ROMANCE: SHAPESHIFTER ROMANCE: Dragon Baller's Bride (Dragon Shifter Alpha Male Romance) (Paranormal Romantic Suspense) (18 page)

T
here really wasn't
a whole lot that Clara had expectations for in life, and yet, she found herself still disappointed; she wanted a loving mother, not one who was obsessed with finding her a suitor of some sort, like this was the fourteenth century or something. She wanted her career to pan out, and yet, here she was, with a degree in Game Design and nothing more than unfinished prototypes to show for it. And, most of all, she wanted to be accepted by someone for who she was, not who she could be or what she could do for them. And yet...she gets one Daryl Marley, a man only a few years older that she, but no less pompous and cocksure in his own abilities and successes, like the world
owes
him for his greatness. What Clara doesn't realize, however, is that there is so much more to Mr. Marley, so much depth that he hides behind his words, that she might see, if only she would let him show her.

“Oh, darling,” Gerta sighed heavily as she eyed her daughter's jewelry box without touching it, as if she could conjure up some trinket that would attract more men to her daughter. “I just want you to be happy.” Clara had no doubt that, on some level, her mother was telling the truth – it just wasn't the
entire
truth. Which, really, was the source of all their disagreements these days. With a huff, Clara set her hair brush down, fearful that in her irritation, she might pull out her chestnut hair with the bristles of the brush, before addressing her mother.

“
No
, Mom,” she snapped, rising and rummaging through her jewelry box to find her favorite necklace; a little London topaz, surrounded by little amber gems and strung on a gold chain, a gift from her father before he left this world. “You want me to be
married
, not happy.” She clasped the necklace around her pale, thin neck, and walked over to her closet, flicking through her dresses to decide what to wear.

“Clara,” her mother said tiredly. “You know that's not true-”

“Isn't it?” Clara cut her off in a clipped tone. “I pay my bills, I attend your charity balls, I have my own independence, and I don't ask you for any favors,” Finding a lovely black dress, with a low back that draped loosely, like a theatre curtain on the small of her back, a skirt that rested on her thighs in the front, and flowed out in layers in the back. “Is that not enough for you? Is it not enough that I'm content in where I'm at?” She laid out her dress on her bed, and began to rummage around on her shoe racks for a pair of shoes for the evening.

“But you're
not
,” her mother said in an exasperated tone. “I know you're not!”

“Not because I'm single!” She whirred upon her mother, anger flaring in her bright bird-of-prey gold eyes. “I'm unhappy because I haven't advanced in my career like I had hoped I would by now! I'm unhappy because I haven't finished a complete game yet because I've hit a creative block!”

“Clara...” Gerta whispered, eyes as big as dishes as she stared at her daughter incredulously. The thought occurred to Clara that she might not have ever snapped like this at her mother, and maybe it wasn't entirely deserved, but she was tired of it all, tired of having this back and forth with her, and wanted it to end tonight.

“I get it, I get it. You want to see me taken care of when you're gone. That's fine. But I'm self-sufficient, and I ask that you respect that. If I find someone, then I find someone. If not,” she narrowed her eyes at her to drive the point home. “I don't want to hear another word about marriage, or children, or settling down.”

“Clara, I didn't-” she wasn't sure whether her mother was trying to turn it around and blame it on her, or if she was trying to beseech her to forgive her, or to understand where she was coming from, but this conversation wasn't going to go many places, at least, not in the time they had before they were needed at the charity ball. Clara held up her hand to silence her mother, having heard enough, at least for now.

“I think you should go; you have a speech to memorize, and a charity ball to host. I'll meet you there,” Clara kissed her mother's cheek mechanically before turning away from her, clearly finished with the conversation and had no intention of engaging in any further discussion with her mother.

It didn't make it sting any less when her mother stormed out of the room and slammed the front door of her house shut.

W
ith a sigh
, Clara pulled out a pair of sapphire pumps and began to tug off her dressing robe to begin donning her attire for the evening's events; her mother, a rather successful businesswoman who contributed regularly to several charities, was hosting one of her many luxurious charity balls – one for a charity pertaining to the local orphanage, if memory served. Clara never failed to make an appearance, and when she had a little extra money to contribute, even donated her own money to the cause. She couldn't deny that her mother was a humanitarian in this particular regard, and had always looked for legitimate ways to improve the city.

It was such a shame that she barely acknowledged her children's wants.

Her older brother was set to inherit the company, and though she worked within the company herself, it was more on an IT level than anything else; might as well put her Computer Science degree to use, and get paid for it while she was at it. Her brother, a very business savvy man who was kind and always looked out for his little sister, allowed himself to be groomed for the family business so that she could pursue her own dreams. It was just fortunate happenstance that he had found his passion, his calling, in business anyway, and to this day, the two have always looked out for each other in any way that they could.

If she were being entirely honest with herself, she admitted as she applied some smoky gray eye shadow, flecked with silver, over her black eyeliner, she was only attending this particular event because her brother was going, and asked her to come keep him company while they smiled and pretended to care about whatever the dusty old aristocrats of the city were droning on about. With a giggle, she had no problem admitting to herself that the two of them had always, since they were dragged to these events as children, giggled about the old geezers that hobbled about, rambling on about how important they were. Evidently, he was bringing some other friends of his to the event, fellow business school alumni that he had particularly strong friendships with, and she found herself excited to meet new people.

Pulling her dress up over her hips, and slipping her arms through the ruffled cap sleeves, she zipped it shut and stepped into her pumps. She opted to let her thick, wavy hair ripple down one side of her head, gathering it there with a few secure pins in the back of her head, rather than something extravagant that would take more time than it was worth. With a quick glance in the mirror and a nod of her head in satisfaction at what she saw there, she plucked her clutch purse with her wallet and phone off of her dresser and walked out of her room to leave.

Stepping out into the cool night air and hopping into her car, she started the engine, and took off down the street, toward one of the many skyscrapers that lined the inner city's skyline. It was a relatively short trip, barring traffic during rush hour, but it was a blessedly short ride tonight, preventing her from dwelling on the argument with her mother for too long before the valet was parking her car in the family's garage level of the building, and she was stepping inside the lobby of the building. Thankfully, the bellhop and the greeter recognized her, and she was swiftly escorted into the grand ballroom on the tenth floor.

S
he had to admit
, the ballroom always looked like another, more magical world for these events.

She always felt like anything could happen on these nights, like someone might appear and sweep her away on a grand adventure. It was always these nights, where the staircase dividing the two floors of the ballroom were lit romantically with candles that were cradled in old antique lanterns, and the chandelier was alight and glittering, sending fractals of light shimmering on the dance floor below them, that she got the most creative inspiration for her games. The balconies on the second floor, wrapping around the space and showing off the gorgeous city lights were given their own lanterns, the tall French style doors pulled open to let the summer air in. Everything was awash in golden light, and felt like it was another time, and another place, and she practically felt like royalty as she stepped gracefully down the steps toward where most of the attendees were congregated, around the largely sparse dance floor.

She hummed along with the quartet of strings that played in the corner, and relished in the
thrum
of the melody reverberating in her chest as she reached the first floor of the ballroom. Sharp amber eyes scanning the crowd for signs of her brother, she eventually saw him chatting amicably with another man their age, no doubt one of the friends he was referring to. The man was tall, almost taller than her brother, and had short, dark curls sat atop his head. His skin was a lovely olive color, and he had the loveliest topaz eyes that were glittering with laughter over something her brother had said. He must have noticed her before her brother did, as he nodded in her direction before her brother finally turned to notice her, and began waving her over. By the time she was beside the two men, Charles already had a delicate flute of champagne held in his hand for her, that she took with a soft, 'thank you,' and began to sip delicately on to delay her need to talk to this other man she didn't know.

“Clara! So glad you could make it!” Charles said with a broad grin. “I was hoping you'd come soon! I want to introduce you to a dear friend of mine from university,” he gestured to the man she had seen him conversing with, and felt her heart flutter, just a little, at realizing that she was going to have to talk to this inarguably handsome man. Judging from the way he smirked at her, he
knew
he was handsome, and something in her flared in anger at his cockiness.

“Daryl Marley, of Marley Medications,” he said, hand outstretched for her to shake. She took it in her own, but couldn't hold back the gasp of surprise when he bent and kissed her knuckles. In spite of his arrogance, she felt a vague fluttering in her chest. Curse this man for his wily ways! The nerve!

“Clara Evans,” she said evenly, in a tone that she hoped harbored no misconceptions of attraction on her part; he was pretty, to be sure, but he already seemed far too arrogant for her liking. “You strike me as familiar – have we met before?”

“A few times, briefly,” she found herself curious as to why the smile he shot at her hadn't quite reached his otherwise bright eyes. What was the story behind that? “But we've not necessarily spoken too much.”

“I see,” was he disappointed that they hadn't talked before? It was so hard to say.

“How has the business been, then? Thames Pharmaceuticals not giving you too much trouble, I hope?” Charles piped up, clearly eager to change the subject, and ensuring that her curiosity would not be sated for the night on the subject. She made a mental note to ask him about that later, after everyone had already left.

“Of course not, no,” Daryl said, smoothly transitioning onto the clearly lighter subject. “They wouldn't dare make any form of medication that isn't name brand, for fear of, 'tainting the waters,' as it were,” he said with an eye roll. “Their loss. Thanks to their lack of competition in the market, our profits are the best they've been in a long time, and we're helping more people this way than if we didn't manufacture off brand medicines.” She sipped at her champagne, glad that at least he's partially interested in helping those in need of medicine over profits, even if the two weren't mutually exclusive. Perhaps she had been too judgmental? If she were honest, that was entirely likely. “So, Clara,” Daryl said, returning his attention to her. “What is it that you do?”

The question was an innocent one, and likely one that he expected the usual answer to – 'oh, I run a portion of my parent's company and am incredibly successful,' or, 'oh, I'm an entrepreneur and I make a lot of money doing it,' not the answer she was going to give. But all the same, she owed it to herself to be honest about her career, to own up to what she was doing, and by God, she was going to be proud of it.

“I, ah,” she said, already not starting off on the most confident foot. “I design video games,” she dove back into her flute of bubbly alcohol, hoping that she could just hide in it until everyone went away that she might not have to face another judgmental stare like the last time she boasted about her career at one of these soirées.

“Oh?” Daryl said with a curious tilt of his head. “Is there a specialty that you're best at, in terms of making them, or are you a jack of all trades kind of developer?” She blinked owlishly at him, surprised that he was even remotely interested in what her career entailed.

“I'm mostly a writer for games,” she said, feeling the flush on her face and not sure whether or not it was from embarrassment or from the champagne. Perhaps it was both, but it was hard to say at this point. “But I'm not with a studio right now, so I'm solo developing a game at the moment.”

“By yourself?” Daryl said, clearly surprised. “That's incredible! I wouldn't have the foggiest idea where to even begin!” He smiled kindly to her. “You must be incredibly talented and creative.”

“Flattery?” She heard herself say in a sarcastic droll. “And obvious flattery, but I appreciate the compliment all the same.” Oh, she was flirting – the exact
opposite
of what she wanted to do; he was indulging her need for acknowledgement in her career, and she was so starved for it that she was lapping it up, nothing more, she had to firmly remind herself.

“And such a sharp wit!” Daryl threw his head back with a deep rumble of laughter, and she caught herself staring at the bob of his Adam's apple when his chuckling dissolved into another sip of champagne. She grimaced, realizing that while there was certainly more to him, he was certainly doing little to dissuade her from thinking him arrogant and cocksure. Charles excused himself from the conversation discreetly, being called upon by another of the patrons, no doubt to gush over the ball and how much this particular old bitty would donate, leaving her to converse with Daryl alone. “Join me on the balcony? I feel as though it's getting a little too crowded here.”

“I suppose you're right,” the more intimate setting that the balcony provided wasn't lost on her, but even she could see that it was going to become harder to hear, both Daryl, and her brother. With a touch on her brother's arm, she informed him where they were going, and to meet them there when he was finished. With an affirmative nod from him before he returned to his conversation, she accepted Daryl's offered arm, and they wove their way through the crowd.