accompanied by a resounding “Boooo” from my girlie parts. For some reason, when my hand had accidentally brushed against his chest, they got excited. They might have also threatened to stage a coup if I didn’t recant on my decision to not pretend to be his girlfriend.

Or at least if I didn’t start dating again, preferably with a guy who was interested in a long-term relationship.

A guy who was interested in falling in love.

A guy who was talented between the sheets. All right—that would be an additional perk.

I could only come up with two reasonable explanations for my body’s reaction to Travis: First, it was experiencing rejection-induced amnesia when it came to what happened back in high school. Second, it had voted that I should agree to be his fake girlfriend—that way he and I could have sex.

But if he was just looking for a fake girlfriend, I doubted this included benefits from the Department of Orgasms.

Yes—I did believe that Travis was synonymous with orgasms. The short dark hair. The mesmerizing hazel eyes, which were more playful than serious. The mouthwatering muscles. He was sex on a stick and then some.

A voice in the back of my head reminded me that good looks didn’t necessarily mean good in bed—as experience had taught me.

“He’s no one,” I told Kate, answering her question.

“Well, no one is very good-looking.”

I smirked. “Aren’t you engaged?”

“I’m engaged, not dead. And I’m just thinking about you. When was the last time you went on a date, Emma?”

“You know, Hannah never gives me a hard time about my current lack of dating life.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “That’s because hers is as pathetic as yours. But she doesn’t write a column on sex and romance. How can you write about something you know nothing about?”

“Easy,” I said, grabbing my cup that the coffee dude had just set on the counter. “I live vicariously through you.” I winked at her and headed back to my store.

Did I agree with Kate? A little.

All right—more than a little. But you had to admit, dating was tough. It didn’t matter how great the guy might seem when you first met him, the interest in him quickly waned as soon as you got to know him. Or maybe that was just me. And since I had a three-date policy (three dates with a guy before I had sex with him), it didn’t usually bode well for me when it came to making my girlie parts happy.

Hence the reason Alejandro and I were intimately acquainted.

Lisa was busy helping a woman in the Home Style department when I entered. I walked over to check on the couple searching through our selection of books on sexual positions. Always a popular favorite.

And yes, I might have studied a few of them at one time or another.

Purely for research, of course.

“Which book do you recommend?” the woman in her thirties asked—as if I had personally tested each one.

I wish.

I pulled a book from the shelf. “This is our most popular one.” I took that to mean it was an excellent book.

After they thanked me and paid for it, I headed to my office. Lisa had things under control, which meant I could catch up on some paperwork. That unfortunately never seemed to end.

I’d been placing an order when my office door opened.

Thinking it was Lisa wanting me to cover for her during her break, I started to stand, my attention still on the computer screen. “Should I order more pink vibrators or try the purple ones this time?”

Only then did I glance up.

Have you ever met that one person who, no matter what you say or do, makes you feel like you’re the dog shit he stepped in?

Meet the owner of the building: Donald Shrivener.

Or Old Shriveled Ass as Hannah and I called him—just not to his face. Hannah was positive the last time he’d had sex was sometime during World War II. I had to agree with her there.

Every time he came into the store, his gaze narrowed as if I was selling dark magic. I kept expecting him to show up one day with a priest and have the store exorcised.

Fortunately, he didn’t come here very often since the rent was automatically withdrawn from my bank account. Which was why I was confused by his presence in the store.

“Is there something you need?” I asked in the voice usually saved for my customers.

He grinned—his teeth stained and crooked. Unlike most people when they smiled, it didn’t make him seem friendly. Creepy was more like it.

“I came to remind you that your lease expires in two months,” he said.

“I know—and I told you I’ll be renewing it for another year.”

Wow. I didn’t think his grin could grow any creepier. I was wrong. “I came to tell you the building is going to be converted into a condo complex, and your store will no longer be considered appropriate for the retail space. Consider this your notice.”

“But you can’t do that.”

“Sure, I can. You’re perfectly welcome to stay…if you change the nature of your business. A sex shop is considered highly unsuitable.” His voice was I-know-you-have-sex-slaves-here smug. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Barely. “Maybe you could open a bakery instead. I hear your cookies are popular.”

So were my scented candles and bath products and everything else. I itched to point that out but didn’t. It wouldn’t have changed his mind if I had.

“So the construction for the condos starts as soon as my lease expires? And why is this the first I’m hearing about the plans to turn the building into condos?”

“Because details haven’t been finalized yet,” he said, looking down his long skinny nose at me. “But since your lease is about to expire, no point delaying the inevitable.”

I guess not.

With the smug look still on his face, he walked out of my office. Well, more like skipped from my office like a giddy schoolgirl.

Shit.

I slumped back in my chair and dropped my face into my hands. What the hell was I going to do? This store was like my second home. Heck, with the amount of time I spent here lately, it was more like my first home.

But this wasn’t the end of the world, right? I had survived tougher. Being a foster kid had taught me to be resilient.

I just needed to find a new location.

No need to pull out the pity party decorations.

I am woman. Hear me roar!

Would that have been more convincing if I hadn’t been clutching the desk?

“Are you okay?” a woman’s voice asked from the doorway. I looked up to find Fanny standing there, her two sidekicks behind her.

All three of them appeared concerned like I would expect grandmothers to look when their grandchild had fallen off her bike and scraped her knees.

You know the look? The one where cookies are involved.

Or at least that was the look that had starred in my childhood fantasies—when I used to dream about fairytale princes and having a grandmother who loved me as much as I loved her.

Did my own grandmothers love me? I wouldn’t know. I had never met either of them. My father’s identity was a mystery to me. He had never wanted me, plain and simple.

And my mom’s parents? From what I understood, they’d kicked her out of the house when she got pregnant with me. Nice, huh?

Yes, even before I was born, my family had rejected me. And when I ended up abandoned and alone, no one came rushing forward to claim me. For me, life hadn’t been a Hallmark movie.

So as you could imagine, having Travis’s grandmother and her friends look at me with concern caused a warmth to fill me.

Yeah, ignore the tears. How about we just blame them on PMS—even if it isn’t technically that time of the month?

I sniffed. “I’m fine, thanks.”

It might have been more believable if another tear hadn’t slid down my face. I needed to get these three out of my office before their concern did me in. Full-out sobbing would be really embarrassing.

But of course, instead of leaving my office, they entered it.

“Is there anything we can help you with?” Fanny asked.

I laughed. All right, it wasn’t a ha-ha type laugh. More like an I’m-in-serious-trouble-but-thank-you-for-asking laugh. At least it didn’t sound like someone was dying—so bonus points for me.

“Unless you know of a great place where I can relocate the store,” I said, my smile weak, “then probably not.” I totally blamed their grandmotherly pheromones for my blurting that out. Clearly they were a dangerous thing.

Forget interrogating the bad guys—send in these three women and the men would be confessing their crimes in no time.

“I think I can help you there,” Fanny said with a grin.