Instead of sulking all day, I made an appointment with the best damn real estate agent in Vegas. Feeling sorry for myself would get me nowhere fast and that wasn't me. I had to pick up and move on, and try to keep myself busy before the guilt consumed me.

The man that showed me around various townhomes had a knack for fashion, with his perfectly wrapped scarf, leather shoes, and Versace man bag.

After the third walk through of a place that I was not feeling, Mr. Metro made a few phone calls, and we were on our way to view another. I was being that customer, the one that agents hated, the one that would never be happy.

Only a mile from downtown sat a cute townhome with a shady brick sidewalk that led to a red door. When he opened it, I gasped. Tall ceilings, wooden floors, and fashionable colors flowed together nicely on the walls: light blues and greens, and even beiges.

"Each one of these townhomes has its own interior brick courtyard with copper gutters. Perfect for those small dinner parties or just sitting outside to read a book. Although the exterior is connected, each has its own set of stairs as well, and privacy measures in the back."

A bar in the kitchen overlooked the living room area. At the top of the stairs was a den that overlooked the open floor space. The bedrooms, although only two, were large with tall windows.

"What's even better is you are only a few blocks from the heart of the city. I know you said that was a must." He smiled.

"I want it. I'll take it. How much was the price again?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. The seller has it listed at half a million. I know you said your budget was half of that, so I thought maybe we could discuss a few things."

"Yes, that's way over my limit. Not that it's not worth it. It's perfect. It's just, well, it's not within my budget."

I had $600,000 in the bank from the insurance policy and selling the house. I couldn't spend that much.

"Let me make a few phone calls. I'm allowed to act as your agent while representing my client. If not, I've got a few other places we can go."

Clint, also known as Mr. Metro, stepped outside, and I watched him pace back and forth through the double sliding doors, talking a million miles per hour. Gosh, I wanted this place. The resale value would be just as high if I ever wanted to move, so it wasn't like I was blowing my parents’ money, but I couldn't spend that much. I sucked in a deep breath and decided that, regardless of what the sellers said, I would take it. It just felt right.

Clint returned as I stood in the living room imagining where my new furniture would go.

"I've got some good news and some bad news, which would you like first?"

"Bad news, I suppose."

"There was another offer, and the seller wants to close today."

"Are you serious? That sucks. I really wanted it. So what's the good news?"

"My client said to make an offer and he will consider it. I told him what your budget was, the $250,000."

"Great. So I guess we should move on?"

He received a text and pulled his phone from his pocket. His eyes lit up with disbelief.

"Um. Actually we should go back to the office."

"Why is that?" I said.

"Because the owner accepted your offer, and he wants to close today."

"What? Are you kidding? This place is going to be mine?"

Every ounce of happiness spread across my face. It was probably the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. I couldn't hold back my ridiculous grin at the shock on Clint's face. Maybe Lady Luck did have my back after all.

We went back to the office, and I signed the paperwork. Clint dropped me off at the café on the corner because I needed my coffee fix, and it was only a few blocks from the hotel. I hated walking back in there after the scene that happened that morning, but it was time to celebrate with death by coffee. As I walked in, the teenager at the counter lifted an eyebrow at me.

"Yes, I'm back again."

"Triple Mocha Latte with whip?"

"You're good. And yep."

I sat at a table in the corner and watched the people walk by. I couldn't contain my excitement and wanted to tell someone, anyone, about my new purchase. For a moment, I thought about texting Abbie. Eventually we would have to make up, right? She didn't really know how I felt about Finnley, so could I really hate her for it? As much as I wanted to think she didn't know, Abbie wasn't dense when it came to me and guys, and my hints were painfully obvious.

The latte, so sweet and warm, satisfied me. I picked up a newspaper from a table close by and browsed the employment ads. Time to look for a job since the money wouldn't last forever.

I stretched the thin paper across the table, crossed my legs, and scrolled through the various positions listed on the pages. Nothing captivated me like The Elite had, or would use my undergraduate degree like Simon and Fitch. I lifted the newspaper, folded it in half, and read my horoscope.

Someone will turn your regular routine on its ear–and you're going to love it.

I set the paper down and sighed. So, what if my regular routine was already completely jacked up? Stupid horoscope didn't account for that, did it?

As I stared out the window and sipped my coffee, I felt someone standing behind me. When I turned to look, fucking Finnley Felton hovered over me. God, he looked yummy in his three-piece suit, and he smelled delicious. And I hated myself in that moment for dressing frumpy.

"Hello. My name is Finnley Felton. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I looked at him incredulously.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to start over," he bent down and whispered in my ear.

Oh, he wanted to start over, did he? Well, then I would play his game.

"Hello, Mr. Felton," I said stressing his name. "My name is Jennifer Downs. It's nice to meet you," I said, ever so sweetly, and sipped my coffee. He sat down across from me, and I folded the newspaper in on itself.

"I couldn't help but notice you were reading your horoscope. May I?"

"What are you doing here?" I whispered lowly, making sure no one heard me.

"Give me a break, Jennifer. I had to see you," he said.

It was easy to forget about him when his smell wasn't pulling me closer to him, reminding me of all the things we had done in the past seventy-two hours. But with him sitting in front of me, looking like sex on legs, it was hard to ignore it all. Hard to push back the emotions that I was constantly forced to bury.

"So, my horoscope?"

"When is your birthday?"

"May thirteenth."

"Oh, a Taurus, the bull. Very fitting, Mr. Felton. Very fitting, indeed. It says, 'Though you're stable and sensible, sometimes you need to break out of that middle ground and try something crazy. Today is perfect for wild schemes and nonsense, so go for it!' Wow, yours is much better than mine."

He lifted an eyebrow and bit his bottom lip. Fuck, he was sexy.

"So won't you tell me about yourself?" I leaned across the table. "And don't you dare lie."

He moved in closer to me, and his voice was almost a low rumble.

"I run a successful business, and apparently, I'm an egotistical asshole who continuously makes mistakes."

"Go on."

"I've been in a horrible mood since someone I really care about walked out of my life."