The subway ride to the bar is awkward. Milo stands directly between Dean and me, his hand hooked through the overhead railing as the subway jostles us closer together. I keep catching a whiff of the cologne he's wearing, which smells incredible, and I hate that I find myself leaning closer.

His eyes don't leave mine for most of the ride. His gaze is dark and intense, but there's this air of I'm undressing you with my eyes, too; my heart skips a beat.

I'm relieved when we make it to the bar because I don't know how much longer I could take being pressed against Milo and having him look at me like that. The three of us find a table on the rooftop, which overlooks the city skyline. It's cozy with its fairy lights and electric heaters; I hate that I wish I was only here with Milo.

After shaking off our coats, Milo heads to the bar, so there's this second where I'm left alone with Dean. He leans forward slightly, forearms resting right next to mine, and says, "What do you say we ditch the bodyguard and go somewhere else?"

I laugh it off like he's only looking, and the second the bartender hands Milo our drinks, he's back at our table quick as a flash, shooting Dean a disapproving look. Dean sighs and the three of us make small talk for a little while, but in my head, I'm thinking of all of the ways I can make this night go faster or at least make my escape. It's awkward enough to go for drinks with a client, but to have Milo here dissecting my every move is nerve-wracking. I can just tell that he's quietly judging me.

"So, about the property," I say, turning to Dean, "what kind of questions did you have for me?"

"I can't talk shop until I've had at least three of these," he says, laughing, and I'm forced to laugh with him. "So, what got you into real estate, anyway? Is it something you've always wanted to do?"

Milo, who hasn't touched the beer he got, sits opposite me with his arms folded, disgusted. He's about to interject, but I kick him under the table and beat him to it. "I've always loved the idea of matching people up with their dream properties," I say, "which is why I think this property would be perfect for you. You're single, successful, and clearly like to be the host. With a view of Manhattan, it's the perfect place to entertain."

Dean nods and steers the conversation to other topics, like where do I like to hang out in the city and do I have a boyfriend. Milo, for the most part, sits tensely in his seat, heeding my occasional glares, but at the mention of my potential singleness, he just can't help himself.

"So, back to the property," he says, his voice dangerously low. "Kennedy's given you all of the information you need to know. Have you made a decision yet?" He's tense in his seat, forearms wound so tight that I can see every vein and muscle beneath his tanned skin. He's clearly working hard to control himself.

"That depends." Dean's grin broadens as his eyes flit to mine. "If I put an offer in, do you come with the property?"

Milo leans forward. I kick him under the table again and say to Dean, "You couldn't afford me."

Dean laughs and finishes his drink. "Look, as a first-time buyer, I want to cover all the basics, you know? I don't want to rush into something like this. Buying an expensive property is a big commitment."

"Understandable," Milo says curtly. He's got his serious eyes on. His murder eyes. Usually, they're reserved just for me. "Perhaps it would be better for you to go home and think about it before contacting Kennedy. Via email, that is."

I look between the pair. I'm desperate to use the bathroom, but the thought of leaving Milo alone with Dean is terrifying. I'll no doubt come back, and Dean will be gone, found a week later in a body bag in the back of Milo's car.

"I know my questions are annoying," Dean says, looking apologetic. "Don't feel like you have to stay. Kennedy and I can–"

"I'm not going anywhere."

The way Milo says it makes Dean pause, then glance at me. I can see on his face that he's getting impatient, and after a brief stare-off with Milo, he rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. "I'll let you know of my decision in the morning," he says without looking at me, and already I know. He's not taking the property.

As Dean leaves the table, Milo leans back, eyes cool, and says, "That guy's a tool."

Slowly, I drag my eyes from Dean's retreating figure and fix them on Milo. "That tool could have gotten me to seven. How long are you going to keep sabotaging me?"

"I wasn't trying to sabotage you." He leans forward again, resting his thick arms on either side of mine and trapping my legs between his. My heart jumps; it's sickening that I can be so mad at him but still crave his touch. "I was trying to help you. You're a realtor, not an escort." He leans in closer, his voice dangerously low. "It's not like you to put up with that shit."

Hearing him say it's not like you makes me angrier than anything else. He sits there like it's so easy to reject a client's advances, as if I'm letting myself down for not standing up to Dean, but he doesn't get it. Not at all.

I feel myself on the verge of wanting to punch him, so I scrape back my seat and head over to a quiet part of the rooftop, where I lean on the railing and stare at the skyline. It's not long before Milo walks up behind me, this warm, solid presence that makes my skin tingle.

"You have no idea what it's like to be put in that position," I say, turning to face him. He's standing so close that my breasts are practically pressed to his chest. He must realize, too, because his eyes drop to them before flitting back up. "You think he's the first sleaze ball to treat me like I'm a date and not a professional? Do you think this is the first time someone's made inappropriate comments about throwing me in for free with the property? You don't even know half of it."

"Which brings me back to my original point," he says. "It's not like you to put up with that. Why didn't you say something? Hell, I would have said something if you'd stopped kicking me."

"Say I do say something," I propose, looking at his lips. Why can't I stop looking at his lips? "Say I tell him he's inappropriate. Do you know what goes next? He refuses to close the deal, he tells all his friends that I'm an awful realtor, and suddenly I'm blacklisted. You know better than anyone that this job is about who you know. Do you know what the slander of some rich tech start-up would do to my career? I'd never make it to seven." I stop for a moment, sigh, and add, "I have to play the game, Milo, the way many people do, no matter their profession. Do you know how easy it is for you to sit there and judge me for not putting him in his place?"

"I get that," he says, his voice low, "I do, but some things are worth fighting back for, Kennedy, even if it means he won't close the deal."

I shake my head. Maybe on some level, he's right, but this isn't just about this one client. "Back when I was working on four, the manager, Terry, used to make inappropriate jokes to me all the time. I reported him once, and HR told me that's just how Terry is. After that, I realized HR wasn't there to protect us, they were there to protect the company, and if I kick up a fuss, the only person who gets hurt is me."

Milo is quiet for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes dark, and I realize he's not mad at me; he's mad on my behalf. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize this happened to you so often. I shouldn't have taken over like that."

"It's fine. I guess I just need to resign myself to the fact that seven is probably not my calling."

He frowns a little, pulling me closer by the waist. "Don't give up yet. You still have an open viewing tomorrow."

"Yeah," I say, but I don't feel hopeful anymore. I feel defeated. "It's getting late. We should get going."

He looks at me for a second too long, like he wants to say something more. But I'm terrified of what's going to leave his mouth, especially after our talk before, so I turn away, grab my coat, and we head out onto the icy streets.

He follows after me, and despite his offer to walk me home, I politely decline. The thought of a long subway ride back to the office and a subsequent car ride home is too much to contemplate. I just want to sit on the tube and wallow in my misery without having to pretend.

I wrap my coat around me, trying to shut out the cold. Every time I find a solution to a problem that arises, another one pops up in his place. Now I've got to pray that the viewing tomorrow goes well, or somebody else will snap up that promotion just in time for Christmas, and I'll be left with nothing but a bottle of eggnog and a million regrets.

"Look, I'll see you tomorrow," I say.

Milo steps forward, eyebrows furrowed, and wraps his hand around mine to stop me. I don't look at him – I can't – because right now, I'm filled with all sorts of emotions – anger, disappointment, lust – and I don't know how to handle them.

"Kennedy, look at me."

My eyes flit to his. It's dark on this part of the icy street,  the streetlamp above us broken, but despite his face being shrouded in shadow, he looks warmer, somehow. I'm suddenly overcome with this urge to hug him, to bury my face in his chest, because for a fleeting moment, even though it feels impossible, Milo feels like my safe place.

He must read my mind because his arms wrap around me, a protective cocoon, holding me close. My body sinks into him, molding to his hard lines and edges. There are times when you hug somebody, and it doesn't quite feel right, but with him, it feels exactly how it should.

It's been a long time since someone has comforted me like this. It used to be Lucas, but since he left, I've had to be the one to comfort myself, which, for the most part, has been fine. But sometimes, it's nice to have someone else ready to pick you up.

"Come on," he says near my ear. "I'm taking you home."

I relent and let him slip an arm around my waist as we head to the subway. The ride back to the office is quiet, but it's a comforting silence, one that feels familiar. When the tube pulls up, we head up the steps and back toward Milo's car.

"You're the only one I know who insists on driving in the city," I say, but I have to admit, it feels nice to sink into his interior leather seats.

"I only drive to work and back," he says, turning on the engine. "Or places I know I can find parking."

"Well, you shouldn't drive. It's bad for the environment."

He slowly looks over. "I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

I swallow hard and turn to the window, resisting the urge to comment. I'm in a strange funk, and being this vulnerable around someone like Milo is not a good combination.

The moment we pull up to my apartment, I'm both relieved and terrified. It feels like the end of the date, and there's this expectation to invite him to my apartment, but I don't want to. There's no way I can have Milo in my apartment and not want to kiss him, but kissing leads to disaster.

"We never got to finish our conversation at the apartment," he says. His voice is low, his eyes dark and serious. Even though he's playing it cool, I can see a slight hesitation in his eyes, like he's bracing himself for the fallout.

It suddenly hits me how similar we are. We've both been burned by ex-lovers and are now so afraid to trust another human being that we've ended up stuck in this strange limbo. Trusting is a loser's game, and we're both intent on winning.

"I don't remember the question," I lie.

He raises an eyebrow. I'm a terrible liar. "What if we'd continued where we left off that night?" He leans closer, causing my breath to hitch. The truth is, anything could have happened that night. Maybe we'd have had sex and the next day acted as if nothing had happened. Maybe we were only ever destined to be a one-night stand. Maybe we went for dinner like Milo said and realized we had nothing in common. Or maybe we went and had everything.

My throat feels tight as I turn to him fully. "I don't believe in what-ifs, Milo. It doesn't get you anywhere. The only thing that matters is what now."

"All right." He suddenly draws closer and in one quick motion, grabs my head, pulls me toward him, and kisses me.

My lips are on fire the second they touch his. All the oxygen is sucked from the car, making me dizzy. But somehow, through the haze, my body reacts, and I wrap my arms around his neck. His fingers thread my hair as my own trail his back, slipping beneath his shirt. His skin feels hot, soft, and I can feel the ripples of his shoulders as they arch.

But as quickly as it starts, it ends. He pulls back a little, lips red, and watches me carefully. "What now?"

Heart pounding, I open my mouth and then close it again. I don't know what to say. He keeps trying to throw the ball in my court, and I keep trying to throw it back, and the result is neither of us ever gets anywhere.

The buzz of my phone saves me from answering. I pull it out and see Jess's name on the screen, no doubt because she wants to know how my viewing went. I glance at Milo just as he turns to the front, jaw clenched in frustration, and rests his hands on the steering wheel.

"I have to go," I say, grabbing my bag. "I'll – I'll see you tomorrow."

He nods, looking like he might say something more, but I grab my bag and open the door, giving him one last look.

"See you tomorrow."

The second I get to my apartment and step out of the elevator, I breathe a sigh of relief. It's true what they say about how there's no place like home because right now, there's nothing I want more than to curl up in bed with Mulan by my side and watch trashy reality tv. But then I open the door, step into the cold and empty apartment, and this wave of loneliness hits me. Even Mulan doesn't bother to stir from where she's sleeping on the couch.

"Honey, I'm home," I call out, but of course, no one answers.

Sighing, I drop my keys into the bowl by the table and throw off my clothes, not bothering to put them away. What's the point? No one will see my bra on the back of the sofa or my dress in a ball on the floor. No one will see them because no one comes over.

I fall sideways into bed and pull the duvet up to my neck. I don't usually get this way, at least, I've tried not to since Lucas left, but sometimes it's hard not to feel so lonely. It's hard not to think of him, and his new fiance cuddled up in bed. It's hard not to imagine myself that way with Milo, even though a relationship between us would set me up for disaster. Not only because we're fighting for the same promotion but because we're so different. How do I know it would even work out?

I close my eyes and wrap my hands around my legs, pulling them to my chest. It's cold tonight – the heating must be on the fritz again – but just as I'm drifting off, Mulan hops on the bed, snuggles into my side, and rests a single paw across my arm. I pull her in closer, thinking of my kiss with Milo, and the pair of us drift off to sleep.