Smitten (2 page)

“My lead software developer and I have created an absolutely fantastic new application intended for the android mobile phone. I’d like to license it exclusively to your company, of course.”

“Of course,” Max said dryly. “And what does this fantastic new application do for the user?” He twisted to his computer again and scanned the endless flood of Twitter messages on the screen.

“Organization,” Loki said. He went on to describe, in great detail, a program allowing a mobile phone user to safely store everything from grocery lists to bank account numbers and passwords at the push of a button.

“And it takes dictation.” Maximilian rubbed his chin. “That’s impressive. I’ll have Hilary deliver a prototype of the XTC Jewel tomorrow. Load it with the app and have the device returned to me. I’ll place it up for consideration.”

“Consideration?” Loki repeated. “My creations require consideration?”

“What sort of businessman do you take me to be, Loki? Did you honestly believe I would trust you again after the fiasco with the GPS mapping application ten years ago?”

“That was no fault of mine. How was I to know the code had been stolen? This is one hundred percent legitimate, a creation of my own design.”

“And I will scrutinize it closely before making my decision.”

Dead silence hung on the line between them, an awkward lull Maximilian irritably endured.

“I see. Is this what your own flesh and blood must endure, cousin?”

Max raked his fingers through his hair. “This has nothing to do with blood, and everything to do with proper business protocol.”

“Yet you bring up my past mistakes, rubbing my nose in them as you would a dog who has piddled on the new carpet. A human being killed your only cub, and you have not only forgiven this human, but befriended the very family protecting her, while refusing to forgive transgressions — much more minor — from your own family. Is blood not thicker than water, as the humans say? I do not understand you, Maximilian.” The grave, grating voice on the other end of the phone paused. “Nor do I understand why we must call you by this preposterous human name. Why do you not use your given name?”

“I haven’t used that name since I first began to live as a human at the turn of the nineteenth century,” Maximilian replied gruffly. “Perhaps old age has addled your mind, but I have always been a friend to the Drakenstone family.”

“To Fafnir,” the other dragon snorted.

“And to his widow, Loki.”

“And to his widow,” the other dragon agreed reluctantly. “But how has this human inherited such loyalty, when she has done little more than serve as a milk-machine for a halfling spawn? Murdered Brigid—”

Maximilian couldn’t take another second. The mention of his child’s name incensed him and rage swept over his body with a rush of molten heat. The hand resting on the edge of his desk clenched down, splintered the wood, and the surface buckled. “Enough! Chloe Drakenstone did no such thing,” Max spoke heatedly into the phone. “Say another word of it and I will scrape the ashen scales from your worthless, charred carcass.”

Loki silenced.

“For years, I have bided your disrespect, your meddling, and your prattling commentary with humor for the sake of your mother, but I will accept it no longer. My Brigid made her own choice and our egotism cost her life. Nothing more. You will not pass judgment.”

“Belenos—”

“Your gutless attempts to sow dissent and weave treachery have failed. Meddle in my affairs again and I will finish the skinning Thor began a century ago. Then I will reduce what remains of you to
slag
.”

“My apologies. I had only meant—”

“Whatever you intended is meaningless,” Maximilian cut him off brusquely. “As for your product, I’m positive it’s shit as usual. I wouldn’t even load your software onto my competitor’s cell phones.”

Max ended the call and leaned back in the seat, breathing deeply.

“Sir?”

“I’m fine, Vincent.” Max waved off the suit-clad security agent in his doorway. The man’s amber eyes focused on the splintered desk and he didn’t move.

“If there’s a threat to your control, I need to be aware.”

Werewolves are too damn perceptive. And stubborn,
Max thought. “Only an annoying family member. It’s nothing, I promise.”

Vincent flashed a toothy grin then pulled the door shut. It opened a second time, less than a minute later.

“Max?” His secretary peeked around the edge of the barely-cracked door, concern on her face.

“Nothing to worry about, Hilary,” he assured her, too. For her benefit, he managed a small smile.

“Are you sure? Should I evacuate under the guise of another fire drill?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m in control.”

He dragged in a slower, deeper breath to demonstrate his decreasing temper. “I am quite fine, Hilary. See?”

“You certainly are,” she said around a nervous chuckle. “Peace incarnate. Lunch arrived fifteen minutes ago while you were on the phone. Would you like yours?”

“Yes please.”

Hilary stepped away from the door and returned with a to-go box from a local burger place. Maximilian might have the appearance of a stuffy Hollywood socialite, but he didn’t eat like one. He promptly opened the box and scooped up the messy triple-decker burger. The sweet scent of barbecue sauce and smoky bacon rose from the greasy meal.

Hilary laughed as he stuffed his face.

“What?” he asked around a mouthful. “I’m starved.”

“Your face,” she teased. “You looked so gleeful. So, do they take care of you like this at the state capitol building?”

Max grimaced. “No. It’s awful. If I ask for a simple, five-dollar burger, they look at me like I’m a crazy man,” he grumbled. “I fear for what happens once I’m the president. There’s probably some special chef creating masterpieces of tiny filet mignon cubes and caviar. And because I haven’t entrusted all of my staff with the truth, a few of them have tried to turn me into a vegan.” He grimaced.

“You’re lucky to be a dragon. If you were a normal guy, I’d wonder how you find the time to do all of this,” Hilary said, chuckling.

Max dug into his fries and glanced at the window, thoughtful. “I haven’t paid a visit to this office in weeks, Hilary, and you know that. I’ve left most of the day-to-day activity of running the company to the senior vice presidents.”

“True. We miss you, too. I suppose we’ll see even less of you once you’re president. You won’t have time to run this at all.”

“I won’t,” he answered sadly. “But never fear, no one will dare fire or demote you in my absence upon threat of flames and death. I sent out a memo.”

“I know. And because I won’t find a job better than this, you’ll see me here in eight years when you’re back. Besides, I know you need me here to keep an eye on things. I don’t trust the board any more than you do.”

Once Maximilian caught up on the personal business matters most important to him, he departed the office with his security team, wondering if it would be the final visit for some time.

If he lost the election, he’d return to a content life at the state capitol, complete the remainder of his second term as governor, and settle for a quiet life in the technology sector until it became time to leave the public eye.

But if he won… oh, the possibilities! No dragon would ever be forced to abandon another life they enjoyed.

He took the long, scenic drive home with the radio blasting rock and roll — it was the best time in the history of mortal music, in his opinion, but Ēostre disagreed.

Ēostre. He smiled as he punched in the gate code and slid the black Cadillac into the drive. The thought of his close friend warmed his blood. Would she be settling down for a family dinner with Saul, Chloe, and Astrid? Or had she given her family the slip in favor of campaign management?

“Must you always take the long route?” Vincent parked his motorcycle behind the car.

“I must. If I win this election, you know as well as I do my driving days are over.”

The wolf smirked and disappeared around the back of the house. Max had long given up on inviting the man inside. All four agents assigned to him belonged to the same pack and all were equally introverted but dedicated to their duties.

Max took the white steps of the governor’s mansion at a brisk pace and let himself into the quiet home. The estate was too large for a bachelor, but he’d always held some small hope of finding a mate to share it with. He’d even prayed to the Ancestors on one brief, pathetic occasion of loneliness, wishing to find his other half, then laughed bitterly when he came to his senses.

How could the Ancestors introduce him to his ideal mate when she’d been there before him all along? In Ēostre, he saw everything he wanted, everything he could ever need. Wisdom, strength, and beauty were all wrapped within one elegant dragoness.

Unfortunately, Ēostre had already found and lost her beloved. He had watched the death of Fafnir reduce her to a shade of her former, radiant self. And she also had no interest in Max beyond friendship and putting him into the White House.

Max tossed his jacket onto a coat hook, loosened his tie, and beelined to the informal parlor. The daily post waited for him on the coffee table beside a mug of fragrant, light roast coffee. His live-in maid saw to his day-to-day needs, and he paid her handsomely for putting up with his crap. Not that she complained about having his coffee and mail ready for him each day.

“Lynette?” he called.

“Just cleaning up my mess in the kitchen!”

She appeared around the corner and stepped into the open entranceway, a big grin on her face. “Unless you have any other needs, Max, I’m leaving for the night. My boyfriend scored us tickets to a late concert in Los Angeles tonight.”

Max glanced at the time. They’d be stuck in rush hour traffic no doubt. “You should have left an hour ago. The cars will be bumper-to-bumper now.”

“Oh it’s fine,” the thin, young woman said. Lynette was a failed ballerina, tiny in frame, but lacking the grace to transform a childhood hobby into a career. Like her older sister, Hilary, she knew about Max’s true nature and appreciated the generous salary he paid in exchange for secrecy and loyalty.

“In the future, call me if you need to leave. I can fend for myself.”

“You may know how to operate a coffee maker, but you’ll never make it as good as I do,” she teased.

Max grunted. “I don’t know what you do, but it’s liquid gold in a cup when you make it.”

Lynette beamed. “I know. Those are the secrets you learn when you’ve worked as a barista for a while.”

“You should let me in on them.” He sipped the scalding hot brew without blowing on it. “Tell that boy he had better drive safely with you in the car.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, Dad.”

Her words washed over him with the same effect as a bucket of ice water. He sat rigid and still in his seat, gripping his coffee mug in one hand. Hairline fractures spread beneath his thumb. Lynette couldn’t possibly understand what she’d said wrong or why it deeply affected him. Almost seven years had passed since he’d picked the girl out of a mile-high application pile, and in seven years, she’d become a daughter to him.

But she’d never called him “Dad” even to tease. After a struggle to find his voice, he said, “Enjoy your concert.”

“Thanks! Dinner is in the oven. You
can
take it out in an hour when the timer rings and handle it from there, right?”

Max scoffed. “I’ve been feeding and caring for myself for centuries, thank you.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Lynette retorted. She ducked through the double doors of the front hallway and sprinted outside, shutting the door behind her with an excited slam.

Max’s fragile smile wavered. Lynette was a good girl. The girl his Brigid should have been.

Instantly, the sweet coffee became sour in his mouth. He set the oversized mug aside and slouched back on the couch with his fingers interlaced behind his head. The mail went ignored, and instead, he fell prey to memories of his daughter. Her ghost haunted his thoughts at every turn, an ever-present reminder of his greatest failure.

Where did I go wrong with her? Was I too lenient? Too tolerant of her spiteful tendencies?

Hours later, after consuming every last crumb of the roast left in the oven, Maximilian retired to the upper level, showered, and settled into his personal office where Facebook distracted him for an hour, the time divided between inane chat in messages and idly liking photographs flashing over his wall.

It was all an absolute waste of time. He procrastinated until well after midnight, pouring a few cups of cold coffee from the pitcher Lynette left in the fridge. Eventually, he took the entire thing back to the office. She made it strong and sweet with flavor shots and cream, perfect for adding a pair of ice cubes.

Lynette’s coffee-making skills had been the final test before he’d hired her back then. She was fresh out of high school, a young barista at Starbucks leaving two parents behind in Nevada for the first time. When her mother and older sister drove with her for the interview, he’d become enchanted by their close family. When her mother had the audacity to quiz the governor of California about his intentions, he’d offered both girls a job. One to look after the other, he’d said, after promising he had no romantic interests.