Page 40 of Grant’s Heat

“What do you think may have happened?” Grant asked me at last.

I felt my cheeks coloring. “Nothing specifically.” And wasn’t this doing wonders for Sebastian’s perception about my comprehension of the whole thing? But Grant’s encouragement had bolstered me. I was determined to be heard, even if I looked like an idiot while doing so. “I just didn’t hear any of that specific information included in this investigation’s report. Why would the tie-downs, or cables, or chains, or whatever, on that machine just snap? That seems pretty unsafe, right? If inspections are done routinely and repairs are made when necessary, I would think accidents would rarely happen. Not accidents like this. Not complete fluke things.” I looked around from one man to the next, trying to get a sense if I was on the right train of thought. “Not flukes that have the power to kill a man.”

Grant stiffened with quiet steadiness, his demeanor reminding me of a modern John Wayne. “And you don’t think that’s what this was?” he pressed with matching somberness.

“I’m not saying that, either. I just want to be sure every angle is looked at. My husband is gone, Grant. Dead.”

Finally, I raised my head high enough to look him in the eyes, an action I’d been avoiding as much as possible lately. I couldn’t stand the pity I’d been seeing in his intense gaze ever since the night he found me at the Edge’s construction site.

Since he’d caught me indulging my…hobby.

Just the memory of it made my heart ache harder. The pain was nearly intolerable and demanded immediate attention. Was it possible to split in half from misery and emptiness?

With a tight, soft choke, I crossed my hands over the center of my chest, praying no one could see the gaping hole where my heart used to be. But I forged ahead, despite my shaking voice giving me up for the fraud I was. “If I have to live the rest of my life with this emptiness and heartache, I refuse to let it be in vain.”

Then, I swung my stare across the table—back toward the individual in the room who’d been all too silent during my exchange with his second-in-command.

Refocusing my attention on Sebastian was an energizer for my rage. I pointed my index finger at him. “Are you really telling me it hasn’t crossed your mind that someone may have done this deliberately? That my husband didn’t pay the ultimate price in your stead? Because another one of your enemies came collecting for some shit stunt you pulled?”

Sebastian crossed his arms. “And are you actually listening to yourself right now?”

Throughout my new clash with Sebastian, the police investigators had been very quiet. They’d just listened to me ramble, looking increasingly unnerved. Perhaps they already knew that my point deserved a follow-through. Whether it was Shark Enterprises’ faulty equipment or some maniac trying to cause another headache in the press, the preventability of this tragedy was viable. So potentially, this could be a new lawsuit in the making. An ugly legal snag from the family of a deceased employee who also happened to be an extended family member. The mess would tie up progress on Sebastian’s precious Edge for months, maybe years.

Holy hell, how I would love to watch that. How satisfying it would be to gloat as the bastard struggled through his courtroom drama. It wouldn’t be complete retribution, but it would help. Maybe it would ease a little of the hurt, agitation, and grief that were my new besties.

But I had to consider Abbigail.

And Grant.

I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—see my sister-in-law suffer alongside him. And damn it, the jackass’s best friend had been the one person by my side through every minute of every hour of every day since that girder stole my husband’s final breath.

Grant.

And that was just one of the problems with this twice-baked relationship I had going with the billionaire asshole.

One of so many.

Chapter Eight

Grant

Being on the sun-drenched, bohemian-meets-trendy-chic streets of Seal Beach in April was like stepping into a tourism board advertisement. Within one weekend, there was an antique car show, a professional sand volleyball tournament, and a street fair for local artists to show and sell their work.

Then there was the celebration to end all celebrations. Baby Shark’s “welcome to the world” shower. Even though I wasn’t convinced she was up to the task, Rio insisted on going through with the hostess duties of holding the soiree at the home she’d once shared with Abbigail’s brother.

The guest of honor was on scene earlier than expected, using the excuses of unpredictable traffic and wanting to lend a hand with last-minute party preparations. I watched Rio’s spine stiffen as soon as the woman entered. One look at her face told me what she was thinking. Abbi’s arrival was an unspoken suggestion that she didn’t have things under control herself.

My protectiveness over Rio was getting more intense by the day. I rarely made it through one cycle of sunrise to sunset without wanting to cause bodily harm in her honor. All right, I’d make an exception for Abbigail today, but only because the woman looked hot and tired in her very pregnant state—and because Rio was now dragging me across the living room, explaining the how-tos of helping her construct a diaper cake.

“A diaper…what?” I blurted, once my brain actually linked the two words.

“No, no. C’mon, think outside the box.” Rio gestured as she spoke, explaining the final goal regarding the diaper stack in the nearby laundry basket. “It’s supposed to look like a wedding cake when it’s done. You know, with several tiers?”

“Okaaay.” I glanced back down at the basket, which was filled with the smallest diapers I’d ever seen. “So how many tiers do you think all of these will make? So I know how big to make the base.”

“Huh?”

“I’m serious. I have to calculate all this all out if you want it to look right.”