The address he sent her was in Brooklyn, presumably the new office space he'd been talking about. As she stepped out of a cab across the street in the middle of another blazing hot, sunny day, Callie looked up at it from behind her sunglasses.

The building was constructed of old red brick, with arched leaded windows on the upper floors. It looked like it had been a warehouse at some point, probably took advantage of the access to the river a couple of blocks down. But, more importantly, it had character and she liked it.

Sucking in a breath to settle her jangling nerves, she dropped her hand and swiped clammy palms over her hips while she waited for a break in the traffic. As she jogged across the street, she hoped Oscar didn't plan to introduce her to anyone she hadn't already met. Loose, faded denim dungarees, a sleeveless vest, worn tennis shoes and pig-tails wasn't the look she wanted to be sporting if he did.

When a mop of messy dark hair appeared on the steps of the building, her heart made its usual leap of joyous recognition. 

He had his back to her and was talking to a smartly dressed woman who laughed at what he said. There was a gap in the crowd on the sidewalk as he shook her hand, which allowed Callie's gaze to rove over him from head-to-toe. 

Damn it, he was wearing a suit. That was so unfair. Not because it made her feel like a tramp in comparison and not because she hadn't seen him in one before but because, even from the back, it was obvious the material of his navy jacket had been cut to fit him. 

He must have finally spent some of his fortune and if it looked that good from the back...

Her pace slowed as the woman he was talking to left and he looked across the street, his jacket stretching over his shoulders when he pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants. He looked pensive as his gaze searched the crowd. Then, as if he sensed she was there or caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye, he turned towards her. 

A blue shirt the same color as his eyes, open at the neck, no tie, showcasing the smooth column of his tanned neck. Yup, as she'd suspected, he looked even better from the front.

Callie hauled in a deep breath as she approached him. But the casual 'hey' she planned to force through her lips in greeting stalled when her gaze lifted.

"Ohmygod." She stepped closer and removed her sunglasses, her eyes wide with shock. "What happened to your face?"

His right eye was swollen and bruised.

"Punched a couple of categories above my weight at the gym last night. I'm famous for it there." He took a step back and held out an arm. "Come on in."

"Wait," Callie said as she fell into step beside him. "You joined a boxing gym?"

"I told you that."

She shook her head as they crossed the foyer. "No, you didn't. I'd have remembered."

His only response was to shrug his lips as if thought he had while he punched the button to call the elevator and his gaze lifted to watch the numbers above the doors.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Not as bad as my ribs."

The thought of him in a boxing ring, getting pulverized by some Neanderthal, made her feel nauseous. "I can't believe you volunteered to let someone hit you."

"I was the one doing the hitting," his deep voice replied as the elevator doors opened. "He was just defending himself."

What the-?

She stepped into the elevator in a daze as he selected a floor near the top of the building and stood beside her. 

The second the doors closed, the air thickened. She felt the heat from his body burn through the scant few inches separating them, took a breath of expensive cologne laced with his familiar fresh, clean, masculine scent and had an immediate need to fill the silence with something inane. 

"I haven't seen your face look like that since the time you got hurt in gym class in High School."

"Yeah," the corner of his mouth twitched. "That didn't happen in gym class."

"Erm..." She blinked. "You said it did."

She remembered distinctly. He'd said he was forced to wrestle with the State Champ and the guy tossed him into the bleachers like a crash test dummy. Since he got touchy about the subject when pressed for more detail, she'd bit back her laughter, poured on some sympathy and suggested he sue the school. She even offered to help him find a lawyer.

It was right before graduation and he still had that black eye in the photograph sitting on a side table in his mother's house.

"I lied," Oscar said as if it wasn't a big deal. "It happened when I went to have a chat with the jock that spread rumors about your virginity around half the school."

"What?"

"He put up more of a fight than Timmy McLean. And I got grounded for a week for bopping him in the nose, so I wasn't gonna confess to a bigger crime."

Was there a hidden camera in the elevator? 

Callie glanced around and then focused on Oscar's profile with a frown. Who was this guy and who the hell asked him to defend her honor? She didn't need him to fight her battles. And he could have got hurt. He hadn't always been this lean, toned, drool-worthy specimen of manhood.

"Do I need to check if Mike's name is on a missing person register?" she inquired with more than a hint of irritation.

"Nope. Didn't have to lay a finger on him." When he looked at her as the elevator doors slid open, the glint of menace in his eyes was astonishing. "The threat was enough." 

He placed a large palm on the curve of her spine and urged her forwards. "Come and meet the gang."

Crap. She was here to meet people. She really didn't want to do that.

Thankfully most of them were casually dressed in jeans and T-Shirts and didn't seem to care what she was wearing. They greeted her with bright smiles, shook her hand or waved when Oscar introduced them and added titles like our receptionist, our social media guru, our admin assistant and our researcher. 

None of them looked older than college age, which suddenly made Callie feel ancient. But despite the frenzy of activity, the atmosphere was friendly and relaxed. A lot of thought had been put into their surroundings and she loved the combination of old and new, designer and recycled, sleek office furniture and bright colored circles of bean bags. It was a place for creativity which was organized and functional, ready to go to work. 

She was as impressed by what Oscar had achieved as she was taken aback by the way everyone deferred to him. Even Jasper and Harry, who beamed from ear-to-ear and acted like excited little kids. And if she hadn't got who was running the show by the time the fifty-cent tour ended, it smacked her full in the face in Oscar's office.

Sitting behind a large desk, casually swinging the chair from side-to-side, he looked every inch the CEO in his new suit, albeit one desperately in need of a haircut and a shave.

Callie's mother thought this man needed a quirky, somewhat chaotic mess of a woman in his life? If she could see him now, perched on his throne, over-seeing a small kingdom, while her daughter no doubt looked like she could barely handle the responsibility of brushing her own teeth? 

It would have been laughable if it didn't make Callie feel like such a loser.

And in more ways than one.

As she wandered around the room, randomly picking up some of the action figures from his collection and studying comic books displayed behind glass on the walls, Callie could feel him watching her. 

She glanced over her shoulder to confirm it, was momentarily stunned by the intensity of his gaze and in the process, fumbled the miniature superhero she was holding.

"Break that, it'll cost four hundred bucks to replace," he commented dryly.

Seriously? It was like, five inches tall. How could it possibly be worth four hundred bucks? She set it back on the stand and made sure it was safe before backing away. 

When Oscar got to his feet and stepped in her direction, she moved out of the way and checked out his desk, fearful she might melt into his arms and get all weepy and clingy if he touched her. There were a couple of framed photographs on the polished black surface. One was of his mom and dad with a camera-shy, tousle haired boy sandwiched between them. The other was one of the goofier selfies Callie took of them with his phone on the Top Of The Rock. That one slayed her. They both looked so happy. 

And now...

She sneaked a peek at Oscar where he was standing on the other side of the desk. With his gaze cool and alert, his demeanor calm and controlled, it made her brutally aware of how far apart they'd grown.

"What do you think?"

"I think it's great," she replied honestly.

"But?"

Okay. He'd given her an opening. She should totally jump on that, even if it was just to suggest they go somewhere they could talk.

She was searching for the right words when something over his shoulder caught her eye. 

Leaning to the side, she raised a finger and pointed. "What is that?"

He glanced through the glass panels to the wall beside the elevators. "You don't recognize it?"

Callie shot a sideways glare at him as she left his office. There was no way she wouldn't recognize her own work and he had to have known that when he put it on display.

"How did it get here?" she asked when a dozen reflections of Oscar appeared beside a dozen reflections of Callie on the numerous shards of recycled C.D.'s edging the large mirror.

"Service elevator."

Not what she'd meant. "How long have you had it?"

A dozen reflections of Oscar shrugged their shoulders in a nonchalant move that made her want to slap every last one of them. "I went and bought it when you told me where it was."

Anger bubbled inside her. "Before or after I told you I was struggling to make the rent that month?"

"You wouldn't take a loan," he replied flatly.

Sonofabitch.

No, that wasn't fair. She loved his mom. It was Oscar she was mad at. Oscar and all the goddamn secrets he'd kept which suddenly felt like lies. 

That piece was her first big sale. She'd been so excited. He was the first person she called and they'd celebrated together. 

How would he feel if she messed with his stupid, ridiculously annoying gopher game?

Just when it felt like steam might exit her ears, he grasped her elbow and steered her into the elevator. "There's something else I want to show you."

Callie tugged her elbow free. "It better not be a big room full of my work. If it is, I will castrate you."

"No, you won't." He had the gall to look amused. "Wouldn't be much use to you then, would I?"

She glanced at the floor he'd selected as she tried to hold it together. "Where are we going?"

"Wait and see."

She didn't want to wait and see. She wanted to get out of the stuffy elevator, go outside, and find somewhere she could breathe. Then she wanted to get the whole break up thing over and done with so she could quit holding her emotions inside, making it feel like she could explode at any second and leave goo everywhere.

Thankfully, in a matter of seconds, the doors slid open and Oscar stepped through them. 

He turned to look at her when she didn't follow him, then he inclined his head. "Come on."

"What is this?"

"You need to use a little imagination," he said as she moved forward. "But we both know you're not short on that."

The space was cavernous and neglected. Paint flakes hung from numerous wrought iron pillars which supported the roof, revealing rust which had started to eat its way through some of the decorative curls at the top. Many of the exposed red bricks on the walls were crumbling, the arched windows were fogged with dirt and the concrete floor was covered in a thick layer of dust which danced in the air as they disturbed it. 

When her gaze lifted to the back of what appeared to be a giant clock, Callie figured they must be on the top floor. 

She frowned. What were they doing there?

Oscar started talking as if she'd voiced the question aloud. 

"Needs some work, obviously, but it has potential." Both his expression and tone were unreadable when she turned to look at him. "I figured we'd have the living area on that side to take advantage of the views." 

He jerked his chin to her left, which made her look in that direction. "Open plan for the most part, bedrooms to the back, plenty of storage, nice big double shower in the bathroom, fully kitted out kitchen. You can shop for furniture but gadgets are my domain."

A sinking sensation came over her as she figured out what he meant. He wanted to convert it into an apartment, for them. One they could live in together. 

It was like being handed a gift-wrapped box with all her dreams in it and finding someone else's name on the tag. 

Everything about it felt wrong. Everything about them felt wrong. 

She couldn't play make-believe with him anymore.

"Your workshop can go on the side closest to the service elevator to make it easier for you to get the bigger pieces downstairs," he continued. "The architect I talked to today –"

"Would you stop?" Callie snapped.

"You don't like the space?"

"It's got nothing to do with the space." 

Was he for real with super-calm attitude? It was like he wanted her to lose it. 

"Though now you mention it, being consulted about where I'd like to live and work would have been nice."

"Your apartment's too small. And your workshop has -"

"Crappy ventilation. Yes, so you keep saying," she bit back. "And I've heard enough on the subject of storage to last a lifetime. But this needs to stop. We're not kids anymore. I don't want to play games."

"That's what we're doing, is it?" He took a step towards her, swayed as if he was about to take another, then stilled.

"Yes." Callie could hear the frustration in her voice, but it was justified. 

He was supposed to be the smart one. 

"We can't keep pretending everything is fine. And we can't keep avoiding the subject by having sex." Not that they'd been doing that much lately. "This," she waved a hand between them, "isn't working."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Thick lashes blinked lazily over the sharpening blue of his gaze. "Maybe you should spell it out for me."

"Because you can't force something to be there when it isn't!" she yelled.

"That's what you're going with?" His mouth curved into a cruel impersonation of a smile. "C'mon, Cal, after all the practice you've had dumping boyfriends, you can do better than that." 

While she gasped as if he'd hit her, he cocked his head and added, "I'm curious. Is there an award for making it past the usual six-week cut-off point before you do this? No, wait. I've got it. Getting to fuck you was a consolation prize. Or was it you fucking me? Must have really pissed you off when I wouldn't let you do that these last few days..."

Callie rocked back on her heels. It was the most hurtful thing he'd ever said to her. Didn't he know how hard she'd tried to be the perfect girlfriend for him, how hard it had been to face up to the fact he didn't love her the way she loved him and the strength it had taken for her to confront the problem? 

Breaking up with him would mean losing everything she had ever wanted and so very much more. Adding a dream apartment and workshop to the mix merely rubbed salt in a gaping open wound. 

Taking the attitude that what was missing in their relationship was her fault, wasn't fair. She would have sold her soul to the devil to make her best friend fall in love with her. How could he not know that?

If he was in love with her, if he even thought he might be, now was the time to say it. He didn't have to barter for her love with a custom-built home. Her heart was his. She was his. All he had to do was say the words. They would make sense of the way he was lashing out, explain why he'd shut down emotionally. If he'd just say the words, she could tell him how she felt and they'd get through this together and laugh about it someday. 

Please, say it.

When he stayed silent, her last shred of hope, the one she'd been clutching like a piece of wood floating on the water after a ship-wreck, disintegrated and disappeared beneath a wave of despair.

"I can't do this anymore," she said flatly.

In the following silence, she stared at one of the buttons on his shirt, watching as it strained against the loop when he took a deep breath while she yearned for him more than she'd ever yearned for anything. 

Unrequited love sucked.

"If we're doing this, best do it right," he stated just as flatly. "If there's anything else you want to tell me..."

"There isn't," she responded quickly, unable to meet his gaze. 

Hiding how much it hurt was the hardest thing she'd ever done. Looking him in the eye while she did it was impossible. She didn't have enough strength left.

"Cal..." He said her name in a lower, rougher tone and the need to look at him one last time almost broke her. "You know... you must know..."

How sorry he was? That if he could make himself fall in love with her, he would?

Callie nodded as her vision blurred. "I do."

"Well, I guess that's that, then."

He was right. There was nothing more to say. But Callie was unable to make her feet move. She needed another masochistic minute before she walked away, to torture herself with thoughts of what could have been, so she could hold onto the dream of a happily-ever-after with him for one final, fleeting moment before letting it go.

As she stood there, slowly dying inside, she heard his footsteps on the concrete floor and knew he'd done what he'd once promised he would never do. 

He left her.