The building on Seventy-Sixth Street left Yael feeling wary and uncertain. At first glance, it needed more love and care than she initially thought, boards over the windows and graffiti splattered along the side, but after a closer look, she saw past the cracked brick walls and rotted roof. She recognized the strong bones, envisioning what it could be once finished. Then it hit her. She was the building, rough around the edges, waiting to discover her potential. No wonder she'd become so invested in the project.

A sleek, black car pulled up, and Casey stepped out, focusing his attention on her.

"You look terrible."

"Just what a girl needs to hear," Yael threw back.

"What I mean is, I know how hard you've been working. Have you even slept?"

"Not much. I'm too excited. This is my baby."

Casey glanced over at the building and scrunched his nose. "The roof is rotting."

"Oh, hush. It has such a lovely structure, a strong foundation. And the windows? Bay windows, Casey. Notice the original brick work? You don't find that these days, not in the land of gleaming steel and concrete."

He continued to scowl at the sight. "There was a building like this in my neighborhood growing up. At night, we heard screams coming from the basement."

"You're not funny."

"Fine, don't believe me, but when we get wind of a serial killer holed up in the boiler room and the FBI descends on us, don't come crying to me."

He bumped her with his shoulder until she shook her head and grinned. Everything he did confused her, veering from egocentric asshole to teasing her literally overnight. Still, she remembered the way he treated her the first time they met and resolved to keep the walls up until he proved their shaky friendship was real.

"Speaking of cruel and unusual torture, you need to stop with the goodies." Casey rubbed a hand over his flat stomach. "I'm going to get fat."

"Don't blame me because you have zero self-control." She shot him a smirk. "Just say no."

"Isn't that something I should tell you?"

Heat flared in her cheeks, and she entertained the urge to drive her heel into his foot. If she hadn't seen the twinkle in his eye, she would have succumbed to the act with glee.

"Careful, I might slip a laxative into your next cupcake."

He tossed his head back and laughed. She resisted the urge to join in and redirected her attention to her project.

"Why are you here? Other than to criticize and mock."

"Doug told me you'd be down here."

"And?" She looked back at him expectantly.

"And this beautiful eyesore is yours."

"That was fast."

"The power of being a Malkah." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Last obstacle is the current tenants."

"Peter is in there now taking care of them. Only three of the apartments were decent enough to be occupied. He's offering enough money that I don't think they'll stick around too long."

"Until then all we can do are little things. At least the businesses on the ground floor are vacant so we won't be wasting much time there."

Peter strolled out the front entrance, tucking papers into his briefcase. "We're good to go. The residents are happy with the money and looking forward to upgrading a little."

Ever since the project started rolling, Peter had been less than enthusiastic. Yael suspected it had more to do with Casey's involvement than hers. At least, she hoped it was Casey and not anything she was doing wrong. When Peter did help, he spent most of his time complaining about everything from Casey to the state of the city's streets. The man had changed—a lot.

"I'll give these to the lawyers. I don't foresee any of the remaining tenants sticking around long." Peter kept his conversation directed at Yael, not even acknowledging Casey's presence.

"Great, thanks for handling it, Peter," Casey said. Peter walked right past him without a word.

Once they were alone, Casey grumbled, "I don't understand what his problem is. I've tried promoting him, including him in big deals, but nothing works. He's a pompous asshole."

"He's frustrated because you're in the position he should have inherited after my father died and again after my grandmother retired. Probably feels as if he was passed over." She took a cue from him and nudged him with her elbow. "How would you feel?"

"You're not supposed to be reasonable and snatch the wind from my tirade. That's mean."

"Aren't you a little old for tirades?" Her lip twitched in an effort to grin. Teasing him was too easy, an unsettling combination for two reasons; she wasn't sure he accepted her place at Malkah Enterprises yet and because he was a tempting package. She already had one attractive puzzle to figure out with Haustin. Two sounded like a perfect recipe for stress.

"I appreciate the fact our architect is salivating over this, but I don't get it." Casey peered at the building again.

"You have no vision," she chided. "I mean, you saw the plans he drew up, right? Those apartments on the top floor are going to have gorgeous natural light. And we won't have to change this brick façade, only update it. The third floor apartments even have original crown molding, which is impossible to find in a building that has changed hands as often as this one."

Casey studied her for a few moments before saying, "I don't doubt their ability, or yours. I guess I'll just wait and see how impressive it is when it's done, then you can gloat to your heart's desire." He loosened his tie. "Do you really think it's smart to keep the apartments, what was the word you used ... quirky?"

"Absolutely," she said. "This building is nearly a hundred years old. Sleek and modern won't work here. You have to stay true to the character and keep that vibe. It's perfectly acceptable to have an upgraded kitchen and save the antique crown molding." She tossed him a horrified look. "I bet you live in a stark, boring apartment with chrome everywhere."

"I thought we were past judging each other. And so what if I like new things? Technology rocks."

"Let me guess, you're a gadget freak?"

"Yes. Have to own the newest phone, TV, you name it." He held up a finger. "But I will forever argue that music sounds better on vinyl. Oh, and classic muscle cars. Can't beat those. See? I have a little renaissance man in me."

"And a talent for surprising me."

She caught him smiling at her and raised her eyebrows in question.

"You really know what you're talking about. Not about me, obviously, but about this place."

"You don't have to sound so startled." He snickered, and Yael put a lid on the flutter that skittered in her stomach.

"Are you going to keep babysitting me?"

"Babysitting?" He placed a hand on his chest. "You mistake my interest, Miss Malkah."

"You're a CEO, Mr. Castañeda . You don't bother yourself with little community projects. You have a whole division to do it for you."

"Little community project? This place is going to end up costing millions."

"Please. Have you forgotten who you're talking to? That's a drop in the bucket for Malkah Enterprises."

Casey shrugged, hiding his intentions well. "If this works, I suspect you'll be looking into other buildings?" He pinned her with his dark stare, and she found herself fidgeting with the buttons of her blouse.

"Actually, I already have. There's an abandoned warehouse in the Meat Packing District. I'm sure you've heard how that area has exploded into a revamped, hip neighborhood. The property is amazing, with a great location. There's a lot of potential for residential and commercial investments. Mixed-use living is becoming more and more popular, especially with our generation. Combine that with eco-friendly upgrades and the units will sell like crazy."

He was about to reply when his phone rang. "Casey Castañeda ," he answered.

She turned to give him privacy and considered the building once more. Even when this was finished and they moved on to the next, she'd always think of it as her baby. She pictured a small florist shop on the street level, maybe a bookshop, something fun, a small business with an inviting atmosphere to bring the neighborhood together. Her thoughts drifted to the bakery she imagined owning one day.

She'd put vibrant potted flowers on the sidewalk, maybe a wrought iron bench for customers to sit and linger, or a handful of small bistro tables, water in a bowl for dogs to drink as their masters ate. The inside would be quaint, filled with delicious aromas and an eclectic, organic menu—maybe even gluten-free or vegan options too. She'd hire someone with an affinity for decorating cakes, with a talent to create masterpieces. Her soul reached out, aching to grab hold of the distant dream.

"Son of a bitch. Casualties?"

Casey's raised voice drew Yael's interest. From his murderous, devastated expression, he appeared ready to punch the crumbling wall of her building.

"What kind of problem?" His face grew pale as he listened. "I'll be right there."

Casey ended the call with a string of curses.

"Everything okay?"

He laced his hands together behind his head and stared up at the sky. "That was the construction foreman for our downtown project, a high rise on Warren Street in the financial district. Something happened with the tower crane. It fell twenty stories, ripping up the finished levels, before crashing into the street."

"No," she gasped, her head buzzing. "Is anyone hurt?"

"He doesn't think there are any fatalities, so far."

"How?" Her mind regressed to another building.

"They're trying to figure it out. Only happened thirty minutes ago." His lips thinned, and her heart sank, realizing more bad news was coming. "What makes it worse is when they called the insurance company to report it, the insurance adjuster said the policy was canceled or lapsed. I'm sure it's a mix up, but I have to go. Take the town car, I'll grab a taxi."

"Nonsense, I'm coming with you."

He didn't argue as he held the door for her, barking orders to the driver. The entire car ride, Casey remained silent, staring at the passing scenery as his leg bounced relentlessly. What a nightmare.

"Has this happened before?"

"No," he snapped before reining his impatience back in. "Not on my watch."

"I'm sure you'll be fine." She patted his arm, but he kept his attention on the window, a ball of nervous energy.

Yael knew from a couple of blocks away it was going to be bad. Traffic became more snarled the closer they got, creeping to a standstill. At Casey's incessant prodding, the driver managed to bypass the clogged street and deposit them closer to the scene. Casey exited, and she followed. The air was filled with sirens and shouts, the hum of voices. Looking at the half-finished building, her breaths came in quick pants. A huge scar, at least ten stories long, had been ripped into the outer walls.

"This is going to be a major headache," Casey muttered. He glanced at her, assessing. "You don't have to be here."

She couldn't answer; her mouth was dry and unresponsive. She took in the rescue vehicles and the hulking ruin of the tower crane resting halfway into the street, twisted and crinkled like it'd been tossed by a giant and pinning cars underneath. Pieces of their building littered the structures surrounding it.

"Yael?" Casey stepped into her line of vision. "What's wrong?"

"My parents are in the building," she whispered, trying to grasp why the statement felt wrong.

He glanced up, then to her. "Shit. Yael, look at me." He shook her slightly, and she managed to focus a bit. "This is not the World Trade Center. You're fine, you're safe."

He was right. She was in the present, shivering in the warm summer sun. "I, I'm sorry, I should go. I won't be any help here."

"I've got this under control. When I know more, I'll call you. I promise." Casey turned to walk away before turning back. "Making it this far is a big deal, considering what you've been through. Miriam told me you were there, at Ground Zero. I respect you for even trying."

With that, he rushed off, disappearing around the side of an ambulance. Yael lifted a shaking hand, sweeping her hair away from her face. Logically, she knew this situation was different. Telling her feet, getting her body to move in the direction of the building, however, proved to be a bigger challenge. Shame engulfed her, urging her forward. Instead, she pivoted and slunk into the car.

Almost a decade later and she still crumbled. Impressive, Yael, she chastised herself. Right when she thought she had a handle on things, her carefully constructed world tumbled down, like a ruined piece of machinery broken in the street. She fiddled with her phone, then, in a flat voice, directed the driver to take her to a meeting.