Page 1 of Conning Her Dragonkin Boss

Chapter One

EXPENDABLE

Khanner Rokoth

My tablet flashes a silent notification.Before I read it, the nerve behind my eyes already start to throb.

Subject: Your executive assistant has resigned. Effective immediately.

Assistants are replaceable. That’s what I remind myself when I swipe open my tablet to read the rest of the email from the Senior Administrative Manager. I exhale slowly, pressing the bridge of my nose between two fingers.

Another one.

Across the polished black conference table, Urul Vormugh, CEO of Vormugh Enterprises and my longtime friend, leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his massive chest. His orcishtusks twitch in amusement as he sips his whiskey. “I know that expression,” he says with an insufferable chuckle. “What’s that now, the fifth assistant in a year?”

To his right, Royce Arden, our COO and resident smooth talker, swirls the amber liquid in his glass looking thoroughly entertained. “Seventh,” Royce corrects. “Though, to be fair, the last one lasted almost a full quarter. That’s a new record for you.”

I tighten my grip on my tablet. “Perhaps if either of you understood the meaning of efficiency, I wouldn’t have to cycle through assistants at this rate.”

Urul laughs, slapping a heavy hand on the table. “Or maybe, just maybe, if you loosened up, people wouldn’t flee the second you start growling at them.”

Royce taps his chin. “What was the last one’s reason for quitting? Oh, right. ‘The relentless, soul-crushing silence of working under the CFO’.”

“The one before that?” Urul muses. “‘Perpetual glaring and a lingering fear of being eaten’.”

Royce grins. “I believe that one actually wrote ‘HELP ME’ in invisible ink on their resignation letter.”

I roll my shoulders, keeping my expression impassive. “Assistants come and go.”

“And yours all seem to run for the hills at alarming rates,” Royce remarks dryly. “You ever consider that maybe the problem is you?”

“No,” I say flatly, swiping to my next set of reports.

Urul laughs again. “You should, brother. You work them into the ground.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “I mean, not all of us can function on four hours of sleep, fire-breathing, and pure stubbornness. You should recognize the employees once in a while. Know their name. Give them a little bonus here and there.”

I arch a brow. “Sleeping with your employee and appointing them a Senior Vice President of Property Development isn’t a sustainable solution, either. Unless there are limitless senior positions I don’t know about.”

Urul chokes on his drink, coughing as Royce guffaws, slapping his massive hands against the table.

“Technically,” Urul huffs, wiping his mouth, “Poppy was never an employee. She was a Boardroom hopeful, if you recall, one that we happily approved of to be a consultant.”

“A consultant who now conveniently happens to be your mate,” I point out.

“She was never working for me, at least not technically, and most definitely not as my assistant,” Urul scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. “And, I’d decided she was my mate before I knew she had anything to do with this company. Besides, Poppy would have murdered me in my sleep if I’d called her my assistent, executive or otherwise.”

Royce shakes his head. “And massively wrong anyway considering she’s far more competent than you in every aspect of this business.”

I don’t disagree.

Poppy isn’t like the assistants I’ve gone through—the ones who cracked under pressure, forgot deadlines, or simply couldn’t keep up.

She is an exception, at any rate. And exceptions aren’t the rule.

“It would be great if we could all be hiring C-Suite level brains for our admins. At the end of the day, whether assistants or CEOs,” I look archly at Urul. “They should be competent enough to handle the job.”

“They should be,” Royce agrees. “But you expect them to be psychic, and when they fail, you barely give them the chance to recover.”

I don’t argue. Because they aren’t wrong.

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