Page 7 of Shark’s Pride

Grant nodded the whole time I spoke. Everything I’d mentioned were situations for which we had to prepare daily. Nothing here was breaking news, reflected in the focused calm of his interjection. “What’s the second solution?”

“We need to work out a deal with the Malaysian Transportation Minister.”

“So…in through the back door.” Grant nodded while he absorbed the concept.

“Exactly. We give them what they want. Which of course, ultimately, is more money.”

Grant grunted, putting the pieces together. “One way or another.”

“For them, the public sees embargos. But if we could work some sort of deal behind the scene…” I tipped my head and arched my brows. “As long as they get paid, what does it matter, right?”

“Following you so far.” Grant perched on the back of the sofa while I settled back behind my desk. “Is there a deal on the table? What did you offer them?”

“It’s practically a no-brainer,” I asserted. “We route as many of our shipments through that lane as possible, with a quarter percent off the top to the ministry. We may even look at funneling most of our shipments in the area through that lane, if it proves to be easier and faster. If we can get a guarantee that shipments won’t be held up in customs like they are in the other ports and we can also avoid routinely striking ports, it’s a win-win.”

I watched Grant’s scowl transform as he weighed the possibilities of my statement. At last, he offered, “So really, what’s it going to matter if a few extra miles are tacked on to each trip, if customs and duties are cheaper?”

“Or nonexistent.”

“Not to mention demurrage while docks have workers on strike or limited staff to load and unload because of union bullshit. If we look at that line item alone on the last fiscal year’s purchase and loss? It’s staggering, Bas.”

“Trust me, I know. That’s what made this seem like a perfect marriage. The government is as crooked as they come. They don’t care how the money comes in, just that it does. If we are paying them at the back door, they can work their books however they see fit. If we pay at the front door, it all has to be aboveboard and not as lucrative for the individuals involved.”

“Good deal, man. Good deal.”

I jacked my brows a little higher. “What’s up?” And then pointed to the phone in his hand with a quick nod. “That’s the fifth time you’ve checked your phone, Twombley. And the sixth.”

Grant grunted again, though with half the force of the first time. “Sorry, man—but I need to get out of here. Lunch meeting across town. If I leave now, I should get there just in time.”

“Understood. Off you go, then.” I tried to infuse it with more sincerity than my own restlessness. All in all, I was just as glad he’d be gone by the time Abbigail arrived. The more of the woman I could have to myself, the better. I handled my eagerness by turning my attention back to the paperwork mountain on my desk. Though so many things could be handled electronically in a modern business world, a surprising number of things still weren’t. Terryn had several piles neatly separated and labeled for me, coded in order of how they needed to be handled. One pile needed signatures. The next needed to be reviewed and returned to her for corrections. A third stack was all new items, or so the label told me. I knew better. They were problems in disguise.

I moved that last pile off to the side of my desk. Way off. I’d tackle that mess after lunch. At the moment, my brain was only good for blindly scrawling my name on the indicated blank and moving on to the next.

I moved through the stack efficiently until the familiar knock came on my door.

She wasn’t a moment too soon. My nerves and my stomach were throwing in the towel, and if Abbigail hadn’t shown up when she did, it would’ve taken three men and a boy to stop me from texting her again.

“In!” I called while resuming my mindless task. No sense changing my habits completely for the woman—or so I kept trying to fool myself. But a man had to keep his balance somewhere, and the woman had already upended me in so many other ways.

“Hey there.”

Abbigail said it quietly while scooting her head and shoulders beyond the edge of the door. She gripped the wood like it was a floating panel from the sinking Titanic. I’d never seen anything more adorable.

“Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“I asked if this was a good time,” she prompted. “Are you ready for lunch?”

I swore to God, every answer in my mind sounded over-the-top. Maybe beyond that. But I was helpless to verbalize any of them as I looked all the way up, into her eyes. The world fell away. The minutes stopped mattering. And as soon as she walked over to stand in front of my desk, my balance went to hell too.

God, I’d missed her.

I stood abruptly, knocking my chair back into the now-worn dent in the bookcase.

Abbigail’s sharp inhale at my sudden movements just spurred me on more. I rounded my desk to stand directly in front of her, so close that my slacks rustled in the thick canvas of her apron. Her chest dipped with stuttering breaths as she tried to feign calm control.

I slid my index finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up until our eyes locked.