Shark Out of Water Read online

  Shark Out of Water

  Date Shark #2

  By DelSheree Gladden

  Shark Out of Water

  Copyright © 2014 by DelSheree Gladden. All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: October 2014

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1502561381

  ISBN-10: 1502561387

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my fabulous Beta Team, for rescuing the first seven chapters from mediocrity

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 1

  Sauve-moi

  Guy left the patient’s room dreading his next task. Was his shift not over yet? Thinking of leaving the hospital did not bring him any relief, though. He would only be moving on to another task he was almost sure would be a huge mistake. There was no way to avoid either one. Guy plodded over to the nurses’ station and greeted Kit, the young woman manning the desk.

  Kit set a few charts down and looked up at him. “Are you heading down to Oncology now? Dr. Kelly buzzed up a few minutes ago to see if you were on your way.”

  Guy sighed. Clearly, his day was not going to be an easy one. The regular grief counselor who dealt with patients receiving terminal diagnoses had been in a car accident earlier in the week and had broken her leg. The doctors from his floor were filling in when needed.

  “Oui, I am on my way. Tell him I will be there in cinq minutes.” Kit squinted one eye, looking up and away from him as she tried to remember her numbers in French. “Five,” Guy said with a teasing shake of his head. “Really, Kit, positively disgraceful.”

  “Hey,” she shouted, but she shooed him away with a laugh. As he walked toward the elevator, he could hear her mumbling, “Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six…”

  Guy did not understand how Eli and Vance could stand private practice. Sitting in the same chair all day, listening to patients complain about their spouses, in Eli’s case, or a whole host of bizarre problems in Vance’s case. Guy needed to be moving around, checking on patients, and hopping between floors on occasion. Although, today he would have rather skipped the oncology floor. Dealing with chronic illnesses was not Guy’s strongest area of medicine, or life for that matter. He had learned early on in medical school that he had difficulty handling the long term depression and gravity accompanying such illnesses. He was quickly swallowed up by them, taking too much of his patients’ emotional wounds on himself. His weakness was all he could think about as he stepped off the elevator.

  Not sure where he was expected to meet Dr. Kelly, Guy headed for the nurses’ station. Halfway there, he could not help but notice the well-dressed woman walking down the hall, staring at her shoes. She seemed completely absorbed in what she was thinking. He could appreciate that, but she was heading for an accident. Guy reached out and grabbed her arm just in time to stop her.

  The woman looked up, clearly startled, her deep blue eyes blinking quickly as she tried to assess the situation. Guy caught her attention when he spoke. “Your shoes are very pretty, but you are likely to end up on your backside if you walk around staring at them all day.”

  Glancing down at her shoes, she seemed confused for a moment. “Oh,” she said a few seconds later, “I’m sorry. Did I run into you?”

  “No, but you nearly took a tumble over a, uh…” For some reason, the English word he wanted completely abandoned him. “The rolling chair, for the patients to sit in.”

  “A wheelchair?” she questioned.

  “Oui! Merci. A wheelchair. You nearly walked right into it.”

  She blinked in surprise. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for stopping me…” She paused, seeming unsure of how to address him.

  “Guy Saint Laurent,” he said, extending his hand to her.

  “Doctor Guy Saint Laurent?” she asked, gesturing at his white coat with one hand as she shook his hand with the other.

  He lifted one of the lapels and shrugged, inwardly grinning that she had almost said his name perfectly. Instead of the American “Guy,” with a long “I” sound, as he was often called, Gee rolled off her tongue and flowed right into his last name, one fluid word as it was meant to be pronounced. Sanlaurahn. If she had just left off the final “t” sound, it would have been flawless.

  Having his named pronounced incorrectly by his American friends and coworkers had become a bit of a sore spot over the years. His family name carried a great deal of weight back home in France, but here it was garbled every day. He should have been used to it, since he had been living in Chicago since the age of eighteen, but it was not easy to overcome. He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the woman in front of him.

  “You have caught me. Oui, I am a doctor here, on the psychiatric floor.”

  “Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for stopping me from making a fool of myself.”

  “It was not a problem,” he said, smiling. “What is your name, s'il vous plait?”

  “Oh, uh, Charlotte. Sorry about that. Charlotte Brooks.”

  Guy grinned. “It was nice to meet you, Charlotte Brooks.” He enjoyed the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had no idea where she had been coming from, or where she was going, but Guy was reluctant to let her go so quickly. He guessed she worked at the hospital somewhere, possibly public relations, based on her skirt and silk blouse.

  “Do you…?”

  “Guy!” someone shouted from across the hall. “Are you coming sometime today?”

  Guy turned to find Dr. Kelly gesturing for him impatiently. Sighing, he turned back to Charlotte and quickly begged her forgiveness for the abrupt departure before rushing over to the man waving at him. Putting Charlotte out of his mind when he stepped into Dr. Kelly’s office was difficult, but only until he sat down and found himself face to face with a shocked couple clutching each other.

  Taking a deep breath, Guy mentally rolled up his sleeves and got to work. It was more than an hour later before he emerged from the office. The couple was still tearful when they both hugged him goodbye, but slightly less shell-shocked. Guy watched them go, glad he was able to help them in some way.

  “Thanks, man,” Dr. Kelly said as he clapped Guy on the back. “I know grief counseling isn’t easy
.” They both shook their heads. “So, who was the gorgeous brunette you were chatting up in the hallway instead of coming to talk to my patients?”

  “Her name was Charlotte. I think she works on another floor. You interrupted before I could find out which one,” Guy said.

  Dr. Kelly laughed. “I’m sure you’ll track her down. Or she’ll find you. They usually tend to flock in your direction.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guy said with a laugh.

  It was no secret he enjoyed flirting with the women at the hospital. He did not believe in dating coworkers, but in a place filled with sickness and death, he found comfort in lessening the heaviness. It had, of course, given him a reputation, but no one seemed to take it too seriously, which was exactly how Guy liked it. One of the first lessons he learned as a child was the difference between public and private. He was taught to only allow his true self to be seen by those closest to him. By the time Guy realized the problem with that lesson, it was too ingrained in him to change.

  “It’s just the accent, my friend,” Guy said with false levity. “Nothing more.”

  “Yeah,” Dr. Kelly said, gesturing at his friend’s athletic physique in comparison to his rounded middle. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”

  No longer able to ignore his remaining duties back on his own floor, Guy said goodbye and headed back to the elevator, hoping his shift would somehow keep him from his meeting that night.

  ***

  This is a bad idea, Guy thought as he walked up to Dolcini, the restaurant where he was meeting his friend, Eli. It was entirely his sister, Sabine’s fault, as well. It was not that Guy necessarily opposed helping Eli with his clients, but he was not entirely sure he was cut out for such work. Working on the psychiatric floor at the hospital meant he saw patients at their worst. This was different, very different.

  Guy sighed as he stepped up to the maître‘d podium. Instead of the indefatigable Pierce there to greet him, a young blonde stood in front of him with an expectant expression.

  “Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation? Or are you meeting someone?” She eyed him as if she were afraid he would attack her.

  Guy assumed she must be new, and it was quite obvious she was completely overwhelmed by the packed restaurant and impatient diners. Shoving away his own anxiety about the impending meeting, Guy attempted to ease her nerves.

  “Oui, Miss, I am meeting my friend, Eli Walsh. I believe he is here already, yes?” Guy followed up his response with a smile. His rolling French accent made her lips twitch, not pulling up to a smile, but hinting at one.

  The woman’s eyes flicked down to the computer screen built into the host stand. “Guy Saint Laurent?”

  Guy tried not to cringe. Her Western accent garbled his name. He tried not to let it bother him, but it was more difficult than usual. It had been a long day, and it was not over yet. He knew that knowledge was making him unusually testy. For a moment, when he looked at her, he saw the woman, Charlotte, he had stumbled into at the hospital. They both carried the same worn out, heavy air, and the idea of making the situation worse erased everything else.

  Squaring up his shoulders, he put aside his petty frustration. The mispronunciation would not even bother him on a normal day, but thinking of his family earlier made it impossible not to hear his father’s disapproval in his head when it happened. Guy pushed all of that aside and answered the woman politely, though somewhat subdued. “Oui. I am Guy Saint Laurent,” he said.

  Her smile fell upon hearing his name spoken, and Guy instantly felt guilty. “Um, of course. Your friend is, uh, right this way, Mr. San… San-lair-ant.”

  Close enough, Guy thought. It was not perfect, but it was closer than before and he appreciated that she tried to pronounce it correctly. His dour mood mellowed and he smiled. Guy was not sure what had brought the woman from the hospital back into his mind. Something about the expression she wore when he first stopped her stuck in his mind. She seemed worried about something and, oddly, he felt concerned because of it. As they walked through the restaurant, he could not keep her from consuming his thoughts.

  When they stopped at Eli’s table, Guy thanked the woman for guiding him, but his usual upbeat attitude was somewhat lessened by thoughts of Charlotte. The maître‘d smiled hesitantly before walking away and leaving Guy to face one of his best friends.

  Eli merely shook his head at him. “She pronounced your name wrong, didn’t she?”

  Guy shrugged, not wanting to correct his friend and bring up his parents. Eli assumed he was right and laughed at his friend’s expense.

  “You’ve got to stop being bothered by people saying your name wrong. Americans aren’t used to disregarding half the letters in a word just to make it sound pretty. If you want people to pronounce your name properly, go back to France. You’d make your mother happy if you did.”

  “Can we get on with this?” Guy said, annoyed at his friend for bringing up his mother.

  Chuckling again, Eli motioned for Guy to take his seat. “My client should be here any minute.”

  Once Guy was seated comfortably, he looked over at Eli. “Walk me through your process on one of these sessions, yes?”

  “It’s fairly simple,” Eli said. “On a date night, I watch, take mental notes, and try to investigate some of the root causes of whatever the client’s issues are without being obvious about it.”

  Guy’s face screwed up in confusion. “You just sit back and observe?”

  “Yes,” Eli said, “it allows them to be themselves, so I can more accurately judge what they need as far as future help is concerned.”

  Guy shook his head, fearing even more that he was out of his depth. Eli had started the business while at university as a way to earn extra cash while helping out a few misguided young women. The concept was simple. He was a dating coach, nothing more, and he was good at it. Women were willing to pay him anything to have him “fix” all their dating woes. That was the idea, anyway.

  It soon became an obsession, largely due to Eli’s troubled relationship with his mother. His friends understood Eli’s all-encompassing need to save desperate, unstable women, especially after everyone, including Eli, discovered his mother had been poisoning herself to make Eli believe she was ill and needed him constantly. His mother had survived, and was now a resident patient at a psychiatric hospital in the area, but it had tortured Eli for years that he had not been able to save her from herself.

  Everything changed when he met Leila. She not only helped him begin to reconcile with his mother, she took away his obsession with the business. Eli had chosen his passion over what had consumed him for years. He adored Leila, and all of his friends were happy for him, but Guy was leery of stepping in and continuing Eli’s business. He was used to a hospital setting, not something so intimate.

  Eli giving up his date shark business for his fiancée was completely understandable. Why not just call his clients and tell them he was closing up shop? He did not need the money. Guy sighed, knowing Eli’s sense of chivalry would not allow him to bail on the women he had already agreed to help, yet with the wedding approaching, he couldn’t follow through himself. Somehow, Guy became the alternative.

  Again, the thought crossed his mind that this was all Sabine’s fault. Eli had been set up with a colleague named Lewis to take over the remaining date shark clients already on the schedule, until Lewis met Sabine. Guy knew his sister was beautiful. She was a European fashion model, after all. Could she not tone it down on occasion? Like when it might end up pushing her brother into being Chicago’s newest, not-so-willing date shark? Guy did not like the idea of what he was getting himself into, but Eli was his friend, and he would rather suffer through these strange dates than see him under undue stress and possibly damage his relationship with Leila. There were very few people Guy was willing to make such a sacrifice for, but Eli was one of them.

  “This client’s issue is what?” Guy asked.

  Hedging, Eli said, �
�Why don’t you just wait and see?”

  Great, Guy thought. That bad? He settled back in his chair and sighed. Drinks had been ordered, and appetizers were being contemplated by the time a commotion at the front desk brought the already frazzled maître‘d, tripping in her six inch heels, to cut off a woman carrying the largest purse Guy had ever seen.

  “Mr. Walsh, Mr., uh, Guy,” the maître‘d said, apparently not wanting to make a second attempt at his last name. “Your third guest has arrived. I tried to tell her…”

  Standing slowly, Eli tried not to let his embarrassment show, but Guy knew him too well to be deceived. He faced the weary maître‘d and said, “It’s okay, Lauren. I’ll handle it from here.”

  “But, but she…”

  “I already spoke to Conrad about it.”

  Lauren’s shoulders dropped and her hands flapped against her body, defeated. She simply turned and walked away after that. Guy was tempted to do the same. What did the purse hold? Should he be concerned?

  “Deliah,” Eli said politely, “thank you for coming, though I believe we already had a discussion about the insects.”

  Insects? Guy thought, his stomach turning involuntarily. He could not be serious, could he? Surely she did not…. Oh, but she did. Guy watched with a strange mixture of horror and fascination as Deliah carefully began pulling variously sized boxes out of her bag and setting them on the table. The tarantula was not so bad, but the hundreds of meal worms wriggling against each other and the giant black and red centipede thing had both Guy and Eli squirming and scooting away from the table.

  “I know what you said, Mr. Walsh, but how could I leave them at home? Mortimer escaped and tried to eat everything the last time I left them alone,” Deliah said, as if that excuse made it acceptable to bring a possible infestation to a restaurant.

  “Mortimer?” Guy asked, barely managing to get out the words without gagging.