Page 9 of Shark’s Edge

“Uhh. I was just trying to make sure—”

“Terryn?” I cut her off before she could stammer any longer, wasting my valuable time.

“Yes?” she answered timidly. Christ. I’d break this one too. It was just a matter of time.

“Just answer the question so we can both get back to work.”

“To give you your phone messages, sir.” Her voice had gained strength as she repeated the answer option verbatim.

“Perfect. Now where’s my lunch?” I switched topics, ready to move on to the next item.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and just like that, my dick twitched in my slacks. It was like my goddamned body sensed the young redhead was within a fifty-foot radius.

“Never mind,” I said, disconnecting the intercom. “Enter!” I shouted toward the door, the way I always did when Little Red Riding Hood came by with my lunch.

Most days, I attempted to appear occupied with my work as she set up my meal, but since I was already standing in the middle of the room, there’d be no way to avoid her today. Maybe that was a good thing. It just meant I could sneak in a few glances of her glorious, lithe body from a new angle. I’d been getting more obvious with my staring lately, but it couldn’t be helped. The air thickened between us the moment she walked through my door. The thrill of the hunt, maybe?

“Oh. Well. Hi. Hello,” she stammered, taking in my looming form from head to toe as she came into my penthouse office. Gazes locked. Breaths stuttered. Cheeks flamed.

And then my annoying COO cleared his throat, tramping through our moment like a wayward puppy through a newly planted flower bed. I gave him a sideways glance, and Ms. Gibson slipped past me while asking her daily inquiry.

“Where would you like me to set up lunch today, Mr. Shark?”

On your flat stomach. Between your milky thighs.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Grant, a warm smile on his face, all but tripped over himself to take the large tray from her.

“Sit down, Twombley. Let the girl do her job.” Because you’re spoiling my view.

He glared at me over his shoulder and continued taking the burden off Little Red, ignoring me completely. “This looks fantastic,” he said, giving her the full force of his pussy-slayer grin.

“Thanks. I tried something new with the dressing today. We’ve been working on a few new recipes.” She gave an impish shrug toward the food before looking back up to Grant. “Are you having lunch in this office today, Mr. Twombley? I can get your tray off the cart and set it up in here as well.” As they moved deeper into the penthouse to the area I used for meetings, they continued chatting. She tilted her head way back since he towered over her by a solid twelve inches. Then they both swung their gazes to me.

“Well, shit, don’t let me interrupt.” I threw my hands up, unexplainably pissed after watching their exchange.

Who was I trying to kid? It was completely explainable.

It’s called jealousy, motherfucker. The good old-fashioned green-eyed monster.

But what the hell was that about?

I didn’t experience jealousy. I inspired it.

I narrowed my eyes at the young caterer and then shifted my stare to Grant. “We need to strategize about this Mansfield situation. More specifically, how it might delay progress on the Edge. We can do that while we eat.”

Grant pivoted smoothly back toward Abbigail. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, then . . . I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name.” He set the tray down on my sleek stainless-steel conference table and offered his hand. “Grant Twombley.”

I continued to stare in borderline fury while my chief operating officer gently caressed the inside wrist of the intriguing redheaded sandwich girl. Her lips parted slightly while she stuttered to form her own name, wholly affected by his attention.

“Abbigail Gibson. Abstract Catering. It’s very nice to meet you, umm, Mr. Twombley.” She smiled shyly, causing me to suck in air sharply. The woman yanked her hand from Grant’s at once, darting her eyes in my direction as if caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing.

Grant leaned down, sharing a conspiratorial murmur. “Ignore him. Nearly everyone does.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she replied quietly. I almost thought I misheard her but trusted my senses. I also had help from the sexy red flush spreading like wildfire up her neck and cheeks.

What the hell was it about this girl that had my balls pulling up so tight?

Literally.