Never Deal with Dragons (2 page)

I moved to escort Trian personally out of my life forever, but I didn’t get the chance. He calmly straightened the cuffs of his suit before letting himself out of my office, tossing a casual “I’ll be in the waiting room” over his shoulder before slamming the door in my face.

Furious, I grasped the knob and started to follow, but Isiwyth chose that moment for another dry heave, and although not much came out, it did remind Mr. Sompston that his Annabelle was in pieces on my office floor. Emory shouted something unintelligible—which was probably for the best—and Mr. Sompston wailed in despair.

I glared at the door’s wood paneling, silently warning Trian that I’d deal with him later, and turned back to the farmer. This fiasco needed to be wrapped up quickly. I had only fifteen minutes before my ten o’clock appointment, and I needed five of those to boot a very irritating someone out of my waiting room. I laid a comforting hand on the back of the distraught farmer, and waited until he’d exhausted the worst of his tears.

“Mr. Sompston, I know there’s nothing we can do to get back what you’ve lost, but we can honor Annabelle’s memory. Just south of this office, we’re building a new barn to house some of our livestock. Would it be okay if I asked them to name it after Annabelle? I’m sure that if she were here it would make her happy knowing other animals were being cared for in a building bearing her name.”

The farmer looked up, eyes red-rimmed but hopeful. He swallowed audibly before he spoke. “R-r-really? You could do that?” He wiped awkwardly at his runny nose with a sleeve. I crossed the room to grab a box of tissues from my storage closet.

Through the small reception window between my office and the waiting room, I could see Trian sprawled in a chair, taking advantage of the full view of the entertainment we were providing. I snarled and yanked the tissues from my cabinet. When I looked back, Trian simply watched me, his gaze dark and probing, as if I were an intriguing puzzle to be arranged neatly, admired, and shoved back into its box. I resisted the urge to look elsewhere, instead meeting his eyes straight on. If he’d expected a heartbroken puppy, he would be sadly mistaken. His lips quirked into a faint smile. He touched a hand lightly to his head in a salute that was both mocking and old-fashioned.

Before, my heart would have fluttered at the acknowledgment. Today, it burned with rage.
How dare he come here after what he’d done?

Emory cleared his throat behind me in an obvious order to finish what I’d started. I reluctantly turned back to the group. Taking a deep breath—empathy and understanding were key—I handed Mr. Sompston the tissue and answered his question.

“Of course we can do that. Annabelle was important to you. And as such, I feel strongly that she’ll serve as a symbol of hope for all who see her face.” I had to force myself not to roll my eyes at the speech. It wasn’t one of my better moments. I mean, seriously, how could a dead cow serve as a symbol of hope for anything? Especially as DRACIM’s livestock were used exclusively to feed hungry dragons. Hope was in short supply on our farmland.

For the pigs and for me.

Emory piped up, probably feeling left out as his earlier speech had been interrupted by a gagging Isiwyth. “And we’d love your input on a plaque we’ll install at the entrance.”

Idiot.
We already had the farmer appeased;
now we’d have to commission a plaque.
But Mr. Sompston was already nodding eagerly at Emory’s words, so I swallowed my complaint and turned to the purple dragon, translating the gist of the discussion thus far.

“Mrs. Armatoth, can I assume we’ll be receiving a donation from your clan? One large enough to cover the expense of the barn and a small anteroom for Annabelle’s memorial?”

I held my breath. The facts of the case were in Mr. Sompston’s favor according to the laws imposed by Lord Relobu, Isiwyth’s dragon lord and uncle. When she took the farmer’s cattle without permission, Mr. Sompston was within his rights to attack her. Lord Relobu’s laws might not be gentle, but they were effective.

But just because he
could
attack her didn’t mean she would be happy about it. And unhappy dragons made bigger messes that those with simple morning sickness. I did not want a human injury this early in the morning. The paperwork would kill me.

I sighed in relief when Isiwyth waved her hand in a vague acceptance. Her arm had healed nicely; the claw of her pinky finger was the only thing missing from her regrown hand. “Of course, dear. It’s the least I can do.” The large dragon angled her body to the left and addressed the farmer directly. I stood at Isiwyth’s shoulder, ready to translate her words. “Mr. Sompston, please accept my deepest apologies. I had no idea she was a friend of yours. To tell you the truth, I am not fond of cattle, their bones are large enough to cause distress if swallowed...”

“Um...thank you, Mrs. Armatoth.” I jumped in before she could go into detail about her culinary tastes. There was only so much paraphrasing I could do in the translation. “DRACIM appreciates your cooperation in this matter. Would you be so kind as to wait here while I draw up some paperwork? It won’t be but a moment.”

I made a mental note to call in a cleanup crew and turned to the farmer. “Mr. Sompston, would you mind walking with me to my supervisor’s office? I’d like to take down your information, as we will need to speak with you about the arrangements at a later date.”

I gestured toward the door, praying I could get him out of the room before the deal fell apart. The paperwork for Mrs. Armatoth would be very basic; we had templates for pretty much everything. But it was important that Mr. Sompston felt involved, so I’d write up a quick addendum to the fundamental contract about the memorial. And the stupid plaque.

Mr. Sompston nodded and held out a hand. “Thank you for your support and understanding. This is—will be—a very trying time for me. I appreciate your kindness, Miss...?”

“Banks. Myrna Banks.” I assembled my features into what I hoped was a professional expression and shook his grimy hand. Fishing a card from my ruined blazer, I handed him my contact information and hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake. In my opinion, anyone who was that attached to a cow was potential stalker material. Still, DRACIM preached the need for a positive global image at all costs, and today the price of acceptance was a business card and a sympathetic ear.

“If you have anything special you’d like in the wording of the dedication, you can send me a message directly.” Because Lord knew Emory would never think to follow through on his promise.

The farmer startled me by wrapping me up in a huge hug. While he squeezed the life out of me, I saw Melissa, our newest intern, poke her head in the door and give me a thumbs-up. Isiwyth’s mate must have arrived.

Once the farmer set me back on my feet, I gave him a polite nod and gestured toward the door. Once Mr. Sompston had shuffled out into the hall, I introduced him to Melissa.

“Mr. Sompston? Would it be okay if Melissa showed you the way to Emory’s office? I need to stop by the supply room for some pen and paper. Then we can get started on the contract.”

The farmer nodded and trailed after Melissa, who mouthed “great job” over her shoulder as she sashayed down the hall in her pristine white blouse. I hoped Mr. Sompston didn’t decide to hug her too.

Then again, it would serve her right for being clean at a time like this.

As they turned the corner, instead of heading straight for the supply room, I adjusted my jacket and ducked into the waiting room, filling my lungs in preparation for Trian’s imminent departure-by-security-guard.

But I’d left my understandably heavy door—dragons were rather large, and the doors we had to accommodate their size were better described as swinging walls—ajar, and the scene in my office caused me to pull up short.

Emory, the guy who made it a regular practice to loudly proclaim his hate for all dragons, stood beside Isiwyth, cooing at her ultrasound photos. I shot a warning look at Trian, who’d jumped up from his seat in response to my surprise, before veering toward my boss and his new best friend.

“Myrna, why didn’t you tell me we had Lord Relobu’s niece right here in the halls of DRACIM? What an honor!” His tone was nothing but delight, but his eyes shot daggers in my direction.

I gritted my teeth in frustration. Emory’s dragonspeak was terrible, so he must have peeked at my notes for that little tidbit of information. What his eyes really meant was “what do you think you’re doing by not informing me of a prime chance to schmooze with dragon royalty?” Lord Relobu was the most powerful dragon on the North American continent, and Emory never passed up a chance to rub elbows with important people.

Trian made his presence known by snorting at Emory’s words. My boss shot an annoyed glance in his direction. I ignored them both. I refused to have my schedule disrupted this early in the morning, which meant I had less than ten minutes to get my office hosed down by the cleaning crew before the next appointment.

I re-pasted my professional smile.

“Mrs. Armatoth? In your condition, I’m guessing you’re probably starving to death. How would you feel about taking a walk with me outdoors? Your mate has arrived, and we have some refreshments prepared for you. We’d be delighted if you’d accept.”

The violet dragon giggled self-consciously. “I suppose I am ready for a little snack. Morning sickness is odd like that. One minute I’m losing my lunch, and the next I feel like I could eat just about anything.” The promise of food restoring her spirits, Isiwyth patted her eyes dry with a towel Emory must have raided from my desk, tossed it to the floor, and heaved herself up from her perch, the thick claws on her feet tapping daintily as she moved into the hallway.

Isiwyth waddled happily toward the corrals, chattering about her dragonlings with a too-delighted—and likely confused—Emory. Deciding I would deal with Trian by snagging a member of security on the way, I followed a few steps behind the purple dragon, trying for a glimpse at her injured claw, but she’d shoved it in her hip satchel to pull out another set of ultrasound photos for her captive audience. I couldn’t get a good look.

“It’s completely regenerated. Claws and all. And don’t worry. She’d need to lose a lot more blood than that to endanger her dragonlings.” Trian appeared beside me, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, as if he hadn’t even noticed my burning desire to kill him. Trian had always known a lot about dragons. He’d said he’d spent a lot of his childhood around a group of them that hadn’t minded his endless questions.

When we’d dated, I’d been so jealous of his casual knowledge of dragons. I’d grown up around one, but I’d never been encouraged to engage him in conversation. So I’d spent hours peppering Trian with questions about my obsession to make up for lost time.

I’d never understood why he’d decided to work outside the walls of DRACIM. Most dragonspeakers found the pay much better than any jobs they could get outside of the company. To my surprise, Trian didn’t have that trouble; as a freelancer, he’d always managed to have a prime dragon-related contract lined up as soon as the last one was finished, even without the DRACIM stamp of approval on his dragonspeaking skills.

I’d spend a good portion of our dating days trying to convince Trian to apply for a position in Reparations so we could spend even more time together.

But now, today, I couldn’t get him out of the building fast enough. It was too much to hope that he might disappear on his own.

I glanced again to Emory, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d either have to admit to Isiwyth that he couldn’t follow her dragonspeak or force me to unobtrusively lead him in the conversation. But he seemed confident in his ability to fake, because he hadn’t even looked my way.

It was probably for the best. Emory’s wife, Amy, was a perpetual gossip. And one of her “very good friends”‘ worked in a nearby department. When Trian had stolen DRACIM’s property, I’d had to personally bring the results of the oversight board’s results to my boss and explain how I could possibly be that absentminded. Not surprisingly, within the week, the entire office was buzzing with the sheer stupidity of my mistake. It had been humiliating, to say the least.

I’d been a hair’s breadth from being fired. And had DRACIM actually known the papers were in the hands of an outsider, I would have been kicked to the curb long ago.

Instead, I’d been doomed to eternal servitude. Which didn’t give me warm squishy feelings for my current companion. I stepped close and lowered my voice. “I’m not even sure how you managed to get in here without an appointment, but I will say this one time, and then I will contact security. Get the hell out of my building.”

His smile was quick, and a little uncertain. “Myrna. It’s been a while. I’d hoped we could catch up.” His eyes met mine, his golden irises practically glowing. Before I could jerk away, Trian captured my hand, his grip warm but firm. His hand was large and long-fingered; the calloused tips of his fingers brushed against my inner wrist as we shook. I yanked free of the touch.

Without breaking eye contact, I stopped one of Emory’s interns with a hand on his upper arm. “Russell? Would you mind fetching security for me?”

Russell coughed uncertainly. “Um, sure. I’ll be right back.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Trian murmured. He blinked and fixed his eyes on the intern.

Whatever Russell saw, it worried him. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his gaze bouncing between us.

I practically growled in frustration. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you tossed out of here.” I didn’t really care for his reasons, but I also didn’t want to make a huge scene if I could help it. Russell may have been new, but he had enough contacts to start the rumor mill turning, should our confrontation escalate.

A throat cleared beside me. I whipped my head around to discover the identity of our audience. A sandy-haired man, dressed with the same casual elegance—and cleanliness—as Trian stepped forward and held out a hand.

“Umm, pardon me. Perhaps I could introduce myself. My name is Richard Green. I see you and Mr. Chobardan have already...ah...met.”