Page 8 of Shark’s Edge

“I wonder whatever happened to Miss Dandelion.” I let myself drift to the past, away from the disaster of the present. Life was so much simpler then—even if my father was a neglectful drunk and I was already taking care of myself and Pia.

Grant’s voice interrupted my memories. “Every boy in the class sported their first boner for that doe-eyed teacher.”

I shook my head hard before snapping, “Yeah, well, some douchebag probably plucked her pretty flower and then she became old and bitter, just like the rest of the teachers at that school.”

I smacked the top of my desk with my palms, making Grant jump.

“So jaded.” Sadness clouded his normally lively eyes. “Always so jaded.”

“It’s called reality, Grant.” I walked over to the wall of windows while I spoke. “And you know it’s the truth. Look at the bullshit going on right now if you think it’s anything else.”

This was my usual thinking spot. Mid-room, staring out from the top floor of my downtown building over the City of Angels. I crossed my arms over my chest and faced the extraordinary view, this bird’s-eye vantage point of my empire. I owned a good portion of this city and made deals by the hour to acquire more.

A king.

My kingdom.

I’d earned every bit of it.

Every. Single. Bit.

But now someone was messing with me, and they wouldn’t get away with it. I barely recalled the woman’s name, even though it kept popping up on the news reports. Tawny Mansfield. But really, in a sea of Candys and Sugars and the occasional Minx or Jinx, Tawny didn’t seem all that special.

I wasn’t doing much better with her face in the grainy photo that flashed across the screen repeatedly. Dancers and escorts had a certain look in common. A little too much makeup, a little too much hair product, clothes that were worn a little too tight. Nothing really stood out about her appearance either.

What did it matter?

What did they matter?

Well, of course they mattered, but not to me. That was my issue. Mine. I wasn’t interested in getting attached. I didn’t have time for relationships, and I certainly didn’t have time for emotions. I stuck to secure sexual transactions. Uncomplicated arrangements where both parties knew exactly what was—and wasn’t—expected.

“Do you think she was one of LuLu’s girls?” my best friend asked, as if he had a direct link into my thoughts.

“I don’t think so. I imagine LuLu would’ve already been breathing down my neck by this point if she were. She’s fiercely protective of her assets.” It wouldn’t hurt to confirm the thought, though.

“Siri, page Terryn.”

“Do you mean fucking Terryn?” the disembodied voice volleyed back.

“Yes!”

Grant’s face split in two with a wide grin.

“Yes, Mr. Shark?” Terryn’s voice came over the intercom speaker.

“Get Louise Chancellor on the phone.” I didn’t bother with “can you” or “please.” Just merely stated what I needed and expected my assistant to make it happen.

“I can, but I may be able to save you a call. Ms. Chancellor left a message about fifteen minutes ago. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give it to you before now, sir. It’s been a bit hectic out here.”

“Cry me a river, Terryn. Just tell me what she said.” I scrubbed my hand down my face, hoping to hell Tawny Mansfield hadn’t worked for the high-end madam I regularly used.

“Ms. Chancellor said, and I’m quoting . . . ” Terryn inserted a dramatic beat. “‘She wasn’t one of mine.’” She paused again before adding, “Uhh, I’m guessing that makes sense to you?”

“Terryn?” I queried, impatience oozing from my voice.

“Sir?”

“Is it your job to play superspy decoder ring or just give me my phone messages?”