I shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought we had something. I thought…” God, I couldn’t believe I was going to admit this. “I was thinking long-term, ya know? I thought he could be all that for me.”

The elevator pinged at the other end of the floor and I sighed. Michael clapped my shoulder. “Put your game-face on. Rob’s here.”

Michael was right. The very last thing I needed right now was Rob gloating in my face that I’d had another failed relationship.

Failed relationship. Fuck. Is that what Jordan and I were? I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. Not until he looked me right in the eye and told me it was over.

I couldn’t even take any joy from Rob’s misery. He looked terrible and stressed. I’d imagine coming home to find your place ransacked would suck for anyone. Even arsehole ex-boyfriends.

We met in the waiting room. The entire building was empty, save security downstairs who had been instructed to grant Rob access. “What happened?” Michael started.

“I’d been at The Greenroom,” he said. I rolled my eyes, not giving a single fuck if he saw. The Greenroom was a notoriously sleazy gay club for executives, rife with drugs and hookers. “I left at nine with…” His gaze darted to me before he looked back at Michael. “With company. We arrived back at my place to find the door ajar. They took anything they could carry. TVs, computers, jewellery, watches. They even took my juicer. Trashed everything, upended everything. Cops took fingerprints, but they have security camera footage.”

“They got caught on camera?” I asked.

He shrugged. “The police said the men, there were two of them, didn’t even seem to care about the cameras. And that they should be able to get an ID.”

Michael looked at me and I smiled. “If they were stupid enough to get their faces on camera, then it’s very likely they won’t know how to get past the password access.”

“That’s good, right?” Rob asked.

“For now,” I replied. “But who they sell the laptops to might have a different set of skills.”

“You have the police report number?” Michael asked.

Rob nodded. Then he looked at me. “They um, the cops wanted to know the names of everyone who had access to my apartment in the last six months.” He frowned. “I gave them your name but told them you weren’t involved.”

“My name?” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry if that affects your security clearance or your reputation,” he said, and he did look legitimately sorry.