Page 20 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

“As some of you may know, and I’m sure the gossips have already spread”—he pauses for a few muffled chuckles in the room—“that we’re taking on new blood. You may not think of me as old, but after my second grandson, I’m finding more and more that I’d like to step back from my managerial role.

“Rest assured, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still keep our biggest clients happy and oversee projects where needed. But, I think it’s time for a semi-retirement. I helped found this firm forty years ago, and it will always be my baby, but it’s time to let someone else tend it.”

There’s polite applause, but it seems like everyone is too stunned to fully respond. He must truly trust whomever he’s bringing in.

“Settle down now,” he continues. “I’m raising Alan Greenwich to replace me. As Director of Mixed Use, he’s helped lead the company in the direction that will keep us stable for another 40years. I’ve also decided the time is right to sell my ownership of the company to ensure I don’t try to claw my way back in.

“I’d like everyone to meet Wickham Barrett, our newest investor and primary shareholder.”

Chapter Six

Wickham

Milton drones on about how excited he is to be bringing me on while people shuffle into the room.

“The best and brightest,” he reassures me for the thousandth time. “You’ll love being involved here.”

“I don’t want to be involved,” I reply. “I’m here to help the business flourish in your absence, but I’ll only come in when I need to.”

Like when I need to see her.

Annie Lane.

My fucking mate.

Who ran from me.

The feral dragon in me knows she’s in this building and I’m ready to burst out of my skin. Scales and teeth and claws.

The urge to wrench her from her glass-encased office has been eating at me since I arrived an hour ago.

Every day, I’ve stared at her profile picture from an app I must’ve been too drunk to remember downloading.

Grace K., 29, Retail.

Once I woke up, realized she was gone, and miraculously did not burn down the hotel, it took an agonizing nineteen hours to find her. Her abandoned social media rendered only a partial match to The Botanical’s lobby camera footage, but once the profile appeared in my inbox, I could tell it was her immediately.

Annie Lane, 29, Architect.

It was another two days to hunt her down in person. I’d be mad about the subterfuge, but it meant none of the other matches got any piece of her, and my instincts like that she still chose me.

For a week, I’ve watched her working through the windows and paced in the wooded park neighboring Parsens’s office building. I brought in a folding desk and chair to get work done with her in my line of sight.

Once the bond sets, the urge to catch her, to hold her, won’t be so adamant.

At least I fucking hope so.

The dragon community is nonexistent in Tavers City. I’ve been on my own since my father died more than a century ago.

“Right, of course,” Milton says. He smooths his suit and hops to his feet.

Milton’s been after me for years to buy him out. He’s been trying to retire for nearly a decade, and I’m the only non-VC in the city who buysand keepsstock in independently owned businesses.

The other partners had a right of first refusal but were eager to have me when they learned I intended to be a mostly silent partner. Milton gets his buy-out, the rest don’t have to foot the bill or suffer an unknown handling operations.

Doesn’t mean I’ve ceded control. I’m still the majority shareholder.

“How often do you think you’ll be in the office?” I ask. I don’t want him looking over my shoulder while I’m looking overhers.

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