Page 77 of Shark’s Edge

“Good to know,” he said plainly. “Must be quite a woman.”

“Explain.”

“To get the all-powerful Sebastian Shark scrapping on her behalf? I’d venture to guess you can pretty much have your pick of the litter, no?”

“Things are rarely what they seem, Mr. Cole.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” He nodded for a few oddly long moments, clearly thinking about something much different than the conversation we were having. He shook his head slightly. “Well, I brought a few sketches for you to look at. Where can we open these up? A bigger space?” He scoped around the room and then headed toward the conference table. “The table here will work, if you don’t mind?” He looked back over his shoulder to make sure before rolling out the prints.

“That’s fine. Make yourself comfortable.” I motioned toward the flat top of the table. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“No thanks. Not really a fan of the way Americans drink it. I got spoiled when I studied in Barcelona. Now I can’t stomach the Yankee way, I guess.”

“Well, I need the fuel. I’ll be there in a second.” I made a quick cup of coffee and joined Jacob at the table, where he had opened the prints for the initial phase of the Edge.

I had to step back and take a moment.

Take a moment to absorb the enormity of what I was looking at on the table before me. My dream. My legacy. It was all there in black and white. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath through my nose, and Jacob Cole had the good sense to let me have the time I needed. I could only assume he watched this same thing happen every time he unrolled his designs for the first time for a client. It was actually difficult to not get choked up. Thankfully, I had years of practice stuffing that sort of shit down.

“It honestly never gets old. I hope it never does,” he said when I finally met his wide smile.

“You’re in the business of making dreams come true, man. It’s pretty heady stuff, I’d assume.” I was rarely humbled by another human’s talents. This man, however, had it in spades. He deserved my respect because of it.

“If I ever stop feeling the way I just did, watching you experience that? Then I will know it’s time for me to retire.”

He sobered then, which I also appreciated, because any more gloating and I’d want to punch him.

“So what are your thoughts here?” Cole asked. “Be specific, be honest, be brutal. I have really tough skin, and it’s your project. I’m just the conduit from here”—he pointed to my heart—“and here”—then my head—“to here”—and lastly pointed to the drawings in front of us. “You tell me, and we’ll make it happen here.” He tapped his well-manicured finger on the prints for emphasis.

“First impression? I love it. That’s saying a lot. You really listened at the initial meeting, and I appreciate that. Immensely.” I looked him directly in the eye when I said that, needing to convey both my appreciation and expectations of the same standard moving forward. The man was both intelligent and intuitive, traits many younger business professionals were lacking, I was finding. It was equally frustrating and infuriating in business relationships.

“Thank you, Mr. Shark. I’m glad you’re pleased with the first look. Of course, this is only the design phase. Concept One, as I like to call it. As we move forward, we’ll start making changes, and at certain points, the changes will be significant enough to warrant a second rendition. We’ll call that Concept Two. For ease of reference, basically.” He looked at me to make sure I was following his process, and I gave him a nod, so he continued.

“The design phase, as I’m sure you know, will carry through all the engineering and right up to the construction phase.” He stood up tall from where we were bent over the prints. “We have some long days and nights ahead of us until we have the outside and inside of the Edge looking exactly the way you envision it.”

“I’m all in on this, Mr. Cole. You have one hundred percent of my focus. This is my priority. You call, I will clear my schedule for you. I will instruct my secretary to ensure it.”

“Please, call me Jacob. Or Jake. Whatever works for you. We’re going to be spending a lot of time working on this. We don’t need to be so formal.” His smile was kind, and I knew he expected me to extend the same sort of offer.

But I didn’t.

I preferred the higher ground in every relationship, and the formal title was a way to establish that.

Did that make me a dick? Yep.

Did I give two shits? No, I did not.

If I threw Cole off with my lack of offer to get more casual with the titling, he didn’t show it. The younger man was pretty unflappable, all things considered. Maybe I was just off my game because of the hangover and the fistfight with Grant first thing this morning. Regardless, we worked straight through lunch and into the afternoon.

Jacob and I walked out to Terryn’s desk just as she was signing something for a courier.

“Please schedule Mr. Cole’s next appointment the same time as today’s,” I said.

Jacob and I shook hands again, and he made his way down the hall.

Terryn stood silently off to the side, awkwardly trying to find something to do while she stared.

“What is it?” I said impatiently.