Never Deal with Dragons (6 page)

Only then did I notice Richard and Trian standing near the two place settings at the table. I smiled absently at Richard, but my eyes were drawn to Trian. Dressed in a dark shirt and matching pants, he was every inch a professional.

And it was painfully obvious that he was one of the other dinner guests.

Chapter Three

“So, let’s get started, shall we?” Richard gestured for us to choose a seat. I deliberately waited until Trian pulled out a chair before choosing one on the opposite side of the table. Childish? Probably. But I really, really didn’t care at this point. I could kill Emory for this.

I must have made a face, because Trian smiled slightly before settling into his seat. Emory, still breathing heavily from his earlier rant and brief encounter with a dragon lord, collapsed into the chair beside me, leaving Richard to occupy the seat near Trian.

Once seated, I smoothed my hands along my dress. Why was I so nervous? Sure, I’d just met a dragon lord in person, but otherwise, this had been a pretty uneventful night. No angry, destructive dragons, no unavoidable discussions with unhappy humans, and not even a bit of vomit. Take away the fancy dress, the mansion and the famous artwork, and it was just another business function.

But I couldn’t stop the gooseflesh from rising along my arm. This felt like something more than a social function.

The doors opened for two waiters, dressed in unrelieved black, one carrying an enormous bowl full of salad, and the other a step behind with a bottle of wine.

At the sight of food, even if it was just salad, Emory perked up considerably. He made a comment about the ripeness of the tomatoes and soon he and Richard were involved in a discussion about family recipes.

I murmured my thanks to the waiter as he poured me a glass of wine, and avoided looking at Trian. He hated salads, and used to tell me the only good carrot was a carrot on someone else’s plate. I’d laughed at his outright refusal to eat anything even resembling a fruit or vegetable unless it had been cooked until the flavor was completely gone, and I’d teased him mercilessly about it any time we’d gone out to a restaurant to eat. But teasing was no longer appropriate, and it left me with nothing whatsoever to say.

Luckily, as waiters finished their tasks and left the room, Richard wrapped up his vegetable lecture and included Trian and me in the conversation.

“First of all, on behalf of Relobu Holdings, we appreciate DRACIM’s support over the past year. Your help with the Tulsa charity auction, the Dragon’s Center for Substance Abuse, and most recently, the handling of Isiwyth Armatoth’s minor indiscretion last week has been top notch.”

My heart swelled in satisfaction. I’d been lead on all of the projects mentioned, and it was rare that someone actually took the time to notice my hard work. Emory wasn’t much of the noticing type, and everyone else at DRACIM was too busy to look up from his or her own duties.

I was just about to thank Richard for the kind words when Emory practically put his chest in my plate to lean toward Relobu’s chief employee.

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Green. An absolute pleasure. I spent considerable time choosing the right people for the job. Only the best for Relobu Holdings.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Emory’s idea of taking “considerable time” was to toss a folder on my desk as he walked to the cafeteria. It had been me who’d poured over the job descriptions and employee profiles before choosing the staff we’d assigned to Relobu’s various requests.

Trian, his plate of lettuce still untouched, put down his fork and addressed Emory. “The Mr. Berner you sent over for help with the design of the rehabilitation center was invaluable. He mentioned that he’d worked in substance abuse services for a few years before joining DRACIM. Do you happen to know with what facility the rehab center was affiliated?”

Emory frowned. “Mr. Berner, you say? Well, I’m not sure I can tell you off the cuff. I’d have to consult my files—”

I cleared my throat. “Hillcrest. Hillcrest Medical Center. He worked as a nurse for three years in their substance abuse program before pursuing a dragonspeaker career.” Matt Berner worked down the hall from me at DRACIM, and we’d had lunch a couple of times, which was how I’d known of his medical background. When Relobu Holdings had requested a translator to help with Tulsa’s new substance abuse center that catered exclusively to dragons, I’d asked him if he’d be interested.

Trian gave me a small smile. “He was a perfect fit for the job, thanks.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. I liked it better when Trian was being obnoxious. He was easier to ignore.

“So, Myrna.” Richard motioned for our salad plates to be replaced with the main course, “Emory assigned you to Isiwyth’s case. What’s your background?”

“Well, before I joined DRACIM—”

“Oh, Myrna fancies herself a negotiator.” This time, I managed to nudge the chicken breast out of the way before Emory’s shirt soaked up all of the rosemary-flavored gravy on my plate.

Emory didn’t even notice. Instead, he chuckled, as if the idea of me actually being good at anything was hilarious. “She was just filling in for me. I had a prior appointment that morning, and she kept Mrs. Armatoth busy until I arrived. I was the one who arranged the plaque for the farmer.”

This time I couldn’t hide my disgust. There had been no prior appointment. In addition to dragons, Emory didn’t like mornings. He avoided both as much as possible. And I certainly didn’t need to be reminded about the misguided plaque. Ever since Emory promised it to him, Percy Sompston had called me at least once a day to change the wording.

Trian caught the look on my face. His eyes sharpened, and he gave Emory what I’d labeled as his “dangerous” smile, the one that looked all sweet and innocent, but held a potentially lethal bite of wit. “Well, it was good that Myrna was available to hold down the fort until you arrived.” Trian looked down to scoot a cucumber from one side of his plate to the other. Then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke.

“What was your prior appointment?”

Emory’s smile froze on his face. “Well, I, uh...” He wasn’t used to people questioning his excuses, and obviously hadn’t bothered coming up with one. “Um, there was a dental problem that I needed to take care of.”

“Before eight in the morning? I didn’t know dentists had office hours that early.” Trian’s smile and tone remained pleasant, but he’d leaned slightly toward Emory, and I caught a glimmer of purpose in his eyes, like a predator circling prey.

Richard shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze also focused on my boss.

Emory must have noticed the change in the air, because he chuckled once more. Only this time, his laugh was shaky and flustered, and he ran a napkin nervously across his mouth before responding. “Yes, well, it was an emergency appointment. He had to fit me in.

“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business anyway. What I do when I’m not in the office is personal and private. If you invited me to this meeting to talk about my teeth, then we’re finished here.” When Emory was backed into a corner, he tended to bluster about until he’d intimidated the person making him uncomfortable. Unfortunately, in this case, he didn’t have anything intimidating to say. And he knew it.

Emory pushed back from the table and moved to stand. He was sweating again, and the hand I put on his shoulder caused his thin cotton shirt to cling to his skin. He’d already dragged me all the way here; no way would I let him leave now.

“Emory, I’m sure they were simply curious about what type of tasks fill the day of a high—level member of DRACIM management. The questions weren’t meant as an attack.”

Emory muttered something under his breath, but he settled back into his chair. I deliberately avoided looking at Trian, knowing that he had, in fact, been baiting my boss.

I wondered why. We were halfway through dinner, and they still hadn’t told us the reason we were here.

“Mr. Green. I’m assuming there’s a new project Relobu Holdings wants to discuss with DRACIM? Perhaps if you gave us some of the details, we could help you determine whether our offices would be a good fit for the job.” I took a bite of my chicken and waited.

Before Richard could answer, a woman opened the door and practically ran to the table. Handing a small piece of paper to Trian, she whispered into his ear. The skin around his eyes tightened as he read, and he nodded to her sharply before crumpling the note and turning back to the table.

“I’m sorry—you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.” Taking the napkin from his lap and dropping it beside his plate, Trian rose and quickly followed the woman out of the room.

The dragon-sized door swung closed with a large bang, and I looked to Richard for a clue as to what was going on. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Trian’s always running off for some reason or another.”

“Don’t I know it,” I muttered under my breath.

Emory looked at me curiously, but I pretended not to notice. And if Richard heard me, he didn’t let on. “Actually, Miss Banks, we do have a project in mind. Do you have anyone on staff with experience in dragon-to-dragon mediation? More specifically with dragons from China?”

Now this was interesting. I forgot all about Trian. Most of DRACIM’s work centered on translating dragonspeak for human entities, whether for business purposes or personal. I’d never heard of dragons using humans to facilitate communication only between members of their own race. And dragons themselves took care of any translation needs between clans.

There were seven different dragon clans, each led by a member of the original “batch” of creatures hatched from the same research lab kiln. Sure, over the past hundred years or so, each clan, after choosing and settling in their new homes, developed their own dragonspeak dialect. It was an expected by-product of absorbing pieces of the human languages surrounding their territory. But the for the most part it was easy to find a dragon who’d spent time with more than one clan who could clear up any region-specific idioms.

I quickly ran through a mental list of our senior staff, and came up empty-handed.

“No, I can’t say that we do. We have plenty of people experienced in human and dragon mediation, and there are a few—myself included—who’ve familiarized ourselves with the Chinese dialect, but no one who has participated in sessions where both sides have been dragons. I can, however, send over a list of DRACIM employees who I believe would be up to the task. Would the job be based in China?”

“The location of the assignment remains to be seen.”

I itched to tell Richard I would love the opportunity, but as Emory was sitting right beside me, and he’d made it clear on many occasions that he didn’t approve of his “secretary” trying to take on assignments above her pay grade, I kept silent and made a mental note to include my resume when the time came. And if Richard chose me from the stack, I’d handle things with Emory. DRACIM wouldn’t turn down a potential new market, especially when our first customer was Relobu himself. I’d put money on it.

A beep sounded from Richard’s jacket, and he pulled a phone from his inner pocket. My brows rose in surprise. And no small share of jealousy.

In addition to the expense of EMP-R cell phones, there wasn’t a network to use them with. The vast majority of cell towers had been disabled during the war. The phone companies had long since lost hope of putting new ones up—something about the signal irritated the dragons, and they knocked them down faster than the towers could be built. Plus, mobile phones—even the EMP-R models—didn’t last for long. Their tiny circuit boards had major issues with the electromagnetic pulses still floating around the atmosphere. They’d last maybe a week before they fried.

But I guess Lord Relobu could afford it. There were definite perks when working for a dragon lord.

Richard answered the phone, and whatever he heard must have been important, because he gave me an apologetic look before excusing himself from the table.

Minutes later, Emory was so caught up in sampling his potato casserole that he didn’t notice the two small dragons—one a pale green with light white markings and the other a bright royal blue—that entered with covered dining platters.

They’d come in through the doors on the opposite end of the dining hall, so I had a moment to study their faces. I see dragons in the offices at DRACIM all the time, but they were still interesting to look at. Each one was different. The shape of their scales, the length of their snouts, even the number of sharp claws. Some had stripes, some freckles, and their scales came in every color of the rainbow.

A delicious smell emanated from the covered platters, and I silently urged them to hurry. Dessert was my favorite part of the meal, and this smelled like one of my favorites.

Candied bacon. Probably with ice cream. It had been one of Trian’s favorites as well, so I didn’t doubt he’d added to the menu.

Emory however, was not pleased. “That smells like meat. I can’t have meat. Amy’s got me on a vegetarian diet.”

He raised a hand to get the dragons’ attention. “Excuse me? Is it possible for me to get a vegetarian option? Myrna was supposed to send Lord Relobu’s staff my request when we responded to the invitation, but I didn’t—” He broke off when the dragons continued toward us, with no impression that they’d even heard him. Emory made me repeat the request in dragonspeak. The dragons continued rolling the cart along the marble flooring as if we weren’t even in the room.

Interesting.

The squeak of the serving cart drew my attention. One of the wheels was slightly dented, causing the cart to wobble slightly with every push. I watched as the green dragon struggled to keep it on a straight path, her muscles flexing with the effort. The blue dragon, a young male, I thought, based on the short fleshy beard forming on the underside of his chin, did nothing to help the female. He simply walked, silent and purposeful, at her side, oblivious—or uncaring—of her struggles.

When the cart stopped alongside our chairs, I attempted to make eye contact with the female. I smiled, quietly thanking her for the food. Her eyes twitched frantically, and a small shudder rippled beneath her skin. She was terrified.

Had it not made matters worse, I would have laughed. For the past week, I’d been listening to Carol make dire predictions about the outcome of this party. Most had ended with me being eaten or dropped from a high altitude. She wouldn’t have believed that the opposite was true, that some dragons were afraid of us. I smiled again, this time cocking my head slightly to avoid a direct gaze—a challenge among the more dominant dragons.