Now, I’m walking into Callan’s home.

I close my eyes and tell myself to breathe. I almost walk back and leave, but I swear to god something keeps me where I am. And yet I can’t move forward.

I marvel at the fierce tug of emotions that brought me here to him in the first place. I want so bad to reach out to him and let him hold me but I’m scared that if I do, everything will change.

I’m scared that if I take this step, and walk toward him, and let him hold me tonight, I won’t be the same in the morning.

I won’t be the same ever again.

I walk forward, my shoes soundless on the modern rug, and the hair on the back of my neck tingles with anticipation. I can hear my heart beating so fast and so strong I’m scared he’ll hear it, that he’ll know.

The door of his office is open. I part it wider and spot him at the far end. A bottle of whiskey and an empty glass sit on the desk before him. He looks incredibly warm, his huge body taking up most of the space.

He stands. “I knew you’d come.” Callan meets me halfway across the room and cups my neck, and the slow stroke of his thumb there sends shivers down my spine.

“You asked me to.”

“Sit here.”

He guides me to sit on the desk and as I climb on, he draws my hair clip off my hair, pushing the loose tendrils aside as he leans his head forward, and my breathing hitches with the feel of his lips touching mine.

“I’m desperate for you.” His fingers trail up my thigh, under the fall of my skirt.

I moan. “Callan.”

“God, I come unglued when you make that sound.”

“Callan . . . We really have to stop at some point.”

His hunger blazes in his eyes. “I haven’t slept since Texas. Not seeing you every day . . . I feel crazed over you. Unhinged. I’m insane for you.” He tugs me to the edge of the desk. “Come here. I can’t wait.” He spreads my hair aside and kisses the curve between my neck and shoulder. Tingles race down the line of my spine, down every vertebra and nerve ending.

I moan again.

“I’m a reasonable man. So why, when it comes to you, do I have no reason?” He rubs my lips with the pad of his thumb. “I have no control when it comes to you. God, look at you.” He tugs my shirt open with a flick of his fingers over my buttons. He pries it over my shoulders and swoops down to cradle my lace-cupped breasts and kiss the tips over my bra.

My body is wound up with desire and yearning. “Callan, this will only make leaving more difficult . . .”

I’m trembling, yet even as I watch Callan strip with fast jerks of his wrist on the drawstring pants and T-shirt he’s wearing, I can’t bring myself to stop him.

I know I can break. I know this can break me. But I could never feel as broken as I will when I’m alone, staring up at the ceiling, remembering his touch and wondering if I will ever feel it again.

I reach out as he reaches for me, and I kiss him.

I have the first good night’s sleep I’ve had for days.

God. Loving this man has been both the easiest and the most challenging thing I’ve ever done.

I want to be that girl who finds love and just takes it.

But what about my career?

I want to be his equal. I eventually want to know as much as him, do as much as him.

I can’t help thinking that if this were happening like I’d planned, at twenty-freaking-fucking-eight, I wouldn’t have to choose.

I want to stay.

But it’ll kill me not to pursue my career dreams too.

I stay with him for longer than I should, prolonging the time in his arms.

When I’m sure he’s asleep, I kiss his jaw and inhale him, wrapping my arms around him as tight as they will go. I tingle when he reciprocates, loving the way his arm clenches me even as he sleeps, then force myself to let go.

“I love you,” I whisper in his ear and steal away, without looking back.

And every step away from him feels painful.

I spend all day organizing everything for my departure.

Callan spends all day in board meetings.

His assistant has returned from maternity leave and Janine has been boasting how eager she is to apply for a permanent position at Carma, now that her internship is over. Like her, I’m officially done with my summer internship. When the clock strikes 6 p.m., I have my stuff in boxes.

And when I head upstairs at six and Callan opens his office door and leans on it, simply looking at me, I feel a stirring of longing so deep, I almost whimper. I feel like one last cigarette with him.

I NEED one last cigarette with him. Fuck the seven minutes of life it takes from me, life is that terrace and him and me.

He seems to read my mind, because he shuts the door behind him and motions to the elevators.

Once we go upstairs, we’re silent for a while. Not even smoking. Just sitting there in silence—and for a while, it’s enough. Breathing close to him, listening to his breath. Occasionally stealing looks and soaking up the sensuality of his physique. I’m so attuned to him, I’m painfully aware of every breath he takes, of how deeply he inhales, exhales, how warm his body temp is, where his eyes are focused.

And they are on me.

He studies my lips briefly, and I can’t help but drop my gaze to his mouth, which looks full and firm. And I want to kiss it again. I want to feel it all over me again, full and firm but also soft and warm and hungry times a thousand.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

How I can say goodbye.

I think of Texas and my hope for a future business, trying to make this moment less painful. It’ll be exciting, but it won’t be as exciting doing it alone. I then decide I’ll take a job until I’m ready to go it alone, and someday I will ask my brother to invite me over for a weekend in Chicago, and I will look Callan up and hopefully I won’t feel this squeezing in my heart. And at twenty-eight, I’ll be ready to meet the one who wants the same things I do and . . . well, wants to be together. Officially.

I tell myself all this, and yet my heart doesn’t buy it.

It feels as if I’m leaving my red bandana knotted around the railing, flapping aimlessly in the wind because I’m too afraid to reach out for it, and nobody is helping me. And I never asked him to help me.

Callan lights up and hands me the cigarette, looking at my mouth with acute intensity as I take a hit.

“We should stop smoking,” I say, exhaling.

His lips quirk. “Okay.” His eyes are crowded with something beyond lust, beyond anything I’ve ever seen in them before.

“Really?” I ask, passing him the cigarette.

“Yeah. I’ve been keeping it to one a day, two. When I’m not talking to you.” He grins, his eyes pools of warmth and swirling heat.

“Really, wow. Then we should definitely stop smoking,” I say more firmly. Maybe my reasons are also the fact that every cigarette will remind me of him, and I’m not sure I can deal with the pain of missing him that having one will bring.

“We should,” he concurs.

“I’ll do it for my nana.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

My skin tingles, and a sudden warmth engulfs my core. Is this one of his antics? He looks so somber now.

“Let’s do it then,” I say with forced cheer. “Report back at the one-month mark.”

“Sounds good.”

I smile and let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. It seemed to be trapped in my chest. But now I breathe a little easier, after this deal we made. It’s better this way. I get an excuse to talk to him. It doesn’t feel like such a final goodbye. I can’t take it otherwise.

“Wynn and Emmett seem to have gotten back together.”

“Did they?”

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know the details. I’m sure she’ll share soon. But I’m happy they could work it out. All this time, I’ve been thinking about relationships. How sometimes chemistry and attraction and compatibility are not the only important things. Goals are, too. If you’re here, and he’s there, well . . . he’s not where you are.”

“People can move. From here to there. I can move, Livvy.” He looks at me quietly and smirks. “I can move faster than anyone.”