Page 3 of Fated to the Dragon King (Alpha Dragons’ Fated #4)

Hayley

“Please don’t let him get to you.”

“How can I not? He’s my boss.”

“I’m your boss,” Willow said primly. “He’s an asshole.”

I choked on a laugh that’s almost a sob. “I very nearly didn’t come in today.”

Willow perched her hip on the side of my desk. “Listen, sweetie. Alaric is a good guy. He has a tough time showing it, though. He has a huge responsibility and a heavy weight on his shoulders. Don’t give up on us. Don’t quit. Please.”

“If I didn’t have such a tough time at home,” I admitted, “I would have. I need this job so I can get my own place.”

“Just give him a little time. Okay?”

I look up into her sweet, matronly face with curiosity. “Why do you want me to stick around? I know you can fill this job the minute you advertise for it.”

Willow gazed down at her hands for a long time as though trying to decide on something. At last, she looked me in the eyes and smiled. “Simply understand this, Hayley. You came to us for the right reason and at the right time. Nothing else is as important.”

“That makes no sense at all.”

“I know, dear. Just do your work and let fate take its course.”

I shook my head as Willow returned to her office. “That’s the weirdest pep talk I’ve ever listened to.”

Fortunately, Alaric didn’t come to work. I answered the phone, directed calls to Willow and Richard, rewrote two more blogs, and smiled cheerfully at the clients who came in to have a sit down chat with Richard. All in all, a very peaceful and satisfying day at the office.

Unfortunately, the shit hit the fan upon my return home.

***

“So, they haven’t axed you yet?”

Roxanne, decked out in a trendy flowery blouse and tight fitting yoga pants, eyed me up and down with undisguised malice as I walked into the house.

“No.”

I tried to walk past her and hide in my room, but she blocked me.

“Are you screwing the boss?” she demanded, her evil smile widening.

“Roxanne!”

“Are you?”

“Of course not,” I snapped, appalled. “I work an honest job.”

“Yeah, right.” Roxanne gave me yet another one of those searching up and down looks from her narrowed eyes. “You aren’t smart enough, Hayley. Remember how you got fired from waitressing when you spilled coffee all over a customer and burned him?”

I gaped. “I was sixteen! It was my first job, jeez.”

“You’ve gotten older, but that doesn’t mean you’ve improved any.”

My repressed anger and hurt, suppressed for more years than I remember, surged to the surface.

Perhaps because of Willow’s kindness, her odd pep talk, and the fact that I received a generous bonus during my first week of employment, I gained a little self-confidence.

Enough anyway to hurl my pent-up emotions back at her.

“What have I ever done to you?” I shrieked, spittle flecking my lips. “All my life you’ve put me down, called me stupid, hated me. I’m your damn sister , Roxanne. Blood. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

In shock, Roxanne blinked and took a small step backward. “You took Mom’s and Dad’s love from me.”

“I didn’t ask to be born, you bitch.” I leaned toward her, my fists clenched. “You were four years old when I came along. Four . If Mom and Dad didn’t love you, then maybe you should look inside yourself for the reason why.”

Her suddenly thinned lips warned me in time. She lifted her arm to swing her open hand at my face. Though I’ve never defended myself in a physical altercation in my life, I instinctively blocked the slap. As her arm fell away, I planted both of my fists into her shoulders and pushed.

Roxanne stumbled back with a cry of surprise. She didn’t fall, but her awkward flailing to keep her balance brought a satisfied chuckle from me.

“How dare you,” she cried. “You pushed me.”

“Damn right I did.” I paced into her territorial bubble and smiled grimly. “Next time you try to hit me, I’ll do more than push you. I’ll face plant you into the dirt.”

My satisfaction grew a fraction when she flinched. As did my self-confidence. I’d never stood up for myself before. I never had the sand. Where this courage came from, I truly didn’t know.

But it came just in time.

“Get out of my house,” she screamed. “Now. I hate you. I never want to see your ugly face again.”

I shrugged even as my stomach trembled with the familiar fear.

I had no place to go. Alaric’s bonus check sat in my bank, but I had not yet put the deposit on the apartment I’d picked to rent.

The management needed my first and last month’s rent as well, and it all had to come from my first paycheck.

That wouldn’t arrive for three more days.

“I said I’d move,” I replied, forcing calm into my voice. “When I got paid.”

“I don’t care.”

Roxanne visibly trembled as she stalked across her expensive living room to a side table and grabbed her cigarettes and lighter.

She lit up, her hands shaking. In seeing that, I caught a glimpse of her own vulnerability and lack of confidence.

Was her perpetual abuse a front to conceal her own lack of self-worth?

The insight offered me a chance to rethink what I knew of her. Even so, I pushed that aside for the moment. “By the time you get a court order to evict me, I’ll be gone.”

She snapped a savage glare in my direction. “I don’t need a court order. I’ll just call the cops.”

“Sorry, sweet sister, but you agreed to let me live here. This is my home, as well as yours. The cops can’t legally drag me out.”

I suspect the steadiness of my voice, the knowledge I presented, gave Roxanne pause. She smoked her cigarette, not looking at me. Instead, she stared vacantly into space. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, though her face was usually easy to read.

“Go away,” she said at last, her voice inflective. “I don’t like it when you look at me.”

Once upon a time I’d have obeyed her. Not doing so would invoke a tantrum involving screamed insults and sometimes thrown objects. I considered simply walking away since it wasn’t worth provoking her. However, my new found courage didn’t want to be shut away again. Not yet.

“Why don’t you like me to look at you?” I asked. “Are you afraid of what I might see?”

“Of course not,” she snapped, impatient. “I just don’t want to see your stupid face.”

“Maybe I’m not as dumb as you think I am,” I said slowly. “You’ve made me hate myself since I was little. I’m twenty-four years old. Perhaps it’s time I stopped listening to you.”

Her upper lip curled although she still refused to look at me. “You’ll be stupid and ugly until the day you die.”

I recalled Alaric yelling at me, calling me stupid, and wondered if perhaps they were both right, after all. Willow’s pep talk was meant to avoid the annoying need to find another receptionist. What I thought was my courage deflated and folded like a boy scout pup tent.

“Whatever,” I muttered, feeling sick inside. “I’ll be gone in a few days, and you’ll never see me again.”

“It can’t happen too soon.”

Defeated, I walked into the sterile and soulless kitchen to grab a bottle from the refrigerator. As I passed Roxanne, heading for the stairs, she shrieked, “That’s my booze. Put it back.”

I didn’t obey her. Instead, I flipped her my middle finger. She screamed as though she’d just seen a fat, wooly spider crawl up her perfectly fitting pants.

Ignoring her tantrum, I went up the stairs to my room.

I wished this place was my sanctuary, but it felt more like a trap I couldn’t escape from.

Decorated in Rozanne’s expensive tastes, it held little of my personality.

Only a few pictures of my parents and a few of my books were mine.

Everything else reflected my sister’s need for bright colors and frills.

I never liked frilly things.

As I changed out of my skirt and blazer, kicked off my shoes, I heard Rozanne’s Mercedes roar. Looking out the window, I saw her drive away at a speed not recommended for the neighborhood. Roxanne in a snit. I shrugged, and donned comfortable leggings and a t-shirt.

I settled into my room’s recliner with a book and the vodka I drank straight from the bottle’s neck. This seemed to be the perfect time to get absolutely shit faced. And why not? It’s not like I’m smart enough to become the president and save the world.

Drinking straight vodka on an empty stomach was a sure fire method of becoming as drunk as a lord in a short period of time. It wasn’t long before the words in the book ran together like droplets of water running into one another.

When the front door chimed, I had come close to falling asleep. I frowned, bleary. One of Roxanne’s friends? In the time I’d lived there, she’d never had guests. What a time for one of her snooty friends to stop by for a chat.

I nearly fell out of the recliner while trying to stand. I managed to leave my room without smacking my face on the door, but navigating the stairs proved a challenge. I pondered just sitting down until the unwanted visitor wandered away.

The bell chimed again.

“Don’t get your knickers in a wad,” I grumbled crossly, rubbing my eyes in an effort to see straight.

I made it across the foyer without tripping over anything.

I swung the door open –

“What are you doing here?”

As much as Roxanne had, Alaric Desjardin looked me up and down. Unlike Roxanne, he failed to display any contempt or make any disparaging comments. Instead, he made a small attempt at a smile. It didn’t look genuine in my inebriated opinion. It seemed more like a dog’s snarl before it bit.

“Are you drunk?”

“Um.”

The question baffled me. I peered up into his cold, gray eyes, squinting when the single man on the stoop divided into two, then three. Like an under a microscope. “What?”

“I came to talk to you.” As I stood there, stumped and too drunk to comprehend him, he glanced past me. “May I come in?”

“Oh. Um, yeah.”

I opened the door wider, staggering slightly, stepping aside to permit him past me. He gazed around Roxanne’s foyer with interest while I shut the door again. Nervous, the vodka heating my blood as his intimidating presence made the sweat bloom, I wiped my palms against my leggings.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Alaric said at last. “It was uncalled for and totally unnecessary.”

I felt my mouth drop open. Astounded, I looked into the three sets of ice cold eyes, then the three faces finally merged into one. I had no idea what to say even if the booze hadn’t messed with my ability to think. As he watched me, expectant, I finally and hastily blurted, “Oh. It’s okay.”

“Does that mean my apology is accepted?”

“Uh, well, yeah, sure.”

Alaric left me to wander around the foyer, examining the original oil paintings on the walls, the antique tables with vases of flowers or marble statues atop them, then finally looked back at me.

“Saying I’m sorry doesn’t come easy to me.”

“Uh.”

Alaric scowled. “Why did you have to be drunk on this day of all days?”

I managed a shrug. “I’m at home, right? Not working. Not driving.”

I know my words slurred, but suddenly I didn’t care what Mr. Rightous Prick thought of me. “What do you want?”

Alaric paced away, his hands in his pockets. As he stared at an abstract painting, he spoke again, his back to me.

“I need a wife. I need you to marry me.”