Page 58 of Shark’s Edge

I watched the streets below my building yawn and stretch and come to life with the first commuters arriving to work.

What did my day have in store for me?

I’d finally gotten a good night’s sleep—the first since the shit-show dinner with Abbigail Gibson. I’d vowed not to waste another minute analyzing the subject of her. In any form at all.

My initial consideration that she was too young for me to be involved with was validated that evening after she left my home. I was better off putting the whole Ms. Gibson experience in a tidy storage box marked Goodwill.

I’d set it out by the curb next to the other unused charitable efforts.

It was time to refocus my valuable time and energy on what mattered most. The Edge. It was everything to me. Everything. And as I looked down at the streets below, watching humans move about, the familiar excitement returned.

In less than two years, thousands of people would flock to my building, my dream—my legacy—to spend their day working, shopping, and playing. Sebastian Shark and the Edge would become household names. Synonymous with Gucci and Rolls Royce.

The best part would be the secret behind the success. The story the streets of Los Angeles knew but others didn’t. Because they never stopped long enough to listen or cared enough to ask.

When I watched the city below, in the quiet hours, I knew there were others like me. I knew the streets whispered hardship and pain. And I knew those who overcame the adversity life had dealt them would rise above the storm and find success.

The Edge would be more than just another icon in the city’s skyline. When my story was finally heard, it would resonate with underdogs everywhere. Boys in the projects would relate to my childhood, and young entrepreneurs would connect to my business acumen. My persona would speak to everyone on their own personal journeys for success, and the Edge would be the physical symbol that represented it all.

It gave me a hard-on just thinking about it, and if I had a willing body to fuck, I would. I needed to blow off the excess energy surging through my system. I was on a career and life high, and I needed an outlet for it all.

“Siri, compose an email to LuLu Chancellor.”

Siri’s voice filled my office. “What would you like to say?”

“Good morning—comma—my friend—comma, new line—Would you happen to have a redheaded pony in the stable currently—question mark—I really could use a lap or two around the track today—period—Please let me know as soon as possible—period, new line—Kind regards—comma, new line—Sebastian.”

Siri then asked, “Would you like me to read your message back to you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Just send the message to Ms. Chancellor, please.”

“Your wish is my command, Mr. Shark.”

That was why I preferred Siri to my living, breathing office assistant. She was much more agreeable, for one thing. And setting up appointments with LuLu via Terryn gave Terryn more information than she needed to have. There were certain parts of my private life I preferred to keep . . . private.

As the office came to life with people, I shrank into my usual solitude.

I never interacted with others.

Even less so since the experience with Abbigail.

I’d found an excuse every day to be out of the office before she arrived with the lunch deliveries and returned after she was sure to be gone. Even if that meant circling the block three or seven times until her delivery van had cleared from the curb out front. But no one would know that beyond my driver. And, like everyone else on my payroll, he’d signed an ironclad NDA, so one word about my comings and goings to anyone and he’d lose his very well-paying job.

Grant stopped in for the morning report, as he liked to call it. I got the reference from watching The Lion King with Vela a few hundred times when she went through her Disney phase. Thankfully, that didn’t last long. The girl was on to the next thing before the old thing ever had a chance to grow roots.

Pia assured me it was typical childhood behavior when I worried that nothing held her interest. Frankly, I worried about everything where Vela was concerned. I was like an overbearing second-string helicopter parent my sister didn’t ask for or need. But despite my best efforts to rein it in, I couldn’t help myself. I merely wanted the absolute best for my niece. It wasn’t like her father was around to make the same claim.

“What do we have on the agenda today, boss man?” my COO asked, strolling through my office.

“I seriously despise that nickname,” I grumbled from behind the monitors on my desk.

“I know you do, man. I know you do,” he said with a smirk. “Do you want some coffee?” He stopped in front of the Keurig, picking through the pods for the one he liked best.

“No, I’m amped up enough. I finally slept well last night, but I know it won’t last. I need to burn off some steam.” I held up my hand to stop him before he even suggested what I knew would come next. “I emailed LuLu this morning. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah, see if Shawna’s available, if you don’t mind.” A wide smile split his face. “I had an exceptional time with her last visit.”

“Actually, I think I’ll have them come out to the house. Are you good with that? I’m not a fan of going to LuLu’s place anymore. She’s going to get raided soon. I can feel it in my bones. Too many people know about her now.”