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“Wait…I don’t own a suit,” he said.
“You do now,” she said, pushing him fully into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. “I’m setting the timer to fifteen!”
“Fine!” he called, running a tired hand over his face. “Make me a coffee, will you?”
“Already made!”
“Love you!”
“GET!”
“Pushy!” he threw back before forcing himself to do as he was told.
He still had zero recollection of anyone winning tickets to a symphony, but Ethel had said it so it had to be true. He survived a quick shower and stuffed himself into the suit she’d hung up for him without even looking at it.
There was coffee waiting. And symphonies were played in the dark, right? Nobody would see if he napped.
Good enough.
23
Rowan
Something was off.
Rowan didn’t like these business trips. He never had. They’d been even worse when he’d had to accompany his father and “learn the ropes” by sitting through the condescending remarks about how he had big shoes to fill.
This was different.
He was unsettled, not uncomfortable. Restless, not bored.
He had been since he’d left Milo at the bar.
It was strange. He didn’t know why he’d been anticipating a bigger reaction to his departure. Or maybe anticipating was the wrong word. Hoping for?
Which was crazy.
He should have been relishing the peace and quiet, not missing the source of the noise in his life.
He did miss it.
The first day wasn’t so bad. There was always some discomfort that went with leaving his hoard and his nest, so Rowan could ignore the nagging feeling as he traveled down and greeted everyone. He’d been shown around and wined and dined before heading back to his hotel room to rest before the real meetings started.
It was in the quiet he usually found solace in that he noticed the absence.
The family group chat was going off with comments about Ruben’s upcoming performance and who could attend. Rowan ignored it. Instead, he lay awake for too many hours staring at a name in his phone and wishing he was home before finally dropping off to sleep.
The day after was back-to-back meetings, everyone calling for his attention. He tried to give it and to provide helpful insight and feedback, but he could feel himself getting irritated more easily as the day progressed.
Information he knew like the back of his hand escaped him. He stuttered over his words. He even walked into a doorframe, which was clearly his finest hour.
By the third day he was barely hanging on to his temper.
Especially with Harold.
He was a golden dragon and, as such, prized money above all else. It made him shrewd in business, but he often needed reining in.
“The new security systems will increase the hoard room price by two percent, but we believe this won’t massively impact clients. It’s their peace of mind about their hoard, after all, and we project that announcing this will bring in more clients than we lose.” Harold continued to drone on.
