Her locket was warm against her skin. It had been warm since she’d arrived at the hotel this morning, pulsing with a heat that felt like a warning. The same heat she’d felt three nights ago, when the wingbeats had thundered over the cove.
She’d seen the dragon, from her bakery window. Just a glimpse: a massive shape against the stars, scales catching moonlight, circling the town twice before disappearing toward the cliffs. Sweetwater Cove didn’t get many dragons. The arrival had been the talk of the town all week.
Something is coming.
Estelle’s words echoed in her memory.The Draven heir. Very dramatic. Very single.
Marina pushed off the wall. Checked her apron for stains. Forced her shoulders back.
Six more hours. You can do this. And then you can go home and pretend none of this ever happened.
The main conference room was worse than the smaller ones.
Marina navigated through clusters of supernatural beings, carrying a fresh tray of mini quiches and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. The room was enormous: vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor, enough square footage to fit her entire bakery three times over. Lawyers milled in groups, drinks in hand, discussing things Marina couldn’t begin to understand.
She was setting down the quiches when she saw him.
He stood near the windows, apart from the crowd, holding his drink like a weapon he hadn’t decided to use yet. Tall. Dark hair swept back from a face that was either devastating or cruel, depending on how the light hit it. He wore a charcoal Tom Ford suit so flawlessly cut it looked like he’d been measured by someone who took the work personally, and his expression suggested he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet.
Her locket burned. She nearly dropped the tray.
No. Absolutely not. You’re working.
But she couldn’t stop staring. He made her skin prickle, her locket flare hot against her collarbone. He looked like trouble. The expensive, ruinous kind that left wreckage in its wake.
As if sensing her attention, he turned.
Their eyes met.
For one breathless moment, the room went silent. His eyes were dark, darker than they should be, and they held hers with an intensity that made her want to run.
Then he looked away, dismissing her completely, and the moment shattered.
Right. Of course. You’re the help.
She grabbed her empty tray and fled toward the service entrance, cheeks burning.
At the doorway, she paused to let a server pass, and heard his voice for the first time.
It matched the rest of him. Deep and smooth and dismissive.
“I asked for the documents an hour ago.” The voice of someone who expected the world to rearrange itself for his convenience. “Is that beyond your capabilities, or should I find someone competent?”
The server, a young brownie named Tam who’d been working events since before Marina was born, flushed purple with humiliation. “Sir, the archives are across town, and the traffic…”
“I don’t care about traffic. I care about results.” The beautiful man didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “Get me the contract, or get out of my sight.”
Tam scurried away, ears flat against his head.
Beautiful and awful. What a combination.
She turned away and walked straight into the person behind her.
Walked intowas generous. She collided with them: a spectacular, full-body impact that sent her tray clattering to the floor and the pumpkin spice lattes she’d been carrying cascading through the air in a graceful arc of caffeinated disaster.
Coffee went everywhere.
On her. On the floor. On the antique table beside them.
