Page 2 of Elijah’s Whim

With efficiency, I strode to Bas’s desk and snatched the pen and paper he held out for me. I scrolled a quick message on the paper and held it up for my tall friend to see. He nodded once while reading and then met my gaze. Together, we redirected our attention to Sebastian to find he was already on the move from behind his desk. He motioned for us to follow him out into the hall, and like the good little pups we were, we did just that.

There were so many times I felt frustrated with the follower role I was forced into when hanging out with Bas instead of assuming the leader role I was more suited to fill. On the rare occasions we topped a woman together, the power struggle between Bas and me was more exciting than the usual ho-hum between the woman and me. For that exact reason, I preferred sharing with Grant much more. Those confusing feelings never entered the dynamic, and I’d really rather keep it that way.

Once we were out in the hall, we all felt better about talking freely. After the last incident at Abstract Catering’s prep kitchen, it seemed impossible to be too careful.

We followed Bas into the elevator, and he waved his building identification in front of the control panel. After punching in a series of numbers, the elevator ascended.

“We’re going up?” Grant asked. “I thought we were on the top floor?”

“The roof,” Bas said. His version of an explanation. “No one else has the code besides maintenance.” Then, as an afterthought, he tacked on, “And first responders, of course.”

“Of course,” Grant and I mocked in harmony, using the same nonchalant tone Bas had used.

Surprisingly, there was a weathered aluminum patio set situated on the tar-papered roof about half the distance between the elevator shaft and the far ledge. There was even an old sun-bleached umbrella speared through a hole in the middle of the square table. Somehow the thing still provided a decent amount of shade, despite its dilapidated condition. Four chairs were neatly arranged around the table, and the whole scene looked as though a secret meeting of LA’s Illuminati took place here on the first Tuesday of every month.

“At the risk of sounding cliché”—I paused midstride and waited for my two friends to stop and turn back toward me before delivering the punch line—“do you come here often?” I asked, unable to hold back the crooked grin that swept across my features.

“Very funny,” answered Bas. “For the record, I come up here on the days I need to clear my head or just need to be alone.”

Grant and I seemed to clue in on a shift in our best friend’s body language or magnetic resonance, or—or hell only knows what it was that made us both pause and look at the man at the exact same time and then sneak a quick glance to one another. But Bas was drowning emotionally and had no idea how to save himself. It was safe to say these were waters Sebastian Shark was not comfortable swimming in.

“Again, not to sound cliché, my brother, but you look like a fish out of water right now,” I said. I thought we were coming up here to talk about new intel on the pirate situation, but Bas looked as green as a seasick tourist.

Grant threw his head back while belting out his infectious laughter, but Sebastian stood as stoically as before.

Grant looked from me to Bas and then threw his hands up in frustration. “Come on! You know that was funny. He said it intentionally to be funny. Why are you so uptight, dude?”

Humans were simple and entertaining creatures. I’d taken a deep interest in people watching at a very young age, and noticing the nuances of human behavior helped me to be an excellent con man when we were street urchins, and then it helped me be an outstanding businessman now that we were adults. The skill was invaluable with women, and it even helped with navigating through relationships with friends.

Like right now.

While Bas and Grant were preoccupied with their miniature spat, I casually motioned us toward the table and chairs. We each pulled out and brushed off a chair to sit on.

“Okay, Shark,” I said to lead off our relocated meeting, “tell us what’s going on. You know we always have your back.”

Grant nodded and added, “But you have to loop us in.”

“What makes the two of you so sure there is something going on with me?”

“I think I’d classify it as an atmospheric disturbance. How about you, Banks?” Grant asked, looking my way.

“That’s not bad,” I said while nodding. “Yeah, not bad at all.”

“So out with it. Tell us what’s going on,” Grant issued while considering resting his arms in front of him on the table but immediately rethinking it when he saw how dirty the furniture was.

Bas heaved out a sigh and shifted his big frame in the rickety chair. The thing gave a protesting groan under his weight, and we all held our breaths, thinking his ass was about to hit the deck if a leg gave out. Finally, though, he said, “I think I’m fucking up my son. Already.”

“Sebastian. Come on, man. Why would you say that?” Grant asked. He beat me to the question only by a fraction of a second.

Our normally take-charge friend looked like he was about to crumble though, so I knew admitting that fear took a lot out of him. The time for ribbing and horsing around had passed, because he needed his brother-close best friends more than anything in the moment.

“Bas. What is this about? Did something happen? Did Abbi say something to you that made you feel this way?” Then a thought hit me, and I sucked in a breath, ready to launch into a tirade once he confirmed my guess. “Or was it Dori? She seems a little too comfortable around you all for hired help, if you ask me.”

Sebastian put up his hand to stop me from wandering down the path of distrust any further. At least out loud. I still couldn’t help the weird twitch of suspicion I got every time that woman was in the room. If I ever found a free second in my day, digging into her background was on the top of my to-do list.

“No, no. Settle down, both of you. Damn, the pair of you are like pit bulls. What’s with the protective shit?” Bas scowled as he looked from Grant to me and then back again.

“We care about you.” Grant reached out to comfort Sebastian but quickly pulled back his hand. “I know, I know.” He put his flat palm up in surrender.