Page 34 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

I licked my lips and forced my hand to leave the necklace. “You have a case with the firm, right?”

His eyes narrowed by a fraction. “Yes.”

“I want in.”

Mr. Payton made a sound that was somewhere between shock and disapproval, as if he couldn’t believe an intern would have such audacity.

Mr. Virelli kept his gaze on mine. “In?”

“On the team,” I said. “Even if I’m mostly making copies and carrying coffee. I want to be part of the case.”

A beat passed, then another.

The way he looked at me made me very aware of my breathing and wildly unhelpful pulse.

“And that’s all you want?”

There was something in the way he asked it that made me think he was accustomed to a very different kind of answer. He’d expected me to ask for money, jewelry, or a myriad other luxuries. Some grand dramatic ask that could be fulfilled with a wire transfer or a signed card from an assistant.

I could’ve said yes. I almost did.

Then the practical part of my brain, the part that wore sensible shoes and knew the exact balance on my student loan portal to the cent, stepped in and reminded me that internships ended. Cases dragged. Law firms made no promises they didn’t absolutely have to.

So, I said, “And a letter of recommendation.”

That got a reaction. Just the smallest shift in his face, but it was there. Surprise, maybe. Or curiosity.

“A letter?” he repeated.

“My internship will be up before I know it,” I said. “If I don’t land a full-time spot here, I’ll need a letter of recommendation for the next firm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure that’s the extent of your ambition?”

I smiled before I could stop myself. “Not even a little. It’s just the part you can help with.”

Moira looked away abruptly, her mouth twitching.

Mr. Virelli kept studying me.

I had the sudden, crystal-clear awareness that he was trying to sort me. Not just whether I was clever, though that too. He was trying to figure out what kind of person I was, and whether this was audacity or calculation or some combination of the two.

It was definitely a combination.

Still, I held his gaze and let him come to his own conclusions.

At last, he said, “Fine.”

I put out my hand before he could change his mind. He almost looked offended by the efficiency of it, but he took my hand.

His hand was large and dry and warm in a way that felt startlingly human for someone currently radiating dragon. He shook once. Then again, firmer, like a man sealing something old-fashioned and binding.

“All right,” he said.

I’d just made a bargain with a dragon in the middle of an office birthday celebration.

Law school should’ve prepared me better.

Mr. Virelli released my hand, then turned toward James and Helena.