Shark's Edge

by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue

  I slid off the desk with enough force to send his blotter over the opposite edge. “The word’s not going to give you hives or any of my clingy girlie cooties. You can say it out loud.”

  “All right. Enough. Obviously this is a broken merry-go-round. We’re getting nowhere—and you know what? I don’t have the right tools to fix it.”

  I cocked a brow. “What are you saying?”

  He answered that with scary silence. The still air thickened, adding layers upon itself until it hung over the room like a funeral pall.

  At last, I slumped my shoulders. So did he. The sight impacted even the darkest corners of my gut. Watching the man reveal that small sign of defeat . . . It was like the cosmos had reversed the planet’s orbit. It wasn’t natural. Clearly Sebastian agreed—and fought it with a new march across the floor. The air was riddled with metallic and plastic crunches as he decimated more of his fallen electronics.

  As soon as he stopped, our stares locked and held.

  He’d picked a damn good metaphor for the occasion. We were on a merry-go-round, but the ride was broken. And the longer we tried to talk this out, more things were getting broken.

  “Dammit.” The serration in his voice scraped at my heart. “Abbi . . . dammit. I wish the situation were different.” He dropped his arms and curled his hands into fists. “But they aren’t. They just aren’t. Period.”

  I rocked backward, unsure of what to say. I went with the only words that made logical sense. “So maybe it’s just time to stop this ride. I want to get off.”

  “This isn’t a ride you can just stop, Abbigail.”

  I ticked my head to the side. “Do you have a better idea of what to call it?” I turned it into a question for the sake of the conversation, though I was in complete agreement about his assessment. I’d oversimplified—and God only knew, there was nothing simple about this mire.

  “It’s . . . a pause button.”

  Oversimplification for the win.

  “Explain.” I folded my arms and hoisted my eyebrows. While I purposefully threw his trademarked phrase back at him with an infinitesimal grin, it was all the support I could lend right now. “Until when?”

  “Until you get that”—he waved his hand up and down my frame, as if displaying a prize heifer at auction—“that . . . situation . . . handled. As soon as fucking possible.”

  “That situation?” I couldn’t unlock my folded arms if I tried. For his safety and mine. He was in very close danger of getting a five-knuckle imprint on that perfect jaw I had admired only minutes before.

  Sebastian flung a stare full of daggers. I hurled just as many back—not that it helped one ounce of the chaos he churned through me, even as he grabbed my hand and hauled me across the room, back toward the office’s door. Unlike an hour ago, when he’d ushered me out of here with devilish smirks and winks, he now handled me with grim, silent possessiveness. It didn’t change as he hooked his other hand around the handle of my cart, pulling the thing toward the lobby with us.

  Until he halted in his tracks and caused me to stumble to a stop.

  And then added to the tension with a snarl. “What. Is. That?”

  He sounded like he was staring at human body parts on my food cart rather than lunch service supplies.

  But when I followed the line of his glare, I wasn’t sure whether to giggle or cower. He was blustering at the compartment where a round wooden head, painted with a red kerchief and pink roses, peeked out.

  “Nothing.” A defense. “Well, a gift.” Then, an idea. “Nesting dolls.” I pulled the pretty oval all the way out. “From a grateful friend.”

  Sebastian’s glare grew hotter than the sidewalks outside. “A friend named Viktor Blake?” No. His voice was beyond that now, jabbing intimidation up and down my spine.

  He was getting pissy again about Viktor, and I was egging him on.

  At least I could control the outcome of the second bit. And damn well would.

  “As a matter of fact,” I finally said, matching his bad temperament, “yes. A friend, and a client, named Viktor Blake.” The universe had crazy timing. Before this afternoon, I wouldn’t have felt right about using my rapport with Viktor like this. But the guy owed me a solid for all the bizarreness during my delivery to him today, and this was definitely the moment to collect. “A client who wanted to thank me for a job I did for him last week. It was a last-minute order, and—”

  “I know. I was there, dammit.”

  I slipped easily out of his hold—a good thing because his rage was like a nuclear blast zone. Shit. I didn’t remember Sebastian approaching DEFCON status when we’d last talked about Viktor . . .

  But right now, that just happened to be a good thing.

  “Ohhhh.” I swerved my tone up and down, purposely playing up my grand epiphany. But Sebastian didn’t have to know that part. “You know . . . I just had a great idea . . . ”

  “No.” He slammed it out before half my smile dawned.

  “But Viktor’s a nice guy. And beautifully built, at that. I’ll bet he’d love a night of diving into all my situational misfortunes.”

  “No.”

  “And I think I noticed some free evenings on his calendar as I set up his lunch today. We could probably make this happen real s—”

  He pounded a palm onto the cart so hard, the nesting dolls hopped right over the edge. “You set up his lunch for him?” he seethed. “Like you do for me?”

  I bent and picked up the dolls—realizing the action was as good as slapping the grizzly across his face. Or so I hoped. “He’s a steady and valuable client, Mr. Shark. Just like you. But unlike you, he doesn’t think there are any situations with me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

  To the point that the guy and his urbane facade—make that facades, many of them—had me craving a shower after leaving his office today. But Sebastian didn’t have to know that either. He’d turned my virginity into an issue and then an ultimatum. And then, even a war. At the very least, another Shark-style skirmish. I was simply fighting fire with fire.

  “Fuck.” Sebastian enforced the growl with a new grasp around my wrist. I glared, but he didn’t relent. “Fine.” He yanked on me hard, and I burst into a wince that dissolved into a moan as he crushed my body back against his. “I’ll do it.”

  And just like that, more pain.

  The crappy inside-my-chest kind this time.

  My psyche shriveled as shame and indignation stormed in. As humiliation punched between my ribs and fury turned my heart into an ember.

  Weirdly, I fixed my stare over to the nesting dolls again. Viktor’s metaphor about them was a haunting echo in my head.

  Layers. We all hide beneath them.

  Layers.

  Yes.

  The ones I thought I’d been seeing beneath Sebastian’s shell. The parts of him I’d started to like, despite everything. Despite the beast who roared at everyone, the asshole obsessed with erecting a tower, and the lover who got mentioned in desperate suicide notes. Because I’d also seen the guy who stood up for little girls, the man who liked cooking me dinner, and even the boy who had to learn about diabetes before he even learned algebra.

  But what if that was the shell?

  “Abbigail? Did you fucking hear me? I said I’ll do it, okay?”

  What if the big bad wolf was his true self?

  Because right now, that made the most sense of all.

  “Don’t. Bother.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sebastian

  Last night ended in a blur. What started out as a nightcap turned into a top off . . . then fine, just one more . . . and then well, shit, I might as well finish the bottle. Now it felt like there was sand in my eyes and sawdust in my throat. I knew I was definitely too old to deal with feeling this hungover the morning after a clusterfuck of that magnitude.

  A cluster not-fuck would be more accurate.

  The unwelcome face of my best friend appeared in my line of sight when I looked up from my ha
nds, where I had my head cradled, massaging my throbbing temples.

  “I guess this explains why my messages went unanswered last night,” Grant said with his usual lighthearted chuckle.

  “How’s that?” I asked, squinting at the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. “Jesus Christ, I think I’m starting to hate Scotch.”

  “I’ll get you some water. A few aspirin probably wouldn’t hurt either. I thought you were staying in last night?” Grant asked, walking over to the refrigerator.

  “I did,” I moaned.

  “Shit, man. Drinking alone in that castle of yours?” He shook his head ruefully. “That paints a sorry picture, man. Even for you. What happened?”

  As much as I wanted to talk to my best friend about the problem at hand, I knew the moment I put it out into the open, it would only get worse.

  Is that even possible?

  “Out with it, man.” He slammed the water down in front of me with a bit more force than necessary. Liquid sloshed over the rim and onto my desk. I met his stare with a reproachful one of my own.

  “You’re cleaning that up.”

  “Oh, I’m sure sandwich girl will be along any minute to mop up behind you. She seems to be coming earlier and earlier every day. Soon she’ll be waiting here with your breakfast when you walk in.”

  “I can guarantee that won’t be happening today. I’ll be lucky to get stale bread crust with moldy cheese by supper.”

  “Ooooohhhhh. This little fright fest this morning has to do with her. Interesting. Now you definitely need to tell me what happened.”

  I watched Grant open the door to my office and stick his long neck around the corner to where Terryn sat at her desk. I couldn’t hear what he said, exactly, but he closed the door behind him when he came back, mischievous grin firmly in place.

  “What did you just do, Twombley?”

  “I told your assistant we weren’t to be disturbed. I know how she likes to busybody around here when I’ve been in with you too long.”

  “That was mighty presumptuous of you, no? What makes you think I want to involve you in any of this?” Damn, I was irritable.

  “Because you look like shit, you already admitted you drank too much last night—which is way out of character for you—and I know how tied up in knots you’ve been about that girl. The fact that you canceled our plans with LuLu’s girls yesterday just adds icing to this mucked-up cake you’ve baked.”

  Grant flopped down on the black leather sofa but arched back up just as quickly, reaching behind him. “What the . . . ?” He pulled out one of Vela’s Barbie dolls from between the cushions. She must have left it behind the last time she came to visit. “That hurt, you skinny bitch. Eat something, woman,” he said to the doll before tossing her onto the table. Then he pointed at the furniture across from him. “Come sit down and talk to me. Stop being a stubborn dick and tell me what happened. It will do you some good to get it off your chest.”

  I huffed out a frustrated sigh and pushed away from my desk. “You know that bossy shit you pull with the females doesn’t work with me, right?”

  “It’s good that you recognize this behavior in another, at least. Seeing how you taught me everything I know.” He watched me with a fixed stare while I came to sit down on the sofa, giving him a knock on the back of the head as I walked past.

  “What was that for?” he asked, laughing while he finger-combed his hair back into place.

  “This is all your fault.” I pointed at him. “The more I think about the conversation you and I had in here yesterday morning, the more I realize that.”

  “Oh boy. Can’t wait to hear this logic. It’s off to a magnificent start. The wise and all-knowing Sebastian Shark not admitting fault. No way.” Grant rolled his eyes.

  “I’m serious, man. I think we were sitting right here, even. I’m having the strangest sense of déjà vu.” I took a big swing of the water he’d gotten me.

  “Enough with the riddles. Unless we’re reenacting the tale of the ‘Three Billy Goats Gruff’ here. You’re the Troll, if you haven’t looked in the mirror this morning. Seriously, what are you talking about?” Grant finally lost the friendly tone. It took a while to push him to his limit, but apparently he’d reached it.

  “That was such a random literary reference.” I just stared at him, rubbing my throbbing forehead.

  He simply shrugged in response. “Quit stalling.”

  “Pia always says, when you speak something into the universe, you make it come true. We did that. You and me. Sitting right here in this office. Yesterday morning.”

  “Oh. My. Fucking. God. Bas. Say what you mean. I’m going to punch you in the next minute, swear to all things that are holy.”

  “She’s a virgin.” Boom. Mic drop.

  He stared at me. Just stared. Opened his mouth to say something. Closed it. Then stared.

  “What’s wrong, Grant? Billy goat got your tongue?” I worked the staring bit then.

  “A virgin?” His eyes bugged wide. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, no. I didn’t get down on my knees and check under her skirt. I mean . . . I pretty much took her word for it.”

  He started quietly at first, a little chuckle in the back of his throat. I thought he was chuckling at the visual I had just painted of verifying Abbigail’s hymen remained intact. But then Grant’s eyes darted around the room, as if looking for a hidden camera to catch the practical joke on film, and then back to me, laugh building as he did so.

  “I can’t imagine why you’re laughing,” I said with very little emotion.

  His laughter bubbled up and over like a pot of scalded milk on a hot stovetop. He laughed and laughed, for several long minutes, complete with knee slapping, tears streaking, back stretching—the whole nine yards.

  I, on the other hand, remained completely stoic. There wasn’t an iota of amusement to be found in the subject as far as I was concerned. Growing impatient, I got up from the sofa and strode back to my desk. If I could drag Grant from the room by the collar of his shirt, I would.

  “Oh my God.” He finally sucked in a breath. “Oh shit. Dude.” He leaned forward, putting his head down halfway between his knees and gasping for air.

  Drama queen.

  “That’s hilarious. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but you have to see the humor in that. I mean, if you’re honest with yourself, you see why that’s funny.” He finally took a look at my face, no trace of humor to be found on it, and tried to get himself under control. “Ironic at least, right? Of all the men to have to deal with a virgin? You? I mean . . . Bas. Come on . . . ”

  “Shut up, Twombley.” The words were snarled more than spoken. “I’m not amused. At all. Not one little bit. It doesn’t matter anyway.” I shrugged and mindlessly shuffled papers on my desk. Never mind that I didn’t even see the words written on them. I just needed something to do with my hands.

  “What does that mean? Doesn’t matter? What did you do?” He popped to his full height and strode over to my desk, looking panicked. “Please tell me you didn’t send her packing over something like this.”

  “Why would you care if I did? That’s my first question. Why are you so invested? And you.” I stood quickly and reached across my desk, pointing my finger right into his chest. “You know better than anyone”—thump, thump—“that I don’t have the psychological tools to deal with a fucking virgin.” Poke. “I’ll cause that girl harm she won’t get over. She doesn’t need a bastard like me in her life.” I sucked in a breath through my nose and flopped back into my chair, rolling back slowly until it bumped into the bookcase. “Certainly not on some moony memory page of firsts in her scrapbook.”

  A solid minute passed before either of us spoke again. I stood up and went around to the front of my desk where he stood. I felt awful for getting physical with him, but I’d lost my temper. We’d done far worse to each other over the years—and over dumber things, too.

  “What now? Are you still going to see her?” Gran
t finally asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Don’t know,” I answered quietly. “I pretty much left it up to her. I told her to go take care of the problem, and if she wanted to still see where things could go from there, she knew where she could find me.”

  “Take care? Of the problem? Did you actually use that phrasing?” Grant stared at me as though I had sprouted a second head.

  “Yeah, more or less.” I shrugged. “That’s what it is. A problem. As far as I see it, anyway.”

  “Jesus, Bas. This is why—”

  “Why what?” He was pissing me off again. Well, him and the things he didn’t even know yet. Anger percolated in my blood.

  “Nothing. It’s not important.”

  No, not anger.

  Rage.

  “Say what you were going to say, Grant,” I gritted through my teeth.

  “Why? It’s not going to change anything. You’re not going to change.” He shook his head.

  “Why should I change? I’m not the one with the problem here.”

  He thought for a minute and then looked at me, a strange smile spreading across his face. It was the same smile he always gave me before he shared an idea I wouldn’t like.

  “Tell me, best friend,” he said, as silky as a mongoose would whisper to a snake moments before it struck. “You wouldn’t mind if I have a go with her? Help her with her little ‘problem’? She’s a superfine piece of ass, after all. Young, untested. I mean, Jesus Christ . . . ” He rolled his eyes back dramatically. “I’m getting a boner just thinking about it.” The motherfucker grabbed his cock through his slacks before taking the final strike at my composure. “I’ll bet that red hair is everywhere, if you know what I’m—”

  I can’t accurately recount the sequence of events that came after that. They involved Grant, me, the toppled sofa from the weight of both of our bodies slamming into it, and the items that flew off the coffee table, including a glass lamp and a statue Pia sourced from Sri Lanka—which I never really cared for anyway.

  Bodies, furniture, pieces of glass, and pottery made for a loud clatter and a big mess.