Now I’m thinking I was wrong.

And I hate being wrong.

There’s been no response to the two texts I’ve sent her. It’s been just over a week, and the radio silence is killing me. I’m all for playing it cool, but Christ, any cooler and I’ll freeze. I’m tempted to show up at her apartment, but that reeks of desperation and I’m not that guy. I’m looking down at her number in my cell as I drink my coffee, the one I bought hoping today would be the day I accidently bumped into her again. Andrew’s on to me, I can see it in the smirk he gives me when he hands me my change each morning. People around the office have started to notice my daily Starbucks runs, too. Sophie actually asked me to pick her up a latte yesterday. We’ve somehow come full circle, and it’s me bringing her coffee now. I need to restore the balance; it’s throwing me off my game. I’m of two minds; I don’t k now whether or not to delete Robyn’s number. My thumb’s hovering over her name in indecision. Before I can think better of my actions, I’ve pressed call and brought the phone to my ear.

If she doesn’t answer, I’ll delete her number and put her behind me…maybe.

The call connects almost instantly, and I’m not expecting it. I have a mouth full of coffee when her voice fills my ears, and I smile, dribbling the contents down my chin like a toddler with no concept of how to conduct himself in a public place.

“Hey Cole, how are you?” she answers and I frantically wipe the coffee from my chin, swallow the remains hastily and burn my esophagus in the process.

“Hi, Robyn…I wasn’t expecting you to answer,” I admit.

Smooth.

“Oh, um…well, here I am. You called, I responded, that’s normally how a phone call works.”

She’s a smart ass, but it makes me like her more, not less.

“Yeah, I understand the concept, only I’d sent you a couple of messages earlier in the week with no response.”

“I know, sorry about that. I’ve been busy and hadn’t loaded any call time to my cell. I keep forgetting. I was meaning to call you back but work has been pretty full on, and it slipped my mind.”

“No need to apologize, I was wanting to thank you for a nice evening last week and hoping I could convince you to come for a drink with me later today? If you have no plans, that is.”

She takes a minute to respond, and I’m holding my breath in anticipation.

“I’m working from seven if you want to meet earlier, around five-ish. I guess that could work.”

I have back-to-back meetings ‘til six.

“Sure, sounds like a plan.”

“Okay great. Where would you like to meet?” she asks, sounding bright and happy. I love that sound.

“I thought we could have drinks in Central Park at The Loeb Boathouse, off East 72nd. I’ll pick you up?”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that. Besides, I won’t be at home; I’ll just meet you there.”

Her breathing sounds a little flustered, but she’s actually agreed without too much persuasion, so I’m not about to question her. “Excellent, I’m looking forward to it.”

I end the call and shoot a look over to Andrew. If his back wasn’t turned he might have noticed the huge-ass smirk I just threw his way. I scroll my contacts and look for Sophie’s number. I need her to clear my schedule for the rest of the day.

I HAVEN’T GONE back to my apartment in almost a week. I’m not even sure what I’ll find when I do. Callum has assured me that Mr. Carter isn’t still there, a rotting corpse on my living room floor, waiting to be discovered by poor old Mrs. Heckles. He’d gone back to my apartment after I’d fallen asleep, the night everything kicked off. When I’d asked him why, he answered, “To make sure he won’t be causing you any more problems.” I’m not sure what that was even supposed to mean, and I don’t dare ask for clarification. Apparently when Cal had arrived back at my place, Mr. Carter had already gone. The only evidence of the whole horrific ordeal was my blood-soaked rug, which he’d cleaned up as best he could. The thought of Cal cleaning my apartment is more than a little strange; I’m not quite sure what to make of it.

I do know that I owe him so much already. I can’t even bear to think what might have played out if he hadn’t arrived when he did. The whole event didn’t really leave me with much of a choice when Cal’s questioning began. I had to tell him the truth; I owed him that much, at least. So I bit down on my pride, and started at the beginning with Danny: the loans, the fact that he skipped out on me, and how it led to me being here now—working in his club—to pay back the debts. Cal doesn’t give much away when you talk to him; he was sitting stock still, absorbing everything I was telling him, and I couldn’t read a single emotion. I’ve no doubt he thinks hiring me was a massive mistake. He wanted a dancer; instead, he got lumbered with babysitting a twenty-four-year-old with more baggage than the luggage claim at JFK.

We argued about me returning to my place. Arguing with your boss less than a few weeks into your new job is a sure sign your work-life balance is way off kilter. But then again moving in with him isn’t exactly normal, and now my work and my home life are one and the same. I’m not a prude; I cuss like anyone else, but Cal’s swearing would have made a sailor blush when I’d told him that I was going home. It was the morning after Carter had visited, and Cal hit the roof, telling—no, shouting at me— it wasn’t safe, and he wouldn’t allow it. I’d countered that it wasn’t up to him to make my decisions, but really I was relieved that he had. The thought of being home alone scares me, and Carter doesn’t know where I am when I’m here. I feel safer.

The downside is that I’m holed up in Cal’s spare room. Sure, it’s handy for work, but it’s awkward as hell in every other way. He told me I could stay indefinitely until everything is sorted out with paying back the debts. He’s obviously more optimistic than I am about how quickly I can do that. It’ll take forever to clear them, and after everything that’s happened, I’m sure there will be interest to pay. Mr. Carter was an unforgiving man before, after what’s happened I can’t think of a single scenario where he won’t hold it against me. That thought alone is terrifying.

I called Mrs. Heckles this morning; I was worried that she’d be wondering where I am and if I’m okay. I’d gotten away with telling her as little as possible, lying and pretending I was staying with a friend for a while, unsure of when I’d be back. I attempted to warn her not to talk to anyone that may come asking for me. She agreed, but if she manages it I’ll be amazed. She just can’t help herself sometimes. Callum promised to take me back to my place today to collect some more of my things. I didn’t do a stellar job of packing the night I’d left.

Despite his constant reassurance that it’s not the case, I can’t help but feel that staying here is a burden on him. Cal stays out of my way as much as possible, to the point that he leaves a room when I enter. We don’t talk much; a strange tension seems to have settled around us, and I don’t know what to do to lift it. The night of our almost kiss is when things took a strange turn; at least, I think it was then. I’m calling it the almost kiss, I could have read the signals wrong, and he wasn’t about to kiss me, but I’m not convinced that’s the case. Kissing him would have been a huge mistake, but I can’t dislodge the thought of what it might have been like if Annie hadn’t interrupted us. Would I have stopped him? Walked away and ignored it? Or would I have leaned in and made it happen?