Fired by my Grumpy Dragon (Grumpy Monster Bosses #3)

FORTY FOUR

Loren

To his credit, Erik reacts pretty well when I turn up at his door later that day, looking bruised and dishevelled and wearing only Kiv’s shirt and underwear. I tug the hem of the shirt lower and avoid looking over my shoulder at the cab driver who I promised I’d pay.

“Ah hi. How are you?”

“Loren!” Erik looks over my head at the cab driver and his heavy brows furrow. “Is everything OK?”

I shift uncomfortably. I thought I could brazen my way through this, but it’s hella awkward. “Listen, I know it’s awful of me to show up here like this, but you know that dragon I said wasn’t my mate?”

Erik blinks down at me.

“Yeah, things got complicated, and it turns out he is, only he can’t be, you know? And I was just hoping you might know someone who could hide me for a while.”

Erik’s jaw drops open.

“Oh, and um, have you got any cash to pay the cab driver? I’ll pay you back, I just don’t have my wallet with me right now.”

When my lip starts to wobble, Erik ushers me inside his apartment. It’s actually pretty neat considering how small everything is and how large he is. He pays the cab driver and offers me a shower and a change of clothes. This makes me laugh because as much as Kiv’s shirt dwarfs me, Erik’s will probably be worse.

Then I start crying, which doesn’t really make sense except I haven’t had a lot of sleep and my anger needs to get out somehow. Erik’s hand hovers near my shoulder. “Loren, should I call someone?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m fucking up your day again, and I don’t mean to. I just didn’t know any other monsters and I have to hide from Kivrayn and whoever tried to poison me at the opera, and I also really, really want to go home.”

Eventually he convinces me to come and sit on his tiny sofa while he sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me and listens to me tell him the whole stupid story. Finally, I sniff and wipe my face on the sleeve of Kiv’s expensive shirt. “I’m sorry. It’s really shitty of me to turn up here like this.”

Erik smiles. “I don’t mind. I’d like to help.”

I frown. “Oh, Erik, you’re such a sweetheart, but you know this doesn’t mean I’m interested in you, right? Not like that.”

His face falls. I get a sick, guilty feeling in my stomach.

“Loren, I know you’re not. I’m thick headed, but I hope you believe me when I tell you I moved on. In fact, I’m—” He breaks off, rubbing at the back of his thick neck as his cheeks turn a deeper shade of green. “I’m applying for a mail-order bride.”

I grin. “That’s wonderful. Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll clean myself up and get out of your hair. I’m sure it’s safe to go home. ”

Erik shakes his head. “No. Please let me help. My bride won’t be here for another few weeks yet. And I set up a guest room. I figured she might not want to sleep in my bed for a while anyway.”

I look around. There’re only two other rooms in the apartment—a tiny bathroom and laundry and a bedroom.

“I’ll sleep out here on the sofa and you can take my bed.”

“Erik, I can’t do that.”

“I insist.”

I look at him, then down at the sofa I’m sitting on. There’s barely enough room for him to sit on it, let alone sleep. I shake my head. “I’ll take the sofa, and you sleep in your bed. And it’s only for tonight until I figure out somewhere I can stay more permanently. OK?”

He looks dubious. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thank you so much. You’re a great friend.”

“You mean it? We’re friends?”

I nod. “I mean it. Now do you think you could come with me to my apartment so I can get my spare key card and some clothes? Then dinner’s on me.”

Erik grins. “It would be my pleasure.”

When I retrieve my spare key from behind the number nine on the door to my apartment and let myself in, I almost expect an attack. Kiv has me so wound up, I’m seeing threats where there are none.

The apartment is silent. I peek around the door, and when nothing happens, I take a cautious step in.

“Do you want me to check for you?” Erik’s deep voice from behind me reminds me that I brought backup.

“Um, I think it’s OK.”

He follows me inside, and we take a hasty look around to ensure there’s no one here. The place is empty.

“Hey, do you want something to eat? Drink?” I look inside the fridge, wince, and shut it again. Nothing good in there. “Um, a water?” I give him an apologetic smile.

“That’s OK.”

I quickly stuff some clothes in a bag and snatch some toiletries. Getting changed out of Kiv’s stolen shirt and finding some fresh underwear should feel good. Instead, I miss the faint scent of Kiv.

I rustle through my underwear drawer and find my spare key card. I’m going to need to buy a new phone. That pisses me off. I don’t even know how to go about getting the old one back from the police after Kiv handed it over. At least that stops him from trying to contact me that way.

That makes a little twist grip me in the guts for a moment. I shouldn’t want him to contact me. Not after what he did.

Forcing thoughts of Kiv out of my mind, I call Erik. “Ready when you are. Just let me check the mail on the way out.”

Erik follows me downstairs to where the rows of mailboxes are fixed to the wall. “Hey, what do you want to eat? Tacos? Burgers? Ita—” I trail off when I find the delivery slip.

L. Carandang

Your custom delivery from Burbage Estate is expected to arrive on Oct 7. You will need to arrange an agent to complete the final customs declaration forms and sign off the condition report. Please contact our office between 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. Monday to Friday.

Oh that’s so soon! I haven’t even spoken to Peter about housing the collection at Windhams. I guess I should really be selling. It’s stupid, but a small part of me wondered if Kiv and I worked out...

No point going down that path.

I run back upstairs, root around in my underwear drawer until I find my passport, and snatch a bill from the fridge door. I hope that’s enough ID. I’m a bit stuck without my wallet, which is somewhere at Oak Haven.

It’s only when I finally crawl into the sofa bed Erik made up for me and switch off the light that it hits me. No warm presence snuggled behind me. No grouchy admonition to stop wriggling and go to sleep. No wing tucked around me. No kisses on the back of my head when he thinks I’m already asleep.

OK, I’ve officially got Stockholm Syndrome. I’ll never judge another pathetic, pushover, romance-novel heroine again.

I miss him.

And I don’t know what to do with that, because he’s no good for me.