“Predators, hot heads,” Pia said, watching the faerie in fascination. “Right. I think I do want to have lunch with you.”
“Of course you do!” Tricks said. She lowered her voice in a whisper. “And last but not least. Dragos? Oh my God, he’s so gone on you!” She giggled. “I’ve lived at the Wyr Court for two hundred years and I’ve never seen him this way. Everybody’s freaked because nobody’s seen him this way, not even folks who are way older than me. So, you know, he’s a man and a dragon and all that, and I know that means he’s got communication issues, but hoo, honey, he’s so hot he smokes without ever having to light up, if you know what I mean, so . . . way to be, my mama!” The faerie giggled again and held her hand out for a fist bump. “Okay, that’s what I wanted to say.” She beamed at Pia. “Lunch today, one o’clock, got it?”
“Got it,” Pia said in a dazed voice as she fist-bumped the little hand held out to her. Dragos, gone on her? Really gone on her? Not just having a sexual fling? Not just having a possessive fit?
Oh God, I hope so. Don’t I? Do I? She chewed her lip.
“Gotta go.” Tricks winked at her and bounced out just as Dragos, Rune and Graydon stepped back in. The faerie tapped Rune on the arm. “Be sure to have Pia at my office at one o’clock, hear?”
“Do I look like a social secretary?” Rune said.
Tricks’s eyes narrowed and the happy good humor she had shown Pia vanished as if it had never existed. She pointed at her own face. “Do I look like I care right now? I have a million and one things to do before I go, so don’t give me any grief.”
Rune laughed and gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I know you’re having a challenging week.”
Tricks readjusted her finger aim and pointed at Rune. “Yeah, well, don’t make me come find you either.” She charged away, tiny heels clicking down the hall.
“Looking rather shell-shocked there, lover,” Dragos said to Pia with a lazy smile. He strolled across the room to kiss her. “Tricks tends to have that effect on people.”
“I guess.” Pia’s smile was uncertain.
“When she’s in her manic phase, she’s a little like trying crack for the first time,” Rune said. He blinked at them, his face bland. “Not that I would know what that feels like.”
“Right,” Dragos said in a brisk voice. “I have things to do, Tiago to talk to, a beheading to plan.” He looked at her. “You good?”
She smiled at him again with more surety. “Yes.”
“Good.” He paused. “Thank you for what you did in the teleconference.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looked at Rune and Graydon. “She gets to do what she wants. Got it?”
Graydon looked at his feet with a long-suffering expression and rubbed the back of his neck. Rune pursed his lips and said, “Dragos, that might call for . . . a lot of tactical consideration. Don’t you think it would be wiser to restrict her movements?”
“Why are they talking about her in the third person while she’s standing right here in the room?” she said in a resentful mutter. Hot gold eyes met hers. Was it her imagination or did his lips tighten with some kind of suppressed emotion? Then he turned to give Rune a machete smile.
“Fuck you,” Dragos told him. “I’m not the boss of her.”
He strode out. The conference room seemed to darken and expand at the absence of his nuclear presence. Then Pia stood, looking up at her two huge, stony-faced guards. Oh boy.
“Ms. Giovanni,” Rune said in a smooth voice, as he stared at a point beyond her left shoulder. “For your convenience and pleasure Dragos has sent for a personal shopper to attend to you today. The shopper should be arriving any minute now.”
Pia stared at the gryphon. She turned away, pulled out the chair at the end of the conference table and sank into it. She flattened her hands across the polished surface. Clothing rustled as someone shifted behind her.
Okay. She nodded. Okay.
“Would you both please have a seat?” she asked.
After a moment, Rune took the seat at her right and sprawled long limbs out. Graydon took the seat at her left. The two men exchanged a look. She bet they were wondering what she was going to do next. She was kind of wondering that herself.
Her fingernails had gotten ragged. She rubbed at the uneven edge of her right index finger. Never enough time in a day.