Page 71 of Shark’s Edge

I ticked my head to the side. “Do you have a better idea of what to call it?” I turned it into a question for the sake of the conversation, though I was in complete agreement about his assessment. I’d oversimplified—and God only knew, there was nothing simple about this mire.

“It’s . . . a pause button.”

Oversimplification for the win.

“Explain.” I folded my arms and hoisted my eyebrows. While I purposefully threw his trademarked phrase back at him with an infinitesimal grin, it was all the support I could lend right now. “Until when?”

“Until you get that”—he waved his hand up and down my frame, as if displaying a prize heifer at auction—“that . . . situation . . . handled. As soon as fucking possible.”

“That situation?” I couldn’t unlock my folded arms if I tried. For his safety and mine. He was in very close danger of getting a five-knuckle imprint on that perfect jaw I had admired only minutes before.

Sebastian flung a stare full of daggers. I hurled just as many back—not that it helped one ounce of the chaos he churned through me, even as he grabbed my hand and hauled me across the room, back toward the office’s door. Unlike an hour ago, when he’d ushered me out of here with devilish smirks and winks, he now handled me with grim, silent possessiveness. It didn’t change as he hooked his other hand around the handle of my cart, pulling the thing toward the lobby with us.

Until he halted in his tracks and caused me to stumble to a stop.

And then added to the tension with a snarl. “What. Is. That?”

He sounded like he was staring at human body parts on my food cart rather than lunch service supplies.

But when I followed the line of his glare, I wasn’t sure whether to giggle or cower. He was blustering at the compartment where a round wooden head, painted with a red kerchief and pink roses, peeked out.

“Nothing.” A defense. “Well, a gift.” Then, an idea. “Nesting dolls.” I pulled the pretty oval all the way out. “From a grateful friend.”

Sebastian’s glare grew hotter than the sidewalks outside. “A friend named Viktor Blake?” No. His voice was beyond that now, jabbing intimidation up and down my spine.

He was getting pissy again about Viktor, and I was egging him on.

At least I could control the outcome of the second bit. And damn well would.

“As a matter of fact,” I finally said, matching his bad temperament, “yes. A friend, and a client, named Viktor Blake.” The universe had crazy timing. Before this afternoon, I wouldn’t have felt right about using my rapport with Viktor like this. But the guy owed me a solid for all the bizarreness during my delivery to him today, and this was definitely the moment to collect. “A client who wanted to thank me for a job I did for him last week. It was a last-minute order, and—”

“I know. I was there, dammit.”

I slipped easily out of his hold—a good thing because his rage was like a nuclear blast zone. Shit. I didn’t remember Sebastian approaching DEFCON status when we’d last talked about Viktor . . .

But right now, that just happened to be a good thing.

“Ohhhh.” I swerved my tone up and down, purposely playing up my grand epiphany. But Sebastian didn’t have to know that part. “You know . . . I just had a great idea . . . ”

“No.” He slammed it out before half my smile dawned.

“But Viktor’s a nice guy. And beautifully built, at that. I’ll bet he’d love a night of diving into all my situational misfortunes.”

“No.”

“And I think I noticed some free evenings on his calendar as I set up his lunch today. We could probably make this happen real s—”

He pounded a palm onto the cart so hard, the nesting dolls hopped right over the edge. “You set up his lunch for him?” he seethed. “Like you do for me?”

I bent and picked up the dolls—realizing the action was as good as slapping the grizzly across his face. Or so I hoped. “He’s a steady and valuable client, Mr. Shark. Just like you. But unlike you, he doesn’t think there are any situations with me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

To the point that the guy and his urbane facade—make that facades, many of them—had me craving a shower after leaving his office today. But Sebastian didn’t have to know that either. He’d turned my virginity into an issue and then an ultimatum. And then, even a war. At the very least, another Shark-style skirmish. I was simply fighting fire with fire.

“Fuck.” Sebastian enforced the growl with a new grasp around my wrist. I glared, but he didn’t relent. “Fine.” He yanked on me hard, and I burst into a wince that dissolved into a moan as he crushed my body back against his. “I’ll do it.”

And just like that, more pain.

The crappy inside-my-chest kind this time.