Page 86 of Renegade Roomie

“Perfect.” She smiles again, delighted. “Don’t you worry, we’ll plan the perfect proposal in no time. Callie will love it, I’m sure.”

“Uh huh.” I slip out my phone, and quickly send a text to Callie.

Need to talk! Call me.

“Ahem.” Zelda tsks disapprovingly.

“Sorry,” I tuck my phone away. “Just moving some things around. You have my undivided attention.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s talk about the ring…”

19

Callie

I’m just hurrying from the subway when my phone lights up. It’s Dash.

Really need to talk. See you tonight?

My heart sinks. He’s been trying to have this mysterious talk with me since yesterday, and I keep pushing him off. Because I know a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ breakup when I see it coming.

Is it even a breakup if we were never really dating?

Either way, I’m trying to delay the inevitable heartache, so I’ve been ducking his texts. And calls. And that time he showed up at my apartment this morning and I had Henry lie and say I’d just left.

Cowardly? Yes. But I have so much on my plate, I don’t have time for my usual post-breakup wallowing. I juggle my bag and document file, and text back. Sorry, heading to a meeting!

He calls.

I pause on the sidewalk and pick up. “Hey,” I blurt, “I’m just meeting with your business advisors. And I’m late. What’s up?”

“Are you free later?” he asks, “I really need to see you about something. Zelda’s in town for a visit, and she’s going full steam on this proposal thing.”

My heart sinks. More fake relationship business.

“Can you tell her I’m busy with the company? It’s the truth,” I add, so I don’t feel crummy.

“I have, but… I really do need to see you and explain. It won’t take long. Come by the bar,” he adds, “Around six, tonight?”

The bar. With all his friends. Is he planning to break it to me there? And would that be more humiliating… or less?

I’ll have to put on a brave face and pretend like I don’t care, but there would be a ready supply of alcohol, and it’s better than ruining a good dinner, and having to make polite conversation through the rest of the meal.

“OK,” I agree brightly. “Tonight, the bar, six. I’ll see you there.”

“Great. Make sure you find me before anything else,” he adds cryptically. “I’ll tell you everything. And… Dress fancy. I have reservations for us after.”

After what? I’m about to ask, but he’s already hung up.

I lower my phone slowly, hating the flicker of hope that ignites in my chest. Dinner reservations and dressing up don’t seem like a breakup to me.

Maybe I have this all wrong.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now. I have this big meeting with Dash’s business advisors. He says he has all the founders he works with sit down with them, too: Review the plans, make suggestions. They all have way more experience than I do in launching big-deal companies, so I’m hoping they won’t take one look at my pitch documents and laugh me out of the building.

The sleek, fancy building.

I look up at the address, and gulp. It’s one of the massive office buildings in midtown, with a gleaming marble lobby and glass elevators that swoop me up to the twentieth floor.

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