Conning Her Dragonkin Boss by Evangeline Priest

Author:Evangeline Priest [Priest, Evangeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House Priest Publishing
Published: 2025-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

THE PROBLEM WITH STUBBORN PEOPLE

Khanner Rokoth

Sunny and I have settled into a perfect rhythm over the past few weeks.

Each morning, she brings me my espresso doppio and shortbread cookies, perfectly timed—hot, no sugar.

My reports appear on my desk before I ask for them.

She anticipates my needs with efficiency and precision, sending detailed daily updates so I don’t have to chase anyone down.

In return, I make sure the staff lounge is stocked with her favorite snacks, sauces, and that ridiculous crispy chili oil she hoards like it’s liquid gold.

Of course, after tasting it, I, too, put it on nearly everything.

After she forgot her lunch once, I arranged a catering service to supply midday meals so she would never have to worry about it again. When Urul raised his eyebrow at me, I reminded him that well-nourished staff are productive staff.

No one needs to know that I did it for Sunny.

Not that it matters. They all seem to enjoy her presence anyway. Perhaps it will only heighten her esteem in their eyes if they knew she is the reason for my generosity.

This system works.

Sunny is predictable, dependable, and too intelligent for her own good.

Which is why when she walks into the office today, looking like she spent the night fighting an entire war, I immediately notice.

Her usual polished blazer dress is replaced by an oversized cardigan.

Her black hair is twisted into a messy bun that looks like a cactus, and she’s wearing glasses.

I don’t know why the glasses throw me, but they do.

It’s not that she looks bad—far from it.

She’s still beautiful.

But her skin is paler than usual, her steps slower.

Perhaps she overexerted herself over the weekend. I hear her mentioning some passion project she’s working on to her colleagues. Maybe they ought to tell her to get some rest.

When she hands me my reports, her fingers are cold.

Something is off.

A scent lingers in the air as she moves past me.

Menthol.

Something sharp and medicinal.

I narrow my eyes, watching her carefully. “You’re sick.”

She waves a dismissive hand at my accusation. “Just allergies.”

I don’t argue, but I don’t believe her either.

I know for a fact the building’s air filtration system eliminates all allergens. It was one of the many modifications installed when we took over Vormugh Tower—Otherkin sensitivities require a strictly controlled environment.

It’s a lie, but not an outright, blatant one.

If she knew how easily it is to know she’s lying, she wouldn’t waste energy trying it with me.

Instead of pressing, I let it go. For now.

After all, she is allowed some privacy.

On Tuesday, she works just as hard as always, but I notice the small things.

The slight tension in her shoulders. How she rubs her temple when she thinks I’m not looking. The measured breaths between tasks.

Not only does menthol permeate her aura, but also a layer of something herbaceous-smelling—rosemary?—clings to her.

For her afternoon hot beverage, she chooses tea instead of coffee.

Tea.

Something she never drinks in the office unless it’s iced and sweet.

The scent of arnica wafts into my office now, faint, but noticeable—pain relief.

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