Page 54 of Shark’s Edge

Right now, I just wanted to be over him, period.

But to make that happen, I had to face a new truth. Closure with him meant involving him—if only for one last time. And this time, I meant it. No more duck-and-hide between us. It was time to hit the reset button . . .

During a surprise ambush.

Snap.

I’d just arrive at his office thirty minutes before my normal time. It was so easy, it was scary. The fact was confirmed by Rio’s fast support of the plan. She came into work early so we’d have everything ready and loaded to go. And yes, she did it without a single line of snark. In every molecule of the kitchen’s air where that droll sarcasm would have gone, she’d instead inserted humming.

Humming.

And not her typical alt-rock favorites either.

The category of the day: peppy eighties tracks.

I almost started recording the occasion for posterity but figured nothing would beat the woman’s rendition of “Eye of the Tiger” as we loaded the final batch of sandwiches into the van. Accompanied by her warbled cheer for me to rise up and stalk my prey, I headed out onto the delivery route . . .

Hoping that was just as easily done as sung.

Traffic was astoundingly light as I approached downtown, which meant I’d be super early to my first stop on the route: the Blake Logistics building. As I rode the elevator to the penthouse, an eerie anticipation accompanied me. The tweaked schedule meant I’d be walking in on Viktor unawares. I was both scared and intrigued by that.

Okay, so I didn’t expect to catch the guy cruising YouTube in his underwear and munching on pork rinds, but what was Viktor Blake like in his natural habitat? What did he do and how did he act when he didn’t know I was already in the building?

As I parked the cart in the penthouse lobby, next to the ornate gold door that led to Blake’s office, a woman emerged from inside. She was dressed stylishly, as everyone in the company usually was, but her posture was hunched, with one hand cupped over a lot of her face.

A face that was streaked with makeup.

I saw enough to figure that part out—or maybe it was just my instincts kicking in. Tears were my psychological specialty. While I wished that wasn’t the case, all those intuitions surged into high gear now, telling me the woman hadn’t just been letting off some mild emotional steam.

As soon as she dropped her hand, my hunch was emphatically validated. In the vivid colors of the mark consuming her left cheek.

The reds, fuchsias, and purples of a fresh, hard slap.

It was impossible to restrain my gasp. And my concerned reach, landing at the ball of her shoulder. “Hey. Are you—”

But it was all I got out before she sob-hissed at me. Then wrenched, spun, and fled, bolting for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

“What the . . . ”

“Abbigail?” Viktor’s hail, which sounded like he’d just been relaxing in the park with a mimosa and a puppy, heaped more confusion on my psyche. “Well, look at this. It is you. What a day-brightening surprise.”

“Uh . . . Mr. Blake . . . ”

“How many more times do I have to remind you? It’s Viktor, remember?”

“Fine. Viktor.” I jabbed my voice with the same rough edges as his. None of this was feeling right, and I wished more than ever for his typical formal facade. “Th-That woman . . . she was . . . ”

“Lost,” he said, motioning me to come into his office as if he had a spare mimosa for me. “She tripped in her office and hit the corner of a filing cabinet on her way down. She got mixed up in the elevator about what floor the First Aid station is on. She’ll be fine.”

I rolled my shoulders, focusing on settling my nerves. The explanation made sense—or so I tried telling myself. Instead, my memory flashed to the dickhead dad from the West Hills soccer game—and yes, I’d know that even from across the grass. The same way I’d watched in awe as Sebastian put the pig back into place—and how easily I could imagine those same words growling out of Viktor after his wife or kid accidentally hurt themselves running into a door.

She’ll be fine.

But what was he going to do about the bile my stomach had begun to churn?

All the mental hand-wringing wasn’t helping a damn thing. It was time to hike up my big-girl panties, plaster a smile on my face, and grab the lunch that had been ordered for Viktor today. I wasn’t surprised to see a veggie loaf and a green salad through the clear plastic lid.

“All right, well . . . lunch is served.”