Shark's Edge

by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue

  Big mess, indeed.

  Terryn rushed into the office to find Grant and me tangled together on the floor, still grappling with one another. At least one of us shed blood, judging by the red smears on Grant’s face.

  “Oh my God! Stop. Stop right now! Mr. Twombley, get off him. I’m calling security!” she wailed hysterically.

  “He’s on top of me! Are you blind?” Grant said in a strangled voice. He scrabbled at my hands locked around his throat.

  “Oh. True.” She paused, confused. “Mr. Shark? Should I call security?”

  “Leave. Now!” I barked.

  “Oh, okay. But . . . but . . . there’s blood. Someone’s bleeding . . . ”

  She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, and the mention of blood made me stop trying to bash my best friend’s head into the floor another time.

  “Get out, Terryn!” we both shouted from the floor.

  Her interruption made us pause long enough to get our heads on straight. We both sat up and brushed off our suits.

  The door closed with a quiet whump, and I rocked back on my feet, holding a hand out to Grant and helping him stand as well.

  “Don’t poke the beast, motherfucker,” I grumbled, pulling him into a man version of a hug.

  “You stupid son of a bitch.”

  “Me?” I asked incredulously. “Do you want to go again? So soon?”

  “Take a look at yourself, Bas. She’s got you chasing your tail. Don’t you see it?” He shook his head, laughing as he wiped at the blood coming from a crack in his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked Grant, who started digging through his pocket.

  “You reacted that way, and all I did was say a few things to intentionally get you riled up. Me.” He thumped on the middle of his chest. “Your best friend. Although, that may be up for debate if the blood doesn’t come out of this suit. I love this suit.” He looked up from rubbing his lapel with the handkerchief from his pocket. “What’s it going to do to you to sit at home knowing she’s getting boned by some other dude? You’re delusional if you think you’re going to be okay with that.”

  “This whole thing is making me insane.” I shook my head. Shit, if I thought it hurt before, it was pounding like a bass drum now. “This woman is making me insane. How can a much-too-young redhead be wreaking this much havoc on my carefully planned world? And I’ve not even seen her pussy? Let alone tasted it, touched it, or fucked it. This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.”

  “My God, your sister would be so proud to hear you right now.” He shook his head, smirking.

  “Leave her out of this.” I pointed my finger at Grant in threat. “Entirely out of this. I’m not joking, Grant. Not a word of this shit to Cassiopeia. She already thinks she has my whole love life figured out with that gloating shit she does. ‘Oh, we’ll see,’” I mimicked my sister’s voice. “Fuck. Fuuuuuck!” I pulled on my hair with both hands. I felt like utter madness was setting in. “There’s more. Believe it or not, you haven’t heard the worst of it.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Shit.” I looked at my best friend, hoping to God he saw the desperation in my eyes.

  “Man, what’s going on? You look like you did the first time you kicked your dad’s ass and came to my house all freaked out.”

  Odd he’d chosen that memory to recall. I still remembered the day like it had just happened an hour ago. It gutted me to get physical with my own father, but he’d been drunk and started goading me, taunting me about not being man enough to handle the shit life was raining down on us. What a joke. He was the one delivering the shitstorm called life to our front door. No one else. But he wasn’t man enough to admit the fault was his own. I’d punched the loser square in the face, grabbed Pia, and fled to Grant’s, broken fingers and broken heart be damned.

  Yeah, I thought this pain felt familiar.

  It’s called betrayal, motherfucker.

  “She said Viktor Blake’s been sniffing around, and she’d give it up to him if I don’t want her.” I let my head fall forward until my chin touched my chest. All I felt was shame when I heard the words out loud. Seriously? What kind of man does this to a woman he claims to care about?

  “Dammit, Bas. Tell me you stopped her. Please tell me you stopped her. Everyone knows that dude is seriously messed up. I will take care of her if that’s the only option you left her with.”

  I raised my head, growling again. “You stay away from her. I won’t say it again.”

  “But Viktor? You can’t allow that, Sebastian!”

  “I told her I’d do it.”

  “Oh, thank Christ. Jesus, why didn’t you just say that?”

  “Because she told me ‘don’t bother.’ Her words exactly. Then she stomped out of here and has iced me out since. Won’t pick up my calls or texts. Nothing.”

  “So you went home and tied one on instead of tracking her down? Shit. You’re losing your edge, man. The Sebastian Shark I know would’ve been pounding on her door until dawn if that’s what it took.”

  “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought, then.”

  My God, I’m exhausted.

  He stared at me. Turned his head slightly and stared some more. As if a different angle would reveal a different truth. “Nah, that’s not it. Not it at all,” he finally said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s not you that’s different, necessarily. It’s this woman. It’s your reaction to this woman.”

  “And we’ve circled the wagon completely. You’re a broken record today, Twombley.”

  “Just speaking the truth, my brother. This one has you all twisted up. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.” He paused a few beats before he continued. “But you need to do something about it. About her. And before she makes a grave mistake and tangles with that gutter rat Blake. You know it as well as I do. He has a horrid reputation with women. He will break her in ways you won’t be able to repair.”

  The silence that blanketed my office was deafening. Even the streets far below seemed to join in the calm. No traffic sounds. No car horns. Just peace—punctuating Grant’s decree with giant exclamation points.

  Or middle fingers, maybe?

  “I don’t know how to fix this, Grant.” It was the most vulnerable I’d been with him—with anyone—in a long time.

  Grant finally spoke. “Sitting here, sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, doesn’t suit you. I know that for certain. Call her again. Go find her. Make her listen to you. If she won’t listen to you, find her hot little business partner”—he wagged his brows wolfishly—“and talk to her. You have to do something more than this.” He waved his hand up and down my disheveled body.

  I had nothing else to say. I let my eyes fall closed slowly. I felt worse than I had before. My head was throbbing, my stomach roiling, and now my face was pulsing in time with my heartbeat as well. And I’d thought opening up about this would make it better . . . why?

  When I finally opened my eyes again, Grant was still just staring at me.

  “Well, my job here is done,” he said, grinning. “I’m going to head out into the fief and do your bidding for the day, my lordship.” He bowed gracefully at the waist, and I was tempted to knee him in the nose while he was in the position.

  I really, really wanted to.

  Instead, I let my hands fall to my sides and my shoulders drop as low as they could go. “Cut me some slack here,” I all but begged.

  “It’s going to be fine. Let it work itself out, Bas. Stop trying to play puppet master to the whole world.” His voice was quiet. Gentle. “You like the girl. The girl likes you. Spend time with the girl. Let it happen from there. Stop overthinking everything. You’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

  “You have no idea what you’re saying.” Things weren’t easy in my life. Things were never easy in my life.

  “I think I do, actually. But telling you anything when you
get like this is impossible.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m off to my first appointment. If I’m not mistaken, you have a preliminary with the architect this morning. Let me know how that goes.”

  Grant gave me a brotherly smack on the back on his way out the door. I could feel a bruise blooming on my cheek where the bastard had landed his solid right hook earlier, but there wasn’t much I could do about it at that point.

  I didn’t have two minutes to myself before Terryn knocked.

  Jesus Christ.

  I put my unbruised cheek on the cool top of my desk and moaned, “Whaaaaat?” I wished I could start the entire day over. Honest to Christ, I did.

  My assistant poked her face around the plane of the door rather than coming all the way in. To her credit, it was rare for her to hear my voice in any other version than commanding and authoritative, and it may have thrown her off.

  “You okay? I mean, really?” Her voice had a tone I’d never heard before. A day of firsts all around, then. Great.

  Without lifting my head or looking at her, I muttered, “I’m fine. If Mr. Cole from Cole Designs arrives, just call me. You don’t have to keep coming in here to check on me. Also, see if you can get maintenance up here quickly to clean up this mess.”

  “Of course,” she answered softly. “Uh, umm, Mr. Shark? Can I get you anything? Do you want an ice pack, maybe? Your cheek is swelling up pretty bad.” She motioned to her own cheek, pointing on hers where mine was bruised. I just watched her from my one eye, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in trying to cross from a professional to personal demeanor.

  “That is all, Terryn.” I said flatly after a few odd beats. The last thing I would do was confuse this woman by accepting charity or pity. She had a place in my office, and it would never be more than my executive assistant.

  Any peace that could’ve been found ended ten minutes later. Maintenance bustled in to clean up the mess Grant and I had created with our scuffle. Pia was going to be supremely pissed about the things that were broken. And she would notice the minute she walked in on her next visit. The woman had hawk eyes. She always had, even as a little girl. Probably what made her such a great interior designer, though.

  Thankfully, my secretary returned to her duties at the desk outside of my office and became so busy with the day’s tasks, she didn’t have time to try mother-henning me again.

  Jacob Cole arrived a few minutes early, so in typical Sebastian Shark fashion, I kept him waiting outside my office in the reception area until the exact time of our appointment. I didn’t like people thinking they could drop in early and take up more of my time than they had scheduled. It was as rude as showing up late, as far as I was concerned. Yes, it was an asshole move. Yes, it was controlling. But if the shoe fit and all that.

  The young architect was the hottest up-and-coming designer on the circuit. He came with an impressive list of recommendations from clients and industry professionals alike, and his preliminary sketches really spoke to me. I liked his style, and his laid-back attitude fit well with my uptight one. There couldn’t be more than one alpha dog on this project, that was for certain.

  “Mr. Shark, good to see you again.” He stretched out a hand in greeting. We shook, and I watched him take in the condition of my face and mentally war with himself if he should remark about it or not.

  “Alcohol or woman?” he asked with a chuckle, thrusting his chin in the direction of my bruise. I had to hand it to the guy, he had the balls to go for it.

  “Probably a little of both,” I mumbled, raking my fingers back through my hair.

  He nodded slightly but didn’t say anything else.

  “Didn’t expect the truth?” I challenged.

  “I wouldn’t say that. Maybe a little dance around the edge at first?” He smiled fully, releasing some tension that had set his shoulders higher than they laid naturally afterward.

  “I’m not usually a bullshitter, Cole. Don’t have much use or time for it.”

  “Good to know,” he said plainly. “Must be quite a woman.”

  “Explain.”

  “To get the all-powerful Sebastian Shark scrapping on her behalf? I’d venture to guess you can pretty much have your pick of the litter, no?”

  “Things are rarely what they seem, Mr. Cole.”

  “Isn’t that the truth.” He nodded for a few oddly long moments, clearly thinking about something much different than the conversation we were having. He shook his head slightly. “Well, I brought a few sketches for you to look at. Where can we open these up? A bigger space?” He scoped around the room and then headed toward the conference table. “The table here will work, if you don’t mind?” He looked back over his shoulder to make sure before rolling out the prints.

  “That’s fine. Make yourself comfortable.” I motioned toward the flat top of the table. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  “No thanks. Not really a fan of the way Americans drink it. I got spoiled when I studied in Barcelona. Now I can’t stomach the Yankee way, I guess.”

  “Well, I need the fuel. I’ll be there in a second.” I made a quick cup of coffee and joined Jacob at the table, where he had opened the prints for the initial phase of the Edge.

  I had to step back and take a moment.

  Take a moment to absorb the enormity of what I was looking at on the table before me. My dream. My legacy. It was all there in black and white. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath through my nose, and Jacob Cole had the good sense to let me have the time I needed. I could only assume he watched this same thing happen every time he unrolled his designs for the first time for a client. It was actually difficult to not get choked up. Thankfully, I had years of practice stuffing that sort of shit down.

  “It honestly never gets old. I hope it never does,” he said when I finally met his wide smile.

  “You’re in the business of making dreams come true, man. It’s pretty heady stuff, I’d assume.” I was rarely humbled by another human’s talents. This man, however, had it in spades. He deserved my respect because of it.

  “If I ever stop feeling the way I just did, watching you experience that? Then I will know it’s time for me to retire.”

  He sobered then, which I also appreciated, because any more gloating and I’d want to punch him.

  “So what are your thoughts here?” Cole asked. “Be specific, be honest, be brutal. I have really tough skin, and it’s your project. I’m just the conduit from here”—he pointed to my heart—“and here”—then my head—“to here”—and lastly pointed to the drawings in front of us. “You tell me, and we’ll make it happen here.” He tapped his well-manicured finger on the prints for emphasis.

  “First impression? I love it. That’s saying a lot. You really listened at the initial meeting, and I appreciate that. Immensely.” I looked him directly in the eye when I said that, needing to convey both my appreciation and expectations of the same standard moving forward. The man was both intelligent and intuitive, traits many younger business professionals were lacking, I was finding. It was equally frustrating and infuriating in business relationships.

  “Thank you, Mr. Shark. I’m glad you’re pleased with the first look. Of course, this is only the design phase. Concept One, as I like to call it. As we move forward, we’ll start making changes, and at certain points, the changes will be significant enough to warrant a second rendition. We’ll call that Concept Two. For ease of reference, basically.” He looked at me to make sure I was following his process, and I gave him a nod, so he continued.

  “The design phase, as I’m sure you know, will carry through all the engineering and right up to the construction phase.” He stood up tall from where we were bent over the prints. “We have some long days and nights ahead of us until we have the outside and inside of the Edge looking exactly the way you envision it.”

  “I’m all in on this, Mr. Cole. You have one hundred percent of my focus. This is my priority. You call, I will clear my schedule for you. I will instruct my secre
tary to ensure it.”

  “Please, call me Jacob. Or Jake. Whatever works for you. We’re going to be spending a lot of time working on this. We don’t need to be so formal.” His smile was kind, and I knew he expected me to extend the same sort of offer.

  But I didn’t.

  I preferred the higher ground in every relationship, and the formal title was a way to establish that.

  Did that make me a dick? Yep.

  Did I give two shits? No, I did not.

  If I threw Cole off with my lack of offer to get more casual with the titling, he didn’t show it. The younger man was pretty unflappable, all things considered. Maybe I was just off my game because of the hangover and the fistfight with Grant first thing this morning. Regardless, we worked straight through lunch and into the afternoon.

  Jacob and I walked out to Terryn’s desk just as she was signing something for a courier.

  “Please schedule Mr. Cole’s next appointment the same time as today’s,” I said.

  Jacob and I shook hands again, and he made his way down the hall.

  Terryn stood silently off to the side, awkwardly trying to find something to do while she stared.

  “What is it?” I said impatiently.

  “This just came for you.” She quickly grabbed a letter encased in the overnight sheath emblazoned with the courier’s logo.

  Taking the letter, I asked, “Did you message Abstract Catering like I asked? I’m starving.”

  Terryn continued to watch Jacob walk away until he turned the corner to head to the elevator. When she realized I was still waiting for her to respond, she flushed with embarrassment.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Did you notice . . . I mean, did he look—” She fumbled with the necklace that rested at the base of her throat.

  “Spit it out, please.”

  “Never mind. He just looked very familiar.” Her voice trailed off again as she looked down the hall in the direction Mr. Cole had gone.

  “My lunch. Did you tell the caterer?” I was losing patience faster than normal.

  “Yes, I did,” Terryn snapped unexpectedly, but she quickly steadied her voice. “I forwarded Ms. Gibson’s reply to you.”