He frowned. “What are you, Romeo?”
“Hardly.” I thought of the beautiful Mrs. Ariana West and how I had failed to charm her.
But maybe I’d work on that. I didn’t want the job, but I definitely wanted the woman.
Chapter Six
Ariana
The best thing about a propane fireplace was the consistency of the fire. There was no smoke or harsh smell, and no additional logs were required to maintain the flames. It was elegant, modern. The downside was essentially the same as the upside. There were no splintering logs, no crackling, no comforting variance in the flames. In a forty-nine-story tower, though, a chimney wasn’t really an option. It was either propane or nothing, and I was a sucker for a good fire.
The morning had passed, the afternoon as well. Waning light, cotton candy sky, and the rumble in my stomach all told me it was time to call it a day. But there were just a few more details to work out for the night of the auction.
I was satisfied that the perimeter was well covered, including accounting for break rotation during the three-hour event. Inside the Brightwater, two guards would be stationed at every door, two by the vault, one per hall, and six guards around the great room where the auction would take place. There was just one hole left in the plan—the kitchen. Once I picked something up, I preferred to work out every contingency before I put it down. But the caterer had answered my request for specifics with two lines.
Where: Kitchen, Trucks, & Serving
Number: ?
I could appreciate that last-minute hiring made a final count uncertain. I was having last-minute hiring problems, myself. But it would have been helpful to have some kind of ballpark, or more detail than that they planned to be pretty much everywhere. Catering was a hole in my carefully laid plans. I tapped my pen on the clipboard in my lap as if that was going to give me some kind of magic answer. It didn’t. And staring at the maps, the numbers, and the hand-scrawled note wasn’t helping either.
The roof. It was my favorite sanctuary. Better than the fireplace, better than a pastry from Big Beans. I could smack the shit out of my punching bag and immediately feel better. Setting down my clipboard, I headed toward the roof. I only made it two steps.
A buzzing sound drew my attention to my phone, which vibrated and slowly danced its way across the glass coffee table. It was tempting to just ignore the call, not bother to check the number. I could go straight up to the roof and feel better immediately.
But instead I checked the caller ID—and it was Pelletier’s number. Again. I let it go to voicemail. Again.
He had called fifteen times throughout the day, left fifteen voicemails, fifteen accounts of unnecessary nonsense. I listened to every voicemail when it dinged in, in case there was an actual emergency. There was not.
Ding.
I listened to the sixteenth voicemail of the day from the client that I was ready to strangle. Then I reminded myself—this was the job that would pay for the macular degeneration research that Whitesong was funding. We had to get the grant money to the university in early October before the dean allowed another program to take over the building we had in mind. Five hundred thousand dollars would be all the start we needed, and the job for Pelletier would get us the last of it. I couldn’t wait. Marc would have loved this project—science helping children.
“Ms. West, there’s been a new development. The Elysian harp has just arrived. It’s not a piece for sale, you see. Its purpose is ambience while the artifacts are on display and the guests are mingling. The harp is crafted of solid gold, every fine detail carved to intricate perfection—”
The message cut off, and the phone vibrated in my hand. I waited.
When the next voicemail dinged, I listened.
“The length of these machines, I swear. But that’s beside the point. We were discussing the Elysian harp. The strings are the finest, most beautiful unicorn hair available, so I’ve been assured. The delivery boys dropped it off, but they left before I could direct them. It’s by the fountain. Outside. I couldn’t believe it. And the worst part—it’s huge. Usually I’d find huge to be a fabulous surprise—you know what I mean. But this time, it’s a fucking harp. Solid. Gold. Harp. I’m going to need at least two more of your bodybuilders to come by to move the Elysian, and she—her name’s Elsa—she’s going to require two guards at all times. Call me, sweets. Kisses.”
I realized my jaw was hanging open—just a little. Unicorn hair? I shook my head and hoped that the team that was stationed at the Brightwater wouldn’t quit before the night was through.
The last glimmers of daylight faded, leaving my office dark save from the fire and the lamp by the sofa. It was time.
When I stood, and my stomach growled, I realized I hadn’t eaten since I’d grabbed that bagel on the way to meet Stonehall at the airport. If I’d known how long it was going to take, I would have had a proper breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Okay, time to eat.
I felt a little bad about how cold I’d been to Stonehall during our interview. I knew he didn’t control when the plane actually arrived. He’d taken every jab and question in stride. And he was well qualified for the position, more than I could have hoped for.
His wrinkled suit had reminded me of a college professor’s, low key and genuine. He was also tall and lean, with broad shoulders. His jaw was square and coated in a layer of long stubble, creating a masculine balance with his bright eyes and perfect mouth. His brown hair was long enough to run my fingers through, enough to hold on to when I tasted his supple lips...
And there was the problem. Why did he have to be so damned sexy? And charming? Why did I have to notice? It threw me, and I wasn’t used to being off balance.
I slid on my heels and grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door. It was absurd to write off Taylor Stonehall for the job just because I’d been uncomfortable. But I hadn’t expected him—a man, a dragon. Next time we met, I’d be fine.
My heels clicked down the empty hall, and the lights came on as I went.
I pushed the down arrow by the elevator door and waited. What could I expect out of the other two interviewees? They’d certainly be just as qualified as Stonehall, or Maisie wouldn’t have brought them here. I’d have to ask her. Which reminded me, she and I had never had a chance to talk. I’d have to find her and ask about the other two. I wouldn’t be caught at another interview without being informed. Before bed, I’d grab their files from Maisie and make time to study them so no more surprises would await me in the morning.
The metal doors opened, but the elevator was full. With a sofa. Two thick, muscular arms were wrapped around the sideways piece of furniture, holding it up off the floor and to the side.
It wasn’t the strange sight that struck me, though. It was his scent—crisp mountain air with hints of motor oil. The oil meant he was surely a man who was good with his hands. Not only that—he was a dragon.
The biceps as big around as my head were nice too. Really nice.
“There’s space,” said Mr. Arms.
I found myself tempted to take him up on his offer, to squeeze in beside him and see what other delicious muscles I could find.
I could hear his smile as he said, “Promise I won’t bite.”
“That furniture takes up all the space,” I said.
“This little thing?” He laughed, and I found myself smiling at the deep, genuine sound.
“You should have seen the other one,” he said.
“Thanks anyway.” I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the allure of this random maintenance man, and stepped back to allow the doors to close.
No way was there a dragon in maintenance. I would have noticed that by now. It was me. Hormones or something. I was projecting. Or crazy. Or something.
When the next elevator arrived, it was comfortably devoid of sexy arms and dragon scents. There were three businessmen, none of them shifters, none of them causing butterflies in my gut. I stepped in and checked the floor. The 1 for the lobby was al
ready lit.
The doors closed, and I rode down without incident. New people got on, some of the first got off, but there were no surprises and no calls from the client from hell.
When I stepped off the elevator, Maisie met my gaze. My poor assistant looked completely frazzled, which was strange. She was great at keeping her cool no matter what I threw at her.
She stood beside the reception desk in a fitted gray dress with a square neckline. It flattered her figure and brought out the grayish blue hue of her narrow eyes. I hadn’t noticed the dress before, in my rush to reach the elevator. It was new, and I’d have to compliment her on it.
Her long blond hair was up, wrapped messily around a well-chewed pen. She was speaking to a man who was not-so-inconspicuously checking her out, and whose scent said shifter—some kind of large cat. She held her index finger to him.
“Just a moment, please,” she said. “Excuse me.” Then she ran over to meet me.
“I am so sorry I haven’t been up,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe my day. That client, Mr. Pelletier, has called me one hundred fifty-seven times. In. One. Day.”
Her eyes were both wide and tired at the same time. I felt for her. She’d taken the brunt of Pelletier’s wrath.
I touched her arm. “We’re good,” I said.
“And I’m trying to hire—Oh. I was worried you’d be pissed.”
“Really,” I said. “Promise. I’m going to grab something to eat at the pub. Would you like to join?”
“Love to,” she said. “But I’m in the middle of an interview.”
She glanced at the six-foot cat man with the large nose and the smile that reminded me of a fox.
“Can I pick you up some of those southwest eggrolls you always get?” I asked.
“Please.” She clasped her hands together and smiled wide, then turned back to deal with the potential hire.
“By the way,” I said. “Love your dress.”
I left her to it and headed out into the cool night air.
The courtyard of the Arrow was as alive at night as it was during the work day. Instead of coffee and bagels, the breeze carried scents of greasy burgers, pizza, and the fruity, earthy tang of freshly-poured hops. Many of the restaurants and shops in the outer wall were bustling with customers, but none so much as Hiber-Nation Brewery.
Deep bellowing laughter rang out over the hum of chatter on the small, packed patio. Black metal tables and chairs sat upon large, worn gray stones. Thick grass grew between the cracks, and the whole space was illuminated by pillar candles and string lights, giving it a warm, cave-like feel.
The interior, too, was a testament to both the name, and to the owner. The cement floor was rippled in hues ranging from shimmering copper to burnt umber, in a pattern reminiscent of a riverbed. Booths were tall, the seats well-worn. The tables and the bar were crafted of a dull, gray metal. Everything about the place said bear—fitting, given the owner was a grizzly shifter.
When I stepped inside, I spotted Ben Fisher where he always was—behind the bar. Even with the place packed, Ben was hard to miss. Just shy of six feet tall, and wide as any two other men in the room, my favorite grizzly shifter was built like a tank. He wore his signature red plaid shirt, and his bushy beard reminded me of a racoon clinging to his jaw. His nose was wide and crooked from old breaks, though I couldn’t imagine anyone throwing a punch at him. If they weren’t intimidated by his size, they would have to be charmed by his gentle spirit.
I made my way between the throng of businessmen and tourists, shifters and humans. The scents of wolf, bear, and cat all mingled in the air. And those of food. There was beer, burgers, fries—all the best Emerald Pines had to offer. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I also sensed dragon. I didn’t see Taylor Stonehall anywhere, so it had to be my imagination. No way in hell I could miss him. Even the thought of him made my cheeks feel hot with a blush.
I squeezed in at the bar between two suits and raised a hand to catch Ben’s attention. My fingertips grazed glass. I tried to catch it, but it was too late.
The shot glass fell to its side and the contents spilled on the arm of the guy next to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I reached for the glass, and touched his hand as he righted it.
A surge of excitement carried up my arm, raising every tiny hair. The dragon scent—it was him.
I met his brilliant blue gaze and lost all sane brain function. There was something almost familiar about him, though I had never laid eyes on him before. All I had noticed prior to this moment was the crisp Marquessi suit. I saw a lot of men in formal attire in my line of work. None looked like him. None made me feel like this.
His hair went from dark at the roots to golden blond midway through. The strands were long, and tied at the nape of his neck. He was a picture of polished perfectionism, yet there was a wild sensuality hidden beneath the surface. It called to me. His shoulders were broad, and his charcoal suit fit perfectly over what I imagined was a muscular, athletic frame. I was tempted to open that jacket button and run my hands down his collared shirt to find out.
“No harm done,” he said. His voice was stiff, too formal for the sentiment.
“At least let me buy you another,” I said. My hand still rested on his, but I didn’t pull away. His skin was warm, while the watch on his wrist was like ice. His jaw was shaved clean and his small smile promised a night I’d never forget.
For the first time, I was ready to move forward. I wanted a man, and this guy wasn’t an employee. It could be one night and then forgotten. I wanted to drag this stranger into the men’s room and fuck his brains out. I blinked in surprise at my thoughts. That was so not me. It was the opposite of my Ice Queen reputation, of who I’d been since Marc’s death, but somehow it felt right. I really was going mad.
“Okay,” he said.
I nearly forgot what he was agreeing to, but I wanted to nod and agree, too. Drink—I’d offered to buy him a drink. I raised my palm, this time not hitting anyone’s glass.
Ben wrapped up with another customer and came down. His smile was just a little too knowing as he looked between me and the sexy stranger.
“Hey, Ben,” I said. “We’d like two...What’re we having?”
“Vodka shots.”
“Vodka shots,” I repeated with a nod.
Ben poured, and I turned my attention back to the sexy dragon in the nice suit.
“You don’t work in the Arrow, do you?” I asked.
“No.”
“Good,” I said. “Every time I meet someone he seems to work for me.”
“Is that so?” he asked.
I tipped back the shot of vodka and it burned. I tapped my finger on the bar, and Ben poured another.
The mystery man threw his head back and swallowed the liquor. I appreciated the sharp point of his chin, the masculine jut of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat.
I drank another.
He leaned in, and I held my breath as the lush scent of white-hot heat, crisp night air, and cool peppermint clouded my senses.
“There’s a dark forest where we could stretch our wings not too far from here. Come with me.”
I imagined the feel of cold night air against my scales, and another dragon by my side. It had been so long. Far too long.
“Yes.” The word came without thought, without care for the consequences. And all I wanted was to enjoy this night with this stranger, and to forget everything else.
He laid a pile of cash on the counter and took my hand. His skin was pleasantly warm. The sensation swirled in my belly, carried up my arms, and settled as a flush in my cheeks.
He led me through the crowd, and I felt a sense of relief. I could have fun, indulge for a change. I could take one night and be carefree.
We threaded through the crowd and made it out into the brisk breeze in the dark courtyard.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said.
“Quentin,” he said. “Quentin Phillip
s.”
My heart sank, and the little buzz from the liquor faded away, as did my excitement. It was just like it had been with Taylor. Quentin was interviewing for the partner position. I couldn’t fucking win. Not even for a moment.
I watched the sparkle fade from his gorgeous blue eyes, and the playful smile with it.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“I can’t do this.”
I turned on my heel and headed back inside. I could feel him watching me, and I wished I hadn’t asked. I needed another fucking drink.
I pushed my way back to the bar. Ben met me there with a bag in hand.
“What’s—”
“Maisie called,” he said.
Maisie. I’d promised her food. I’d been starving, and I’d forgotten that too.
“Thanks, Ben,” I said, and handed him a couple of twenties to cover the food.
I took the other door when I left, the one that took me out to the street instead of the one that led back to the courtyard, and to Quentin fucking Phillips.
I had to loop around to get back into the Arrow, but it was worth not having that conversation. I’d see him in the morning anyway. I needed to know everything there was to know about Quentin Phillips before that meeting. Slade Rouland, too.
I grabbed Maisie when I returned to the lobby, and took her up to my office for dinner and to look over the personnel files. We spread out on the floor by the fire.
Over bacon cheeseburgers and southwest eggrolls, we chatted about her new hires and flipped through the files of the three men I had to choose between.
“All dragons,” I said in disbelief.
“All dragons,” Maisie agreed.
“And you don’t have any pictures to go with these files?” I asked.
“Usually headshots aren’t required in a resume,” she teased.
“They’d be nice,” I said. “I really could have used some warning about Taylor. I was expecting a woman.”
“Have you run into Slade yet?” she asked.
“Any chance that’s a woman’s name?”
Dragon Shattered_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy Romance Page 4