Page 14 of Always Say Yes to a Dragon

Now that he wasn’t standing in front of me, grinning and looking so sincere and excited, other reasons for doing this filtered through my brain. Itwashis fault that studio apartments went for thirteen hundred dollars a month. So what if I took a little back?

“He’s got to be into something weird, right? If he has to pay for it?” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall.

Jen shrugged. “Either he’s into weird shit or he’s too busy for a girlfriend but still wants to get laid regularly.”

My knees buckled, and I was grateful for the cool cinder block at my back. “Girlfriend?” I didn’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend.

“Think about it. He’s got an entire city to run. He doesn’t have time to date.”

Of course. He obviously didn’t want me to be hisgirlfriend. He was trying topayme. “So you think he wants me to be a sugar baby.” It came out halfway between a question and a statement. I figured we’d agree to some terms at coffee and maybe…fuck, I don’t knowwhatI figured. That I’dhear him out, and then decide.

“If he just wanted to fuck someone once or twice, I don’t think he’d pick up a random server. He came back looking for you, specifically.”

“Why not find someone on, like, Arrangedor something?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “Dragons are literally an entirely different species. Maybe this one doesn’t know about sugar baby apps. They aren’t exactly common.”

The squeak of the door opening kept me from responding. Time to get back to work.

Despite my nerves, I slept a full eight hours and woke up refreshed. When was the last time that had happened? Weeks? Months? And all because I wasn’t calculating and recalculating how all my bills would get paid and whether I’d need to put anything on credit this month.

I took a deep breath and surveyed my closet.

What did one wear to meet with a potential…oh, fuck it. A potential sugar daddy. Jen was right. I couldn’t think of any other reason he’d offer me a fuckton of cash for a coffee date.

Fuck.

Okay.

It’s just coffee. You don’t have to agree to anything you’re not comfortable with. Even if I declined an “arrangement” with him, I’d still get whatever he paid me for coffee. I could sleep easy for weeks.

I fingered a thigh-length black dress. Nah. We were meeting in a coffee shop at eight a.m. Finally, I pulled on my nicest jeans and a top that showed a hint of cleavage.

Choosing shoes was the simple part. Of course I wore heels. Close-toed wedges, chunky and casual but still high enough to makeme feel powerful, like I wasn’t a server confined to ugly, slip-resistant tennis shoes ninety percent of the time.

I spent way too much time on my hair and makeup. Some of my curls ended up a little limp, and I used too much hairspray to achieve the “breezy” vibe I’d been going for. But all in all, I’d call it a seventy-five percent success.

When I made it to the coffee shop, Az’zael was already waiting for me, impossible to miss with his vibrant red scales. Seated in one of the chairs designed for winged species, he clutched a paper cup. It looked tiny in his massive hands. Hands that were tipped by sharp, sharp claws.

My stomach fluttered, but not with anything as simple as fear. His suit jacket was just as gaudy as ever, and under it he wore a crisp white shirt, open at the throat. Did his scales shift to gold on his chest, the way they did on his palms? Where else did his color shift?

I tamped down the butterflies in my stomach and forced myself forward through the nearly empty coffee shop. The few remaining customers shot him nervous looks out of the corners of their eyes. One or two stared at me as well. Not with curiosity, but like I was walking to the gallows.

When he caught sight of me, he stood, knocking his chair backwards. Someone two tables to the left of us flinched.

Christ, he’s tall.At five foot eight in flats, I was taller than most men when I wore heels. I’d chosen four-inch ones for this meeting, eager for any slight advantage I could get, and I still didn’t reach his chin.

“You came,” he breathed, then shook his head. “Please, have a seat, Elle.”

I lowered myself into the chair and folded my hands in my lap. “Yep. I’m here.”

“Good. Excellent. Thank you.” He took his own seat, and the tips of his wings fluttered. “I ordered you something.” He gestured to the six—six—coffee cups sitting to one side of the table.

“Thanks. What are they?”

“Lattes. Plain, vanilla, hazelnut, mocha, caramel, and one with oat milk. I didn’t know what you would like, so I got one of everything.”

I licked my lips. “Thank you.” The gesture was sweet, if a little over the top, and warmth mingled with the nerves already dancing through me.

---