The Lesbian Shark

ONE (ISELEN POV)

"Tokyo Stock Exchange is about to open," I sigh reading the text on my phone screen. "Screw that! Screw them all!"

I take a deep breath and count to five slowly like my therapist recommended me the last time I passed out due to stress and anxiety. It doesn't work, mostly because my phone is vibrating nonstop with new texts. I clench my jaw, ignoring it, keeping my brown eyes fixed on the red light in front of me while tapping with my fingers on the wheel of the brand new silver coloured Porsche 911 before running them through my short dark hair, brushing the bangs away from my forehead. I don't know why I rented this fancy car, I don't even like driving, I'd rather sit on the backseat and work while my driver fights the heavy traffic.

I guess I picked out a powerful vehicle because I wanted to escape from them as fast as possible: from my useless assistants who seem unable to live without me, from my responsibilities, from the members of the Management Board, from my family that's begging for money nonstop to live without never doing an ounce of work, I want to escape from my ex-wife who's broken up with her last lover and wants to get back with me because she still loves me... She loves my bank account even more, damned cheating bitch.

"They're driving me crazy, all of them..." I grunt through my clenched teeth, closing my eyes and leaning my forehead on my fingers that are still on the wheel. Suddenly, the car door opens and someone jumps into the passenger's seat, taking me completely off guard. I look up, startled.

"Get me out of here!"

"Sorry, what?" I ask totally floored but the unknown woman doesn't answer, she's too busy struggling with a puffy skirt made with metres and metres of white tulle and lace that is blocking the door.

"Step on the fucking gas!"

I obey without thinking twice, not only because she's yelling at me but because the light turned to green and the driver behind me is honking the horn like a madman. The woman tugs at the skirt that's stuck in the closed door and I hear the sound of fabric being torn, a curse escapes from her lips, while I keep paying attention to LA traffic to avoid crashing. For the first time in this last minute, I realize that the unknown woman is wearing a fancy wedding dress, and incongruous combat boots, and her bare arms are covered with colourful tattoos.

The woman rolls down the window and throws her flower bouquet to the road before showing her middle finger to whoever is behind us. I blink in shock and my brain seems to process what's happening finally, coming out of my astonishment, but before I can open my mouth to ask her who the hell she is and what the hell she's doing getting into my car, she turns around to look at me.

"You should step on the gas with more enthusiasm if you want to lose them."

"Lose, who?" I ask confused.

"The paparazzi."

"What paparazzi?" I take a quick look at the rearview mirror that confirms me that there're two cars following us and the passenger in one of them is carrying a professional camera.

"The ones that are chasing me," the woman answers looking for the seat belt between the layers of tulle to be able to fasten it.

"Why are they chasing you?" I don't understand what's going on, who this woman is, why she's wearing that dress, why I'm trying to escape from a bunch of paparazzi... Why my useless assistants are still texting me and my fucking phone can't stop vibrating!

"Because I left my fiancée at the altar."

"That explains why you're wearing a dress that makes you look like a meringue pie but not why the crazy guys with the cameras are chasing you." The pretty lady stares at me quietly for a few seconds while I zigzag between cars, merging on the highway that allows me to drive faster, paparazzi's vehicles can't compete with my Porsche so I step on the gas praying for the patrol to be far away from here. I can't deal with a speeding ticket right now, it's the last thing I need, the day has been horrible enough. "Who the hell are you?"