Page 6 of Shark’s Edge

The frantic energy in the air was palpable the second I turned onto Hill Street. It was the same vibe that emanated from crowds gathering to ogle film or TV shoots, except worse.

Traffic crawled for several blocks before reaching the turnout where I normally kept the van while making deliveries in the building Shark Enterprises occupied. Not happening today. Four bulky vans were parked bumper-to-bumper in the spot, with a fifth attempting to be part of the mayhem.

“Dream on, asshole,” I growled at the van, its back end trapping me in place while the honking cars behind me tried to merge into the next lane over.

I was getting ready for some head-slams onto the steering wheel when a bright spot in the chaos appeared. A cutie with a lanky physique and big hair jogged out to the curb. I pressed the switch to lower the van’s passenger-side window, and Maddon leaned in.

“Yo, sandwich goddess,” he said in a relaxed drawl. “So what’s the sitch, right?” He gestured toward the media mob with a dazed look.

“Hey, Mads.” I gave him a friendly smile. I admired how hard the guy worked but always made it look like fun. “Guess it’s a slow news day.”

I’d have to admit to Rio how right she was about all this. Dammit.

“Truth. And there’s more of them inside. This is just the overflow.” He dragged a hand through his wild auburn locks. “Apologies about your spot. I set cones out, but CBS flattened them. Crazy, right?”

“Right. Crazy.” But that wasn’t going to help me unload sixty prepaid lunch orders . . . Most notably, the meal for the man everyone was here to see.

The man in the penthouse.

The same man who hardly stopped to look at what I brought anyway.

Still, as I considered the likelihood of going a day without Sebastian Shark’s menacing glory, there was an undeniable sensation in the pit of my stomach. The feeling seemed to swell until it lodged between my breasts, causing every inhalation to be a physical ache.

What the hell was this?

The answer wasn’t reassuring.

Disappointment.

Unfounded. Unexplainable. But there all the same.

Maybe I really should have let someone pop my cherry at some point over the years. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here in a funk over a man who barely knew I existed.

“I know it’s not a perfect fix, but I called back to the loading dock.” Maddon grinned, as if that alone was an accomplishment and a half. “They have a place for you to park back there if you promise not to take more than an hour.”

And just like that, my frustration turned into jubilation. “Mads, I could freaking kiss you.”

The poor kid looked instantly conflicted. “Or I could have a turkey and tomato on rye instead?”

I swooped the sandwich out with eager speed—and a hell of a lot of gratitude.

Which was the last sensation I should’ve had as I drove the van to the rear of the building, now making my load in twice as difficult.

I unpacked the delivery coolers and ordered myself to take in calming breaths, begging the extra oxygen to ease my anticipation. The same ritual I practiced every time I arrived at this building.

No use, though. Apparently changing how I entered the building didn’t change the emotional riot inside me once I did. My nerves got no relief. The torque in my stomach became the pressure in my chest—and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it until I was up in the penthouse.

And why was that? I’d be lucky to get a hello, yet I craved his attention like a forgotten middle child. But my body had become addicted to the physical reaction he induced. The chemical high I got from the excitement of knowing he watched me. I caught him enough times by then to know it was a part of our regular routine. He was getting bolder, though, and no longer bothered to look away when our eyes met. I was usually the one who would quickly avert my gaze back to my approved task.

Did that make me a coward? Maybe. But at least things would be in their proper place, business as usual. Everything that was expected to happen would. Right on cue. Rules followed. Lines colored within. Everyone knowing their roles.

Walls erected.

Whatever. So what if Rio was right? It wasn’t a bad thing to keep professional lines very clear. Even if I wasn’t the only one blurring them. All this nonsense just served as a reminder. A reminder to approach this whole ordeal like tossing out bad coleslaw. Just like Rio said. It would be unpleasant for a little bit, but I’d be better off in the end.

“Coleslaw.” I turned it into a whispered mantra while disembarking the elevator at the penthouse level. “Coleslaw. Coleslaw. Coleslaw.”

But there was just one hitch with that plan now.