Page 59 of Shark’s Edge

Grant stood silently while his coffee brewed and then replied, “Good call, Bas. I bet you’re right. You usually have a good sixth sense on this sort of thing.” He stirred cream into his coffee and sat down on the leather sofa closest to my desk. “So, what happened to the sandwich girl? She turn you down?”

“Other way around.” I forced a laugh. “When’s the last time you saw me get rejected? By anyone?” I shook my head at the ridiculousness of the notion.

He nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve got a point. Still, I thought you were into her. The way you looked at her.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, something seemed different.”

“Well, you thought wrong. Plus, she’s involved with Blake somehow. I don’t know the extent of it, but he called her the other night when we were having dinner, and she all but came in her panties while talking to him. Total deal killer.” Fury burned in my gut just thinking about it, but I kept my face expressionless.

“Oh, so there’s the real story.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why you’re rejecting her. Or whatever.” Grant waved his hand dismissively.

“Well, yeah. I don’t play seconds to anyone. Especially not Viktor fucking Blake.”

Grant knew the history between Viktor and me. Every sordid detail of it, from childhood on. Of all people, I would expect he would understand why I wouldn’t want to associate with Abbigail after discovering she was with Blake. Regardless of the extent of their relationship.

“Dude.” He waited for me to meet his stare before he continued. “Don’t you think you might be overreacting? For all you know, she could be his lunch lady just like she is yours.”

“So what?” Finally, my veneer was beginning to crack, and a bit of ire seeped out.

“So that’s enough to cast her out?”

“Yes.”

“Bas.”

“Grant. There. We both know each other’s name.”

“Be serious. You like that girl. Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?” I finally gave up on what I had been working on and stood up behind my desk. Grant wasn’t going to let this go, apparently.

“Like an eight-year-old! No, wait, Vela acts more mature than you. Like a five-year-old. Pull your head out of your ass.”

“I’m not acting like a child.” I came around my desk and leaned against the edge, stretching my legs out in front of me. I remembered taking a similar pose when Ms. Gibson was in my office the week before.

“Are you sure?” Grant challenged.

“Did you come in here to talk about the day’s schedule or my social life?”

“At this rate, you’re never going to have a social life. And paying call girls doesn’t count as a social life. How nice would it be to fuck a woman and not have to pay her beforehand?” He raised his brow in question while sipping his coffee. I had a dark fantasy of him burning his lips and tongue on the brew.

At least then he’d shut up.

I just stared at him. What was I supposed to say to that? I mean, really? I didn’t relish the fact that this was what my social life consisted of right now. I didn’t expect this was where it would stay forever, though, either. It was a moment in time. A necessary phase—like Vela and the Disney movies—a place I was but wouldn’t grow roots before I moved on to the next phase.

There would come a time when I would find a woman to settle down with. Share my life with.

Maybe.

I just hadn’t been there yet.

So fine, it wasn’t a phase, it was a rut.

Or a lifestyle.

I scrubbed my hands down my face and then back up again. I hated when he called me on my shit—especially when he was right.