Yael nibbled nervously on her lip as she waited for the press conference to begin, distracting herself by examining the work being done to her building. Her building, it still felt so surreal. Plastic and scaffolding encased the exterior, and signs of progress were already visible. A large trash dumpster had been delivered, a protective walkway sheltered the sidewalk, and a flatbed truck loaded with supplies was parked at the curb. Drawn to the corner store, the one she intended to open her bakery in, she studied the windows, loving how they curved with the rounded edge of the building. Maybe she'd custom order a display case and counter to reflect the shape.

"Dreaming?"

She startled at the sound of Casey's voice and her mouth curled into a smile. "A little bit. It keeps the nerves in check."

"This is a great location. I set it up so you can talk to Greg, the lead contractor, later this week, go over what you want layout-wise." He paused, glancing at her sheepishly. "And I have some ideas I want to run by you."

"About the shop?"

"Yeah." His cheeks flushed, and she found it endearing. "Some design suggestions. A few things I sketched. No big deal."

"I'd love to hear what you've cooked up. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Great."

She sighed. "I can't believe this is happening."

"You're going to kick some cupcake ass." Casey peered over her head at the commotion behind her and adjusted his tie. "We should have postponed."

"There will never be a good time."

"I know. You look exhausted. Did you get any sleep?"

"Some. Probably not much more than you." She felt him assessing her, and she contemplated telling him about Haustin coming to her place, but he'd only give her the same lecture the voice in her head was about Haustin being volatile and dangerous to Yael's sobriety. To erase the furrow between his brows, she said, "We should pass a motion at the next board meeting to introduce siestas to our workday."

"I wholeheartedly agree. Come on, let's get this show over with."

Casey led her to the cluster of microphones. A decent crowd had gathered, a mixture of reporters and local citizens. The weight of their stares bored into her. As she climbed the steps to the platform, she found herself worrying whether the sleeveless blouse she wore was appropriate. Once at the podium, her questionable clothing choice fell to the wayside as her nerves did a three-sixty and she wondered if the reporters would be able to see her knees trembling. Fussing with her necklace, she brushed the notion aside and straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to be cool, calm, and composed.

Casey stepped forward, looking breathtakingly handsome in his suit and commanding everyone's attention.

"Good afternoon. I'm Casey Castañeda, and on behalf of myself, Malkah Enterprises Enterprises, and Yael Malkah," he gestured at her, "thank you for being here. We're pretty excited about this project and what it means for communities across the city. For more than a hundred years, Malkah Enterprises has grown with New York. From Adam Malkah's immigration from Belgium in 1905 to our current presence in over a dozen countries, we have evolved into a global contender, all while keeping our roots where they belong—at home. With a hand in everything from manufacturing to shipping to alternative energy research, our company is excited about what the future holds." He grinned. "But I was informed recently that it isn't always about expansion or turning a profit. Smaller projects, like this one, remind us of where we come from and shape where we're going.

"Since it's her baby, I'm going to let Yael tell you all about it. When she's done, we'll take a few questions."

Yael drew in a deep breath and moved next to Casey. She felt his hand on the small of her back, a gentle encouragement.

"Michael Malkah loved this city. Not only its rich history, beautiful architecture, and unique boroughs, but the people who call it home. Malkah Enterprises Enterprises has always found innovative ways of giving back to the city we love. Before my parents' death and the tragic events of September 11th, my father began working on an idea to honor New York's history. He dreamed of taking old, abandoned, and neglected buildings, like the one behind me, recognizing their storied pasts and rehabilitating them.

"This location will be the first of Malkah Enterprises' Second Chance Project. After sitting here for over a century, we're giving it new life, offering space for apartments, shops, restaurants, and even offices. The surrounding neighborhood is thriving, and we're looking forward to being a part of it. Once the building is finished, we'll host an unveiling and invite you all back for a glimpse of Second Chance Project's potential. Specifics are listed in your handouts, take time to look at the drawings and floor plans the architect has set up, and we can answer any questions you have. Again, thank you for coming and showing your support."

Yael stepped back, and a rush of adrenaline swept over her as the audience clapped. She'd rushed the speech due to her nerves and forgotten a few details, but it wasn't nearly as painful as she imagined.

Casey took her place. "We'll now field a few questions."

Reporters shouted and raised hands. Casey pointed to one.

"Roger Thatcher, the Times. Miss Malkah?" Yael's stomach clenched. Here it comes, she thought. "We all know your grandmother, Miriam, is terminally ill with bone cancer, and, let me assure you, she will be missed in this city. She is a wonderful woman and an inspiration to many. How does she feel about this project?"

Her lips tipped up in relief, and she leaned forward to answer. "Thank you. She loves the idea. Not only does it save historically significant buildings from being demolished, but it also looks good for the company." Scattered laughs drifted from the crowd. "Also, she sees it as a great tribute to her son."

"Next." Casey pointed to a younger man with square frame glasses.

"Gary Wilson, the Journal. Mr. Castañeda, can you address how investigations are coming on the tower crane incident, as well as the fire in Brooklyn?"

"All I can tell you is the investigations are ongoing. NYPD does have a couple viable leads, but no specifics yet. As a company, we at Malkah Enterprises are thoroughly invested in finding out what went wrong and prevent it from happening again. Trust me, when we know, you'll know. I will do my best to keep the press involved."

More hands and questions erupted as Casey indicated an older woman with a superior expression stretching the skin of her cosmetically enhanced face.

"Sienna, the Post. Another question for Mr. Castañeda. Do you, or Miriam Malkah for that matter, feel it's in the company's best interest to be represented by a woman who's been absent for nine years and who is, as we've discovered, a recently recovered heroin addict?"

Yael could not, as hard as she tried, draw air. She'd known inquiries to her past were coming, but it still took her by complete surprise. The buzzing in her ears built to a deafening crescendo as everyone's eyes bored into her, judging. Casey saved her from standing there stiff and mute as a statue. He stepped in front of her, blocking the camera flashes.

"Yael is here because it is her right as a Malkah to be part of this company," he said in a commanding voice. "Rekindling this project was her idea, and believe me when I say I wouldn't have let her near it if I didn't feel she was up to the task. Her passion and professionalism impress me daily. As far as her past is concerned, we should congratulate her and welcome her back from the edge of a dangerous cliff. She watched her parents die—"

Yael snapped out of her trance and placed a hand on his arm. "I got this."

"I'm not sure about you, Sienna, but I was at the World Trade Center that day," she addressed the crowd. "I watched a plane slam into the building my parents were in. I watched that same building crumble to the ground, killing them and thousands of others and almost taking my life with it. Unlike so many who were strong enough to deal with the consequences, I turned to drugs to forget." She gritted her teeth. "Maybe you should print a story on PTSD, about how it affects people differently, like the many firefighters who dug for weeks to recover bodies, pieces of bodies. Do some research about those who are still suffering before you start slinging mud. I've been clean for a year, and I'll always be an addict, but I'm here now. You don't have to remind me of where I've come from and the mistakes I've made. I'm reminded every time I close my eyes. Thank you for taking the attention from my father's hard work."

A louder barrage of questions erupted as she spun and stalked past Casey, who scrambled to keep up with her. Shock held her spine straight, and then it sank in. Oh crap. What had she just done? They ducked into the waiting company car, and it sped off downtown. A giggle burst from her lips, drawing an odd look from Casey. She could tell he was pissed, his jaw clenched, and nostrils flared.

"You're laughing?"

"I might have messed up back there," she sputtered, unable to hold her mirth in check.

"Don't worry about those pricks," he growled. "The Post likes to keep up on their gossip. They wouldn't recognize an inspiring story if it landed in their lap."

"I should have played it more humble, maybe not as bitchy."

"It was pretty spot on if you ask me."

She angled her body to face him. "You stood up for me. Thank you."

He met her gaze, and a flurry of emotions crossed his blue eyes, too quick to make sense of. "Why does that surprise you?" he bit out, his temper simmering.

"It doesn't, not really. I'm just not used to it."

"You're a fighter, and you deserve a hell of a lot more credit than you, or anyone else gives you. When I look at you, I'm blown away."

His words dripped with sincerity, hitting her squarely in the chest. She heard everything he didn't say, and it confused her. All this time, he'd been her friend, her confidante. Hell, she had to work so dang hard at keeping her own attraction buried, denying her feelings, but Yael felt those walls crack.

Casey's face paled as if realizing he'd said too much. "Look, I didn't mean it. Well, I did, but I understand how things are." He shrugged. "Who can compete with a firefighter?"

"You might be surprised." Yael placed a hand on his knee, deciding to be honest. "You are a very tempting package."

"That's not helping," he grumbled.

"Sorry." She tried a safer angle. "You're one of my best friends, and I don't know what I'd do if that ever changed."

He nodded, and she almost wished she could read his mind. No, not a bright idea. The idea of being with Casey was not the worst thing she'd ever heard, a temptation there for the taking. All she had to do was reach out and grab it. But didn't Haustin deserve a chance?

"Don't worry. It won't change." He grinned. "I saw that woman picking on you, and the alpha male attacked."

"My knight in shining armor," she teased, matching his light tone.

He laid his hand over hers and stared out the window. While he'd managed to turn his tacit admission into a joke, Yael concentrated on the scenery passing beyond the other window. She ignored the feel of his hand or the way her heart sped up. Knowing he carried feelings for her, seeing them etched on his face filled her with excitement, confusion, and most of all, guilt. Why did life have to be so complicated?

Then her mind shifted to the spectacle she'd made of herself with the reporter. Not the best way to prove she was mature and healed. The headlines tomorrow should be interesting. She dropped her head back against the seat, finding comfort and peace in the reassuring squeeze of Casey's fingers.

Later, after a long afternoon at work and scanning the internet for any mention of her tirade, the company car stopped in front of her building. Yael spotted Haustin striding up the sidewalk and the tightness across her chest loosened, but she couldn't stop fretting about how much damage she'd done with the press. The only thing to do was deal with the consequences once the papers hit the stands, face it head-on. It'd be rough, she had no doubt, but she was strong enough to handle it. She found that out with one snotty question from a Post witch. She had managed the situation without cowering or running for a meeting, so she regarded it as a victory. If only she could move past the moment with Casey as fast.

Ambling towards Haustin, she sighed when he embraced her, letting his arms chase away her worries and preoccupation with another man. Admitting it killed her, but she wished her time with Haustin didn't have to be so much work and prayed for a leisurely evening, one without shadows of the past.

"Tough day?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"Yeah," she pulled back to look at him. "I kind of went off on a reporter from the Post. She brought up my heroin-filled glory days."

He held her chin between his thumb and finger. "Good for you. Wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet. I want to go upstairs, order in, lock the world out and snuggle on the couch. Delay tomorrow as much as possible."

"I'm always down for a good snuggle." He tucked her under his arm and led her into the building. "And if you tell anyone that, I'll deny it until I die."

"What if I have photographic evidence?"

"Photoshop, obviously."

In the apartment, she changed into comfortable sweat pants and a tank top, then drew the blackout shades across the windows in the living room. The plan was to enjoy Haustin and have a regular, drama-free night. She fixed them iced tea and brought them to the couch as he ordered Chinese food. Once she sat, he studied her.

"I'm fine."

"Damn right you are. I'm proud of you. I don't know the specifics of what happened, but it sounds like you stood up for yourself, which is never a bad thing."

"I'm glad I did it." Yael couldn't stop her fingers from tracing her tattoo. "I'm worried about the consequences, though. We don't need any more bad publicity right now, and I came at the lady pretty aggressively."

"See," he drew her close, "you did need me down there busting heads."

"The woman's face was so full of botox I doubt you'd have made a dent."

"That's my girl." He kissed her temple.

As they ate their dinner and watched old movies, Yael relaxed. She propped her feet in Haustin's lap, and her mind wandered—to Casey. He cared for her. Like, cared for her. He brought so much light to her life, and that simple acknowledgment bothered her, not necessarily in a bad way. Logic told her she needed to bury whatever was blooming between them, but she didn't want to, which could cause all kinds of problems. Especially since she was starting to care a little too much herself.

"Yael?"

She blinked guiltily, realizing Haustin had been talking. "Sorry, thinking about today. What were you saying?"

A flash of annoyance skittered across his face, but he relaxed it and grinned. "I was saying I had a work thing next Friday and wanted you to be my date."

Yael opened her mouth to answer then remembered—next Friday night was the gala she and Casey had promised to attend. She hadn't mentioned it to Haustin yet. There'd been too much on her mind between him and Miriam and work. Announcing she was attending a social event with another man could set things back, especially since she was kind of looking forward to it.

"What kind of work thing?" she asked, delaying her answer. "Everyone hanging out at the bar?"

"No. That's just a normal Friday night. Well, not for me anymore." He reached for his glass. "This is a party for a guy I've known sixteen years. He's being forced into retirement because he's sick."

"Can they do that?" She sat up. "What kind of sick?"

"Doctors say he has lung cancer from the dust and toxins we breathed at Ground Zero during the recovery. Department gave him two choices—retirement or a desk job. Bill's a lot like me, so he told them where they could stick their desk job."

"How horrible." She leaned her head on his shoulder, chilled. "Have there been many cancers linked to Ground Zero? I admit I used to block all news of 9/11."

"There's been a few, but more are popping up. A lot of guys have respiratory problems, lung cancer when they've never smoked, like Bill. The variety of cancers is strange, too—young guys are being diagnosed with types normally found in men twice their age." He frowned. "I know one retired firefighter who takes twenty-four different medications twice a day."

"Wow. Why has it taken so long to figure out what caused it?"

"Doctors didn't know what the hell they saw at first, but now they're linking it to the pile of shit we dug through for days and the chemicals that burned in the air. I remember my skin itching like crazy, coughing a lot."

"And the fire department's solution is to force these men into retirement?"

"Not force. I mean, as they get sicker, they can't work, obviously."

"And the FDNY wants to deny a lawsuit."

"Probably. For a while, the department shied away from admitting any connection, along with the city. Hell, the EPA went on television and told the entire world the air was fine, that we weren't in any danger. But now, in light of so many new cases and deaths, it has to be recognized. Bill volunteered to be part of a study to help doctors can learn more. Scares me to death. They say we have a nineteen percent higher probability of getting cancer than those who weren't there. Every time I get short of breath, I freak."

"I'd be terrified, too. I'm sure they'll be finding new things another nine years from now. It didn't end when the last piece of debris was hauled off."

"It didn't." Haustin stroked her hair. "They're still sifting through remains. I know widows who continue to get calls as another piece of their husband is identified."

"How is that possible?" Yael stiffened. She'd been wondering the same thing about her parents.

"You were there, Yael. How do you identify a pulverized bone fragment?"