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“What do you want then?” It’s impossible not to creep into the space between us. “Because I’m here. I’m right fucking here. In your world. In your waters. Uncomfortable. And anxious. And crawling in my own fucking skin to prove to you I’ll do whatever it takes to have you back in my life.”
Bryn’s mouth slightly opens yet nothing comes out.
“You want my ass here doing this tour every day? Then this is where I’ll be.” Another step in her direction is taken. “You want me to pick you up from work? Drop you off? Meet you for lunch? Go for beers or wings with you and your coworkers?” Two more occur. “Then I will.” The instant I’m directly in front of her both hands land gently on her khaki pants covered hips. “I’ve let you have me in private. Now, I’m asking you to have me in public.” My grip slightly tightens. “However you see fit.”
All of a sudden, the door opens and in stumbles a confused, wavy-haired brunette. “Is this Through the Looking Tank?”
“It is,” Bryn professionally answers at the same time she sways herself out of my hold. “Can I help you with something?”
“My name’s Ava Danielson, and I work with one of the local papers.” She brushes a strand of hair away from her peachy complexion. “I’m supposed to be doing a piece about um,” her attention drops to her phone, “Sammy, the new catshark?”
“Steven,” the love of my life does her best not to snip, “and he’s a young hammerhead.”
“Is that like a big difference?”
“Huge,” she unhappily hisses.
“I was uh…told that…this was the um…best spot to…see…him…” Her head suddenly falls to one side on a less than casual point of the finger. “Aren’t you Weston Wilcox, the billionaire?”
Dread doesn’t hesitate to drip down my spine. “I am.”
“Ohmygod…” Ava mutters in disbelief. “Ohmygod…ohmyg…” Her lithe, flowery dressed figure propels itself towards me. “Is there like…any chance I could interview you instead?! The shark thing is a total puff piece but interviewing you?!” She shakes her balled fists in excitement. “That could change my whole career!”
It’s impossible to ignore the blatant disappointment on Bryn’s face, so I don’t.
“I will allow you to interview me in a small exclusive as long as you still write the piece about Steven, the hammerhead, and The Institute in which you also mention that Wilcox Enterprises will be hosting a fundraiser specifically for the sharks of this establishment in which I will also be in attendance.”
“You are?!” the woman I can’t live without quietly croaks.
“I will now.”
She bites her bottom lip a second time in an attempt to hide her smile. “Sneaky, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Stealthy, Miss Winters.” I slide my hands into my black pants pockets. “Like the apex predator I am.” Something similar to a whimper is poorly suppressed prompting me to tip my chin towards the reporter. “Do we have an arrangement, Miss Danielson?”
“Ohmygod, yes!” Her squawking needlessly continues. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Hurst’s presence slides back into the doorway yet is slyly dismissed by a small headshake.
She’s loud; however, I’m not in danger.
I don’t think.
“You may ask me three questions.” Bryn creeps closer to me on her own accord. “I suggest you choose them wisely. I’m not sure the next time I’ll be doing an interview.”
“Okay, cool, so, totally, no pressure. None whatsoever,” she murmurs to herself while fiddling around on her phone. “Uh okay.” Once she has a recording ability setup, she nervously begins, “So. Yeah. Um. Okay. You’re Weston Wilcox. The public, including almost your entire own company Wilcox Enterprises, hasn’t seen you in like ten years.”
“That’s a statement, Miss Danielson. Not a question.”
Bryn casually clears her throat as a nonverbal cue to tone it down.
Right.
I guess I forgot just how difficult these things can be.
Like dating and groveling, I’m vastly out of practice.
“Is this outing – here at The Bower and Powell Aquatic Institute – the start of you making more public appearances – like the aforementioned shark fundraiser – or will you be keeping them limited to this one and that one?”
