Page 78 of Shark’s Edge

“This just came for you.” She quickly grabbed a letter encased in the overnight sheath emblazoned with the courier’s logo.

Taking the letter, I asked, “Did you message Abstract Catering like I asked? I’m starving.”

Terryn continued to watch Jacob walk away until he turned the corner to head to the elevator. When she realized I was still waiting for her to respond, she flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Did you notice . . . I mean, did he look—” She fumbled with the necklace that rested at the base of her throat.

“Spit it out, please.”

“Never mind. He just looked very familiar.” Her voice trailed off again as she looked down the hall in the direction Mr. Cole had gone.

“My lunch. Did you tell the caterer?” I was losing patience faster than normal.

“Yes, I did,” Terryn snapped unexpectedly, but she quickly steadied her voice. “I forwarded Ms. Gibson’s reply to you.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, keeping my eyes trained on my impertinent assistant. Deciding I’d had enough drama for one day, I went back into my office and closed the door. I pulled up the app we used for quick office correspondence, and I saw Terryn’s response to my earlier request still in the unread messages.

“Ms. Gibson replied to your request. Direct quote: ‘I’ll get there when I get there.’”

For whatever reason, a wide grin spread across my lips. That little redhead liked poking at me, and she had no idea what it did to me. She’d find out soon, though. As usual, my cock woke up and took notice of all things Abbigail Gibson.

Not now, man. No time for a quick one in the bathroom.

She’d pay for all this torment, too. But wait. Virgin. My cock jolted to twice the thickness.

“No,” I gritted out. “There is nothing remotely exciting about that.” I adjusted myself and grabbed the letter opener off my desk. Grant had given me the pen and opener set one year for my birthday. Both had my initials engraved on sturdy brushed-nickel handles. They had a nice bit of weight in my hand when I used them. Solid desk accessories.

See? Not thinking about my dick at all.

Worked for almost forty seconds that time.

A new personal best since meeting Abbigail Gibson.

Nothing good came by registered mail. That was a given. Certified letters were usually worse. Things sent by courier could go either way since many businesses used couriers to send contracts and other official documents that needed signed originals. I wasn’t expecting something unpleasant, necessarily.

I definitely wasn’t expecting a handwritten letter. A full page of scrawled handwriting stared back at me when I unfolded the sheet of paper. Regular, everyday paper. Nothing fancy, nothing noteworthy. There wasn’t a monogram embossed on the top or a hotel’s logo printed in the corner. No, this was white copy paper, likely pulled from the paper tray of someone’s office printer.

Dear Sebastion,

Excellent. My name was misspelled. Joyous first impression, dear author.

You probably don’t remember me.

Nailing it so far.

I know you have a lot of girls come in and out of your life.

Jesus Christ, if this was some chick saying I knocked her up, this day was officially the worst day of my life. I. Swear. To. God.

But ever since that girl, Tawny, jumped off the bridge on the other side of town, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.

Shit, don’t hurt yourself with that, babe.

Maybe she had the right idea, you know? After I met you and danced for you, I thought things were going to change in my life. The way you looked at me like you wanted me. Maybe needed me. Maybe you’d come back and sweep me away from this shitty life I have. So, I waited. Every day I danced, when the door opened at the club and a guy came in, I hoped it would be you, coming back to save me. But it never was. I fell in love with you that day.

Oh, come on. Are you serious right now, lady?

But now, I’m saying goodbye. It’s time for me to go. To go over the rainbow bridge . . .