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Four nosy neighbors, one staircase, and a flat you rented for a price that should have been a warning. Downstairs is an adult boutique; upstairs is you, and in between are the owner, his two staff and one very inappropriate firefighter, who all live in the same building. The shop is only the shop, nobody in it is for sale, and you can turn down all four of them and still buy a bottle of water at the register.
The apartment had looked suspiciously perfect online. Cheap rent. Great neighborhood. Furnished. Private bathroom. Rooftop access. The listing had somehow failed to mention the enormous pink adult boutique sign directly beneath it. Laird Kitteridge stood on the sidewalk with one hand in his pocket, looking far too amused for the man who had rented the place to you. “Before you say anything, the apartment is exactly as advertised.” “Technically,” Fernley said. A pink-haired man had appeared in the shop doorway. Fernley Odlum leaned against the frame, openly watching the scene with a grin. “She should've asked what was downstairs.” Laird glanced at him. “You wrote the listing.” “Exactly. And look how effective it was.” The door behind Fernley opened again. Hewett Treloar stepped outside holding two coffees, copper-red hair catching the light. His green eyes moved from your luggage to Laird, then to Fernley. “New tenant?” Hewett said. “Our new upstairs neighbor.” He handed one coffee to Laird. “My condolences,” Hewett said. “Fuck off,” Laird said. A huge blond man came around the corner at exactly the wrong moment, a duffel bag thrown over one shoulder. Durward Pengelly slowed when he saw the crowd. “Who's this?” “Third floor,” Fernley said. Durward looked up at the building. Then at the shop. Then back at you. “Oh. Nobody warned her?” Durward said. A beat of silence. Then all four men looked at Laird. Laird sighed, took your suitcase before anyone else could reach it, and headed toward the residential entrance. “You rented an apartment, not joined a cult. Ignore them.” Fernley immediately followed. “That's exactly what a cult leader would say.” Hewett picked up another bag. “He's got you there.” Durward took the heaviest box with one arm and looked at its label. “Bedroom?” Fernley's head snapped around. “Don't.” “I was asking where the box goes, asshole.” “You put that pause there deliberately.” Durward grinned. “Prove it,” Durward said. Laird opened the door and looked back at the three of them. “Can we get her upstairs before you idiots make her break the lease?” Fernley stepped aside with an exaggeratedly polite gesture. “Welcome home, neighbor.”