Page 27 of Conning Her Dragonkin Boss

After all, she is allowed some privacy.

On Tuesday, she works just as hard as always, but I notice the small things.

The slight tension in her shoulders. How she rubs her temple when she thinks I’m not looking. The measured breaths between tasks.

Not only does menthol permeate her aura, but also a layer of something herbaceous-smelling—rosemary?—clings to her.

For her afternoon hot beverage, she chooses tea instead of coffee.

Tea.

Something she never drinks in the office unless it’s iced and sweet.

The scent of arnica wafts into my office now, faint, but noticeable—pain relief. One she is applying even now.

She’s pushing through whatever pain she is feeling, refusing to acknowledge it.

Royce manages to find his way to my office, striding through my doorway, Urul close to his heels, closing the door behind him. Rooyce takes a seat as if he were invited. “I told you you were working her too hard.”

Urul follows suit. “It was only a matter of time.”

I scowl at them. “She likes working hard.”

Royce snorts. “I bet she does,” he says mockingly.

I glare at him. “Shut up.”

I don’t say more, letting them both tease me about working her too hard.

As if he understands Sunny or her work ethic. People like her need to work. It’s like therapy, or self-care, or whatever it is the current generation likes to call it.

I hate it most of all because they are voicing what I’ve already suspected.

On Wednesday, she’s worse.

Not by much—just enough that I see it.

She’s a fraction slower at grabbing reports.

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

She pops pain relievers like candy, swallowing them down with careful, measured sips of tea.

The scent of menthol, rosemary, and arnica clings like a cloud around her. She’s masking her pain, yet says nothing.

So I say nothing.

But I watch.

On Thursday Morning, she walks in like nothing is wrong even though she looks like death warmed over.

I’ve had enough. I push the intercom to get her into my office.

Sunny barely shuts the door behind her.

“You’re not coming to the meeting,” I say by way of greeting.

She blinks at me, frozen in place. “Excuse me?”

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