Page 4 of Shark’s Rise

I’d been dismissed.

And was furious about it.

While my follow-up action wouldn’t be considered my most mature moment, I’d had all I could take of his smug attitude. I decided to hit the bastard where it hurt. Without giving my moves a ton of thought, I detoured right to the lounge chair he had been occupying and scooped up his book, shirt, and shoes. Yes, the shoes he’d likely spent a few thousand dollars on. I didn’t know everything about Elijah, but the man’s high-end shoe habit was damn near legend. I’d heard Bas and Grant tease him about it on more than one occasion.

I swung around and threw the whole bundle into the pool with so much force, they splashed like cannonballs.

“Abbigail!”

I kept on walking as though he hadn’t bellowed my name like calling a hit on me from the hounds of hell. If that was the case, let the dogs come. I was over his bullshit, and if Sebastian didn’t come here or call soon, I was packing my lone suitcase and leaving.

Safety be damned.

Though my belly seemed determined to have the last laugh tonight.

Talking to Rio didn’t do much for my stress level or my nauseated stomach, especially after the altercation with Elijah. I took a long bath in the opulent bathroom attached to my bedroom, and that worked better than anything else had. I found some lavender bath salts in a jar on the countertop, and I refilled the tub with more hot water twice, not wanting to get out and face reality.

I’d kept my bedroom door locked, and a handwritten note had been slipped underneath the portal while I was in the tub.

You owe me a meal.

Well, shit.

He was right.

And I wouldn’t go back on my word, supplying him with that ammunition too. Besides, my stomach was finally settled for the first time since I’d arrived. I was just happy the lavender aromatherapy had worked its magic in more ways than just calming my nerves.

I pulled on a pair of burgundy pajamas and headed out to the kitchen. The house was quieter than usual, if that was possible. I would typically encounter a staff member in a hallway or in the kitchen, at the very least.

I found a note from Elijah on the enormous commercial-grade refrigerator.

There are two different options for you. One is in the warming drawer of the oven, and one is in the refrigerator. I wasn’t sure what you would be hungry for and knew your stomach has been bothering you. Whatever you choose, eat everything on your plate.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. Even his notes were bossy. I rolled my eyes and went for the refrigerator option first, realizing I was smiling. Elijah was an asshole, but he had taken the time to make sure I had some menu choices. I would give him props on this one; he was really trying to take care of me.

For Sebastian.

I knew their relationship went back a long way, nearly as along as Bas had known Grant. But there was something more intrinsic about the dynamics my man shared with Elijah Banks. Something more complicated. Something…heavier.

Whatever the reasoning was, I was starting to recognize the truth. Elijah didn’t want to piss off or disappoint Sebastian. Whatever the motivation was, he had definitely gone the extra step with the meal offerings.

In the refrigerator, I found a fruit and yogurt parfait. Beside the cut glass bowl of mixed fruit was a smaller matching bowl filled with granola to mix in when I was ready to eat. That way the topping stayed crunchy. So thoughtful, Mr. Banks…

Curiosity had me checking the warming drawer, though the parfait sounded perfect. In the oven, I found a small, one-serving casserole dish filled with baked ziti. The cheesy pasta was perfectly golden brown and crusty on the top. A piece of French bread, drizzled with butter and garlic perfection, sat on the tray beside it.

There was an oven mitt waiting to be used on the countertop beside the appliance, so I pulled the tray from the oven and rested it on the stovetop. After studying the knobs for a moment, I figured out how to turn off the warming drawer. That led me to the dilemma of glancing back and forth between my two options. If I had to finish the whole thing, I stood a better chance with the yogurt. All the carbs in the pasta would have me sleeping halfway through the meal. While it looked delicious, someone else was going to have to enjoy that Italian feast.

About two-thirds of the way through the yogurt and fruit, I had to tap out. I was so full, I felt like I was going to explode. Because I hadn’t had a proper meal in so many days, I just couldn’t handle more in one sitting. Of course, my keeper chose that exact moment to saunter into the kitchen. Elijah was fresh from a workout, judging by his clothing and sweaty condition.

“Thank you for this.” I motioned to the food in front of me and then over to the counter where the pasta sat. “Are you hungry? I can heat that up for you.” I made the offer in heartfelt kindness, seeking to repay his gesture.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I can do it. Don’t want to interrupt your meal. After all, I see you haven’t finished yet.” He raised a brow, looking at what was still left in my bowl. “I’ll warm this up while you keep working.”

“Elijah.” I dropped my spoon, making a loud clatter. “I can’t eat another bite.”

“Abbigail.” He extended the last syllable like a reproaching teacher. “We had a deal.”

“And I’m not reneging. I’m just so full. I’m finally feeling better than I have in days, and I don’t want to get sick from forcing more down.” At his hard stare, I just resorted to begging. “Please.”