She squealed so loud I had to hold the phone away. "Yes! Krystal, you deserve a little fun. Please tell me you’re going to hit that."
"I’m not hitting anything," I protested. "He’s my boss. But yeah, he asked me out."
"Which means you’re obligated to say yes," Tavi replied. "It’s like, a law. Or a Taylor Swift song."
I snorted. "I thought you’d tell me to run."
"I would, but you never listen to me anyway. Besides, you could do worse than a dragon. They’re loaded. And hot. And did I mention loaded?"
"Money isn’t everything," I said, but I was smiling. Money definitely didn't hurt.
"Maybe not, but it buys a lot of therapy. Do it, Krystal. Go on the date. Don’t let him meet Bryce unless he survives at least three rounds of Mario Kart and a background check."
I laughed. "Deal."
We talked for another half hour, Tavi alternating between giving me shit and offering surprisingly good advice. When I hung up, the anxiety had faded to a low, pleasant hum. For once, the weekend stretched ahead of me with possibilities.
I fell asleep wondering what it would feel like to let someone in, just a little.
Chapter 3
Zaden
It wasearly afternoon when my phone alarm woke me, and my first thought was of Krystal. She’d been in my head since the moment I saw her last night. It was unsettling, but not at all unpleasant.
My apartment above the bar was a spartan bachelor’s nest, industrial windows, exposed brick, nothing on the walls except a framed photo of my dragon clan from the ‘50s, all of us in bad suits and worse haircuts.
I stumbled downstairs, chasing the promise of coffee. I’d only recently discovered that my decade-old espresso machine was dead, so I made do with the drip from the break room downstairs. As soon as my mug was full I missed my damn lips and sloshed hot coffee over my bare chest. It didn't burn, but I was damn glad nobody was around to see what I'd done.
Perfect. I looked down at the mess and laughed. "Very impressive. Two hundred years of refinement and you can’t even operate a cup."
The caffeine did little to erase the memory of Krystal’s laugh. It buzzed in my ears, a stubborn afterimage.
My phone vibrated. I snatched it up, hoping for a text from her, but it was a calendar alert. "8:00 am, Kenneth meeting." Right. The handoff. I’d been gone a decade, and the bar had survived. Kenneth deserved better than a perfunctory handoff, especially since he’d run the place better than anyone would have.
I went back upstairs, threw on jeans and the first shirt within reach, a faded Z’s Place tee with the sleeves ripped off, and headed back downstairs. Kenneth was already waiting in the office, hunched over a folder thick with papers and the haunted look of a man who’d read every single one.
"Hey, man," I said, letting the door bang shut behind me. "Did you sleep here?"
He didn’t look up. "Did you?"
"Go easy on me. I just woke up," I said, taking a sip of my coffee.
Kenneth slid the folder across the desk. "Quarterlies, projections, and the new wage structure. We’re above state minimum, so the city can’t say shit. Also, the liquor distributor called about a missing shipment from last fall. I already threatened to sue them."
"Beautiful," I said, flipping through the pages. "You should be running a hedge fund."
He snorted. "I like bars. Less bullshit."
I checked my phone again. Nothing from Krystal. I thumbed it off, trying to keep my face neutral.
Kenneth watched me over the rims of his glasses. "You hung over, or are you in love?"
"Neither," I lied. "Maybe the latter."
He shrugged. "You’re not the first Beck to get bit by the mate bug. You won’t be the last."
I ignored that and focused on the numbers. "You crushed it," I said. "I could die happy knowing Z’s Place is in your hands."
