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I pressed the security code for the door, disarming the in-unit alarm, and stepped in. “Lights,” I squeaked out, feeling stupid. Grams had said the unit was state-of-the art, with each apartment having its own security system and voice-activated features. The video I had watched on the Goodacre Estates website earlier that day had shown a man walking through a unit, using voice commands to do random things like turn on the lights, pre-heat the oven, turn on the fireplace, start the shower. I cringed at the thought of barking commands into the air like a spoiled brat who expected everything to be done for her—an image I had fought my whole life to avoid, unlike my sister.
“Lights!” My voice echoed down the hall. Nothing happened. I sighed and moved my hand along the wall, looking for the light switch, dragging my suitcase behind me.
A noise came from around the corner, and I froze, holding my breath. I knew from looking at the pictures of the layout that the kitchen was where the noise was coming from. Could someone have broken in? There was no way. Not after the website had touted how great their security was. I gnawed on my lip, realizing that I had just left the parking gate open like an idiot, so yes, itwaspossible for someone to get in.
As quietly as I could, I unzipped the panel on the outside of my suitcase and reached in for the only weapon I could think of. I gripped the silicone tight in my hand and inched down the hall, my pulse quickening the closer I got. Everything I had learned at the self-defense seminar I took last summer had gone out the window. I was pretty sure rule number one of thinking someone had broken into your home was to turn around and run away, not to grab the biggest sex toy you could find and confront them with it.
I neared the corner and said a silent prayer before jumping out and yelling “Lights!” at the top of my lungs, a vibrator held high above my head. The lights turned on and revealed an empty kitchen. The freezer made a noise—thenoise—and my shoulders sagged as ice fell out of the ice maker and scattered across the floor.
Could this night get any—no, don’t even think it.
I tossed the toy on the counter and pulled out of my phone, seeing several missed calls from Juliet. It was well past midnight, but I knew she was up. We were both a horrible combination of night owls and early risers, sleep often an afterthought when you had a business to run. I hopped up on the counter and picked up the card sitting next to a bottle of expensive champagne.
To my favorite daredevil—never stop chasing your dreams. No matter how dirty they are. Here’s to all your hard work and to your future success.
Love, Grams.
I popped the cork, taking a healthy swig as I called Juliet. She picked up on the first ring. “Nova, we have a huge problem. They sold the warehouse on Waveland and Ash. Our new lease isn’t valid. We are screwed!”
Mid-swallow, I choked, spitting champagne across the fancy marble countertop.
Could things get worse? Why, yes, they could.
Chapter Two
“You thought someone broke into your apartment, so you grabbed a thunder rabbit toy as a weapon?” Juliet held her stomach, her laugh nothing but a wheeze after I retold my story for a second time. “I’m sorry, Nova. You must have been terrified.”
She ducked as the pack of Post-it notes whipped past her head. “Don’t laugh.” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“What was the plan there?” She leaned over the table and grabbed the purchase orders I had just signed off on.
“I don’t know exactly. Death by vibrator, I suppose.”
She snorted and shook her head. I knew it sounded ridiculous. But after a long, terrible day and being traumatized by an elevator trying to kill me, I was bound to make questionable decisions.
“Tell me more about the beefcake in the elevator.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she added her initials to the purchase orders and set them down in a separate pile to be fulfilled. “This sounds like fate to me.”
Typical Juliet. Always thinking life was a romantic fairytale.
We sat across from each other in the small office space we leased on Monroe Street. It had been our home away from home for over two years. I initialed the last PO and stacked them in a neat pile for her to double-check. This was a typical morning for us—run through purchase orders and invoices over coffee and gossip, then on to the more exciting stuff, like product designs.
“What beefcake?” Owen walked out of the stockroom, an open box in his arms. He whistled and glanced appreciatively between Juliet and me. “You ladies look sharp today.”
“I certainly did not say he was a beefcake.” I glared at Juliet. “And thank you, Owen. We have big-girl business to attend to today.”
Owen set the box on the table and pulled out the chair next to Juliet, sitting down. He was our first actual employee. There had come a point where two people just weren’t sufficient to handle processing, shipping, marketing, plus all the day-to-day tasks required to run a successful online sexual wellness shop. And weweresuccessful. We were halfway through our third year and our sales were already double that of the whole previous year. Owen was responsible for a portion of that. He was the real deal when it came to social media marketing. Our competitors didn’t stand a chance with him in our corner.
It hadn’t been easy to get to this point, though. There had been a lot of butting heads, mostly because I hadn’t wanted to give up control. Thank heavens for Juliet, our peacekeeper. If it wasn’t for her, this place might have burned down to the ground by now.
“You didn’t have to call him an actual beefcake.” She snorted and stacked the pile of papers against the desk, evening out the tops. “I could tell by the drool coming out of the side of your mouth.”
Cow.
OK, so he had been attractive. But he was definitely not my type. You would never catch me dating a suit. Some chronically stressed-out businessman whose only care in the world was making money, no matter the cost to others? Yeah, no thank you.
Owen reached into the box and pulled out a stack of mail, handing it to Juliet. He shook the box back and forth, and I cringed at the sound of broken glass.
“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.” I stood and peeked inside. Sure enough, the bottom was covered with shards of glass. We had tried out a new manufacturer for our glass specialties, a mistake I was about to regret.
