Page 7 of The Dragon in the Corner Office (Monstrous New York #1)
Chapter 7
T his is the one day I dedicate to spending with my family. Cyrus’s words echo in my brain as I climb the stairs to the roof. He’s never mentioned a family before. Is he married?
Why do I care?
Does he have kids?
His rude and egotistical aura doesn’t allude to a wife or children.
For some reason, the thought of Cyrus having a wife sends waves of jealousy roiling in my gut. The green envy monster swirls around me as I push through the roof access door and strip my clothes.
Combined with the anxiety and anger from earlier, my emotions are out of control and my dragon is clawing at my skin. She wants out— now .
As much as I loathe to admit it, Cyrus is right. I think I nearly barfed in my mouth admitting that, but I need to get out of the office. A flight over the city is exactly what I need to calm myself—and my dragon.
Once I’m naked and my clothes are stuffed into my black leather tote, I close my eyes and reach inward. Liquid gold eyes flash behind my lids. Iridescent black scales shift as a tail uncoils from around my dragon’s massive body.
My body temperature skyrockets until fire fills my veins and explodes outward.
Bursting from the flames, my dragon tears through my subconscious and replaces my human form. I unfurl my wings and flap them through the air, creating a wind tunnel around me. Slapping my tail on the ground, I tip my head back with a roar.
In this form, I’m the size of a small compact car.
My scales ripple in the late day sunshine as the transformation completes. Damn, it feels good to be in this form. Stretching, a hoarse groan rips from my throat, muscles flexing.
It will feel even better to be soaring through the sky with the air rushing around me.
Weightless.
Insignificant .
If only to escape the suffocating confines of my mind for a moment.
To just be .
Clutching the handles of my tote bag with my front foot, I use my powerful back legs to press off the ground and rocket into the air above New York City. The wind whips around me, whistling in my ears and sending a bone-deep chill through my body. It extinguishes the earlier rage and jealousy I was feeling.
Down below, the buildings shrink until they’re mere pinpoints on a map. This, soaring above the world and observing from afar, never gets old.
Although sometimes it does get lonely. On days like today, I wish I had someone to share it with. Someone to show the beauty of the world to as the sun reflects off the rippling surface of the ocean, like a mirror into its soul.
My wings beat faster as I approach the Statue of Liberty, her blue-green coppery facade gleaming in the evening light. Touching down between the spikes of her crown, my claws dig into the metal as I land in a crouch.
I’ve been coming here for years now, when I need to clear my head. Something about the boats speeding by in the harbor and the chatter of the tourists down below, some pointing as they spot me, makes me forget about any racing thoughts.
When I’m here, I don’t have to be the cut-throat businesswoman .
I don’t have to hide behind the carefully curated hardened persona.
I can simply exist and let the world move around me.
A few hours later, I’ve almost turned to stone from sitting still for so long. My scales are warm to the touch, having soaked in the last rays of the sun. The sky has turned to vibrant reds and purples as the golden globe sinks into the horizon. A rumbling in my belly tells me it’s time to head home, eat, and prepare for another day of battle with Cyrus tomorrow.
T he sheer curtains twist and turn in the breeze as I come in for a landing on the expansive balcony outside my penthouse. Thankfully, I remembered to leave the wide glass doors open when I left for the office in the early hours this morning. Usually, I’d take the subway or walk the few blocks home, but I needed to stretch my wings today.
I tuck my wings around my body and burst through the flames as I return to human form, strolling into my apartment with my tote bag in hand.
Working so closely with Cyrus has my thoughts in such a mess.
On the one hand, I’m still infuriated over what happened years ago.
On the other hand, I’m utterly confused. His presence stirs this strange arousal in me that I’m not sure I like. I should not be turned on by his commanding business presence, or the way his broad back stretches his suit jackets within an inch of their life.
On Friday, I found myself daydreaming like some vapid high school girl, my eyes glued to his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves. Each time he meticulously creased the cotton material before rolling it again, my pussy leaked more and more.
Of course, Cyrus was totally oblivious to the whole pornographic display, too busy schmoozing a potential client on the phone as he paced between our desks.
Luckily, Pen broke me out of my lust-filled haze when she delivered our lunches.
“Ridiculous, Antoinette. You’re being ridiculous. He’s just a man,” I chastise myself as I trudge to the kitchen.
Popping the lid off a pre-made meal from the fridge, I set it in the microwave and punch the buttons for my desired time. While my food heats, I wander to my bedroom in search of my favorite silk robe.
The silence is deafening as my footsteps echo on the luxurious tile flooring. Today is one of those days where loneliness eats away at my soul. I’ve been alive for almost 200 years, living on my own for most of them, and it shows. Nowhere in my apartment is there a single picture of me with friends or family.
Not only has Cyrus one-upped me constantly in my professional life, but now he’s done it in my personal life, too. He has a family who he wants to spend time with.
Am I jealous because I want what he has? Or because I want him ?
Before I can spiral further, the microwave timer beeps in the kitchen. Snatching the silky black robe from my closet, I wrap the soft material around my body and breathe a sigh. This is the life I’ve worked my ass off for. I’m wealthy, beautiful, and independent—this is everything I’ve wanted since I left home at eighteen.
Right?
Grabbing my food from the microwave and a fork from the drawer, I decide to watch some trashy television to take my mind off my woes. Pen has been raving about some reality show where a man dates multiple women at once, then eliminates them one by one until he marries one of them.
Roses are involved for some reason. Humans are weird.
Not really my cup of tea, but I need a distraction from my own life right now.
I swing by my glass wine cellar, located between the kitchen and living room, to select a bottle to drown my sorrows. My hand wraps around the neck of a vintage Cabernet Sauvignon, pulling it from the rack before continuing to my favorite seat in the living room—the corner seat of my plush cream sectional that’s closest to the window.
The sun has finally set, stars twinkling in the distance as I flip on the television. Bringing out one of my black claws, I slice off the paper label on the wine bottle before stabbing the cork and pulling it free, flinging it onto the coffee table. The first guzzle of the dark, sweet liquid dulls my emotions so I can settle against the couch and forget about the past week.
I need to keep Cyrus firmly in the box I’ve shoved him in for the past decade. He’s a work rival, not a friend. And certainly not someone to get involved with in a sexual nature. No matter how alluring his twinkling blue eyes are or how much I want to mess up his perfectly styled dirty-blonde locks with my claws. Things need to remain professional. It’s for the best.
I t’s a good thing dragons burn hot and metabolize alcohol faster than humans because I went through three bottles of wine last night while binging trashy reality television. But when I woke up this morning, my brain was blissfully numb. No thoughts of a certain irritating coworker in sight.
Shoving my bag into the gym locker, the hinges squeal as I slam it shut and lock it. It’s a new week, and I’m determined to keep Cyrus from getting under my skin, so yoga first thing in the morning is a must.
One of the perks of working for a prestigious company in New York City: they have their own private gym. I’ve made it a habit to get a training session in most mornings before starting work.
Using up any excess energy buzzing under my skin helps keep my temper at bay and my dragon content.
Standing in front of the mirror, I slip the hair tie from my wrist and gather my sleek black strands into a high ponytail, securing it with the elastic band. You’d never know the woman in the mirror wallowed in self pity last night. No, we’re done having a pity party.
“You’re the boss, Annie. Don’t let him get to you,” I say to my reflection, glowing golden irises staring back at me, olive skin still slightly flushed from last night’s wine.
Impenetrable walls back in place, I tighten the straps of my sports bra, grab my rolled-up yoga mat, and head to the gym.