Page 10 of Shark’s Edge

She was young. Very young. Something that generally had me running the other way quicker than a wedding band on a flirtatious woman’s finger. But there was an unmistakable pull from her that rendered the complete opposite effect. And that bastard Twombley—who knew me better than anyone—was playing me like a fiddle and using her as the bow.

“So, Mansfield wasn’t from LuLu’s stable. Are you using anyone else?” Grant asked as we sat down to eat. Anyone who had access to this room had signed a nondisclosure agreement, so we didn’t have to censor our conversation.

I watched the sandwich girl walk out of my office to get his food, finding it impossible not to focus on her tight ass as she went. Christ, I’d love to dig my fingers into the flesh of those perfectly round cheeks while she bounced on my lap and I gave her the best ride of her life.

“Dude.”

I shook my head slightly. “No, but I’ve been thinking; maybe she was from Club Delilah. That’s the only other place I may have met her—if I ever met her at all. I’m still not convinced I did. She doesn’t look familiar. This whole thing could be a setup.” I shifted in my seat, trying to adjust myself in my suddenly too tight slacks.

Abbigail came bustling back in with another tray of food for Grant.

“This smells like that Russian bastard if you ask me.”

Grant scoffed. “I think you’re giving Blake more credit than he deserves. How would he manage details of this magnitude? Finding a woman you slept with, a damaged one at that, and then planting a suicide note that implicates you? Think about it. Just saying it all out loud”—Grant shook his head slowly—“do you hear how ridiculous it sounds?” He leaned back in his chair to make room for Abbigail to place his food in front of him.

“I don’t know,” I said, unrolling my utensils from the tidy rolled linen napkin that always accompanied my lunch. “I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’s a bitter, ruthless cocksucker. Vengeance drives men to do unhinged things.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The caterer stood off to the side, waiting for a break in our conversation.

We both looked to Little Red. Grant smiled, but I was mid-chew, just about to swallow the first bite of my lunch.

“Forgive my interruption . . . I just wanted to see if you needed anything else before I left.”

“Did we ask for anything else?” I tilted my chin in her direction.

Her already large green eyes widened farther.

Grant quickly interjected. “This looks great. Thank you so much, Ms. Gibson.”

My God. Her eyes. Green like emeralds. Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz emerald. They were mesmerizing.

She slid her head back as if ready to launch into some sort of tirade or comeback. Likely about my lack of civility. With a rough swallow, she tamped down the inclination.

Without another word but with the unmistakable welling of tears in her huge green eyes, Abbigail Gibson bolted from the room. Complete with a slight—and sexy as hell—stumble right before she reached the door. She caught herself on the ornate knob and then let herself out. My ears vibrated, catching the buzz of her mumbled comments as she frantically exited.

“My God, you can be an asshole.” Grant stared at me in disbelief.

“What?” I said around a second forkful of greens, making the delivery something more like “Whuu?”

“You made that girl cry.” He pointed toward the door with his fork.

I chewed slowly and then wiped my mouth with the linen napkin. Today it was sky blue. A different color every day. Yes, I’d noticed.

“I didn’t make her cry, Grant.” I grinned from behind the napkin. “But now I have a hard-on, too. This day just keeps getting better.”

“Her crying made you hard?”

“I’m an asshole, Grant. Why are you acting like it’s breaking news?”

“You’re going to die a lonely old man.”

“Again, breaking news? And to clarify, I don’t enjoy making women cry. But something about seeing her cry . . . ” I shook my head, bewildered. “I don’t really understand it myself. She just looked so fragile and vulnerable. Like she needs someone.” My voice had gotten unusually quiet as I pictured the tears filling Abbigail’s eyes. “Someone to be her everything.”

Wonder of wonders, I’d finally rendered my best friend speechless. There really was a first time for everything. But I’d also succeeded in coating the room with a heavy shroud of intense emotion. An environment in which neither of us were particularly comfortable.

So I shrugged and took another bite of my salad. “And really, she should’ve left the dressing recipe alone. This one sucks.” I pushed the plate to the side. “Why can’t she just serve an old favorite like coleslaw? Everyone loves coleslaw. My mom made the best coleslaw ever, and we’d always bring it to family reunions. When we went to those sorts of things.”

Enough of Abbigail Gibson talk for the time being. I had real problems to deal with, as I was reminded by Terryn’s familiar knock on the door.