Page 24 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

The realization has been circling me since I opened the closet, but I needed to build half the damn thing before I was willing to acknowledge it.

We've had one session.

One.

I should put everything back. There's no reason for a client to have a place in my private nest, and certainly no reason for me to be standing here deciding which blanket she'd prefer.

I smooth the edge of the cashmere throw instead.

My dragon is entirely too pleased with itself.

There have been evenings when the nest has felt too large for one person. More of them lately. Usually I ignore it. I'm a dragon; I take up space, and after centuries of being told what a hoard should look like, I've earned the right to fill mine with as many blankets and books as I damn well please.

But I've never answered that occasional emptiness by preparing a place for someone else.

Until now.

I look at the corner again. It doesn't seem dramatically different from the rest of the nest. A few extra blankets, two pillows, a warmer spot against the wall. Anyone else might not notice it at all.

I know exactly what I've done.

I leave it anyway.

There's still enough sanity left in me to step away, so I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for my tablet. I want something ordinary to occupy my attention, and next week's schedule should qualify.

Margot's name is there.

Next Saturday.

Seven days from now.

I stare at the date longer than necessary. A week is nothing. I've watched kingdoms disappear in stretches of time that felt shorter, and normally I couldn't tell you how many days remain before a particular client returns without checking the calendar.

I set the tablet aside.

Her intake comes back to me. I don't need to open it; I've read it enough today that several of the answers have lodged themselves firmly in my head. One in particular has been irritating the dragon since this afternoon.

The idea of someone wanting to take care of me.

I know that sounds pathetic.

Smoke slips from my nose before I can stop it.

I exhale slowly, but that only produces more, a thicker curl drifting upward until gray begins gathering near the ceiling. My dragon's opinion on the subject has not improved with time.

Neither has mine.

I get up and open a window before the smoke alarm goes off again.

Chapter Five

Margot

On Monday morning, I eat breakfast sitting down.

This shouldn't feel unusual. I own a kitchen table. I bought four chairs for it. For the last four years, however, I've mostly used the whole setup for unopened mail, clean laundry I haven't folded yet, and the occasional stack of work I bring home because eight hours in the office isn't enough.

Today there are two scrambled eggs on an actual plate in front of me, my coffee is still hot, and my laptop is closed on the counter.