Page 32 of Conning Her Dragonkin Boss

Khanner stands there, perfectly composed, a tray in his hands with a teapot and two cups.

I blink at him. “You… brought tea?”

He arches a brow. “It’s supposed to help you sleep.”

I glance at my half-packed tote bag. My perfectly laid out escape plan.

I should say I’m tired.

I should tell him goodnight and leave as soon as he’s gone.

Instead, I step aside and let him in.

The tea is good.

The company?

Surprisingly better.

We talk—first about business, then about our favorite cities, the places we’ve traveled, our thoughts on how integrated cities like New Vegas work.

At some point, I curl up on the seating area, my mug warm in my hands.

His voice is low and steady, lulling me into an easy, drowsy comfort.

I don’t realize how late it is until I blink sleepily at him.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, amusement in his voice.

I try to muster up an argument, but my eyes are already closing.

I wakeup in my bed.

Not the couch.

The actual bed.

A note sits on the nightstand, written in Khanner’s precise, sharp handwriting.

You are not to work this weekend. I have removed the event from your calendar.

I stare at it, my heart thudding.

Then my phone vibrates.

Mei

Where are you?! You’re late!!!

I launch out of bed, grabbing my con bag.

Because Khanner might have removed my work schedule.

But he never said a damn thing about Wyvern’s Dawn.

Sunny

On my way!

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