Page 22 of Grant’s Flame

“That’s not what I meant,” I said calmly, hoping like hell my demeanor would affect hers as well. “And that certainly is not the position I’m taking—that I’m better than you.”

“The hell it’s not! You know what? Mr. Big Shot COO? You can shove your healing vibes up your ass and let them shine like the noontime sun! I would’ve thought that out of all the people in my life”—she stabbed her index finger right in my face—“you’d be the last motherfucker to judge me!”

With Rio on the verge of hysterics, I stood to—shit—to what? I didn’t even know what to do. I cautiously approached as she wore a path in the carpet with her pacing.

Back and forth and then she shouted, “You saw what I went through!”

Back and forth and then another shout, “You’ve seen the pain I’ve been in!”

On the next lap, I intercepted her with open arms to hold her close and calm her down. But in perfect Rio fashion, she batted at my outstretched arms when I got near.

“No. No, forget it, Grant. I don’t need a savior. I don’t need anything—from anyone. My husband dying didn’t make you the king of my world! You’re neither my conservator nor my fucking liege!” She surveyed me from head to toe and finally, with a calming sigh, said, “I don’t understand where you get off exactly, but you can rest assured, it won’t be inside of me again.” With that conclusive dictate, she left the cabin and soundly slammed the door behind her. A clear signal not to follow her.

I dropped wearily to the bed and started rubbing my throbbing forehead.

This woman would drag me to the edge of sanity right along with her.

It wasn’t a matter of if anymore.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

How the hell had that exchange taken such a wrong turn?

I repeated the scene in my head, picking it apart for where I’d steered wrong. But my replay discovered nothing.

“Damn it,” I echoed, growling now.

I’d done nothing wrong. And I sure as hell refused to keep playing along with her I-am-invincible mask, perpetuating the ruse of her mental stability. It wasn’t a fleeting concern. I’d stopped her from torching an entire building—twice—for fuck’s sake. The second time, there had been people inside the place.

Innocent people.

No, we had to get to the bottom of all this acting out. Even if she never spoke to me again when we made landfall. Of course, that was the last thing I wanted, but we would address the charred elephant in the room, even if it was the last conversation we ever had.

Thinking she probably could use some alone time, and hopefully come to her senses that I wasn’t the enemy here, I checked my email. Even though I had posted an away message on my account, there were still a few legitimate issues that needed to be addressed. Before going to find Rio, I called Elijah to check in and see what the general climate around the Shark household was.

“Hey, man,” my friend said in greeting.

“How’s it going?” I asked, my tone void of energy.

“Well, whatever went down with you and Bas earlier left me with a real hornet’s nest around here.” He chuckled. Sort of. “So yeah, thanks for that.”

“I’m sorry. Honestly, man.”

And indeed, I was. But at the same time, I knew if anyone could handle Sebastian’s ire, it was Elijah Banks.

I paused for a few beats, hating to start the next topic. “Hey, listen though, when Bas called me, it dawned on me that you and I need to make sure we have our stories straight.”

“Stories straight? About what? He knows why you took off with her. Everyone knows you’ve got it bad for the little firebug.”

“Elijah,” I growled. “Don’t.”

“Proving my point perfectly,” he said smugly.

“Can we be serious for a minute?” I raked my hair back and continued, “I’m talking about the night of Sean Gibson’s accident.”

“Oh, right. That.”

“Yeah, that. He’s not letting this drop. I thought for sure he’d move on to more important things, like…oh, I don’t know?” I said sarcastically. “His woman about to drop his spawn?”