Assistant to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #1) (48)

Then there’d been some sob story about one of the men’s betrothed sleeping with his cousin, and Trystan had tuned out his Humans and Magical Creatures Resource Manager before the melodrama rotted his brain.

But that had only been the first issue of the day. It seemed that in the few months Sage had been here, she’d ingrained herself into nearly every moving wheel in his organization, like vines weaving through the foundation of a very old house, becoming a part of it. The Villain had had a fully functioning business before her, hadn’t he? One would have no clue, since the sky seemed to be falling at nearly every point of the morning thus far.

A weapons shipment came in, but only Sage, ever the notetaker in her gold-foiled journal, had any idea which shipment they had been expecting. It had taken twenty employees away from their current tasks to open every crate so they could catalog what was inside.

Their magical filing cabinet, envy of all because of its ability to alphabetize any document that entered the enchanted space, had broken. The A’s were where the X’s should have been, and the L, M, N, O, and P files had simply been…eaten by the wood.

When Trystan had finally brought himself to ask if there was anyone who knew how to fix it, they replied as if they’d rehearsed it for his own torture. “Ms. Sage usually knows.”

He avoided Tatianna when he could, and for good reason, as the woman traded in office gossip. But an hour ago, Trystan had found himself feeling desperate to prove he was right to distrust his assistant, so he’d leaned into the healer’s domain to ask if she’d heard anyone in the office sharing an incriminating secret with her about Sage. The healer had looked at him with such venomous disdain, Trystan thought she must have been poisoning him with her eyes.

He felt like his whole body was burning.

“No,” she’d replied flatly. “I haven’t.”

The Villain had nodded and cleared his throat and then left the healer’s room feeling almost…embarrassed?

What a nightmare this was.

And as if everything wasn’t already ripping apart at the seams, Blade was now occupying Trystan’s attention with something he knew would turn his already sour mood into straight-up rotten.

“Don’t you have a beast to tame?” Trystan barked at Blade, praying to the gods that the dragon trainer would leave him to sulk.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about—” Blade turned as Rebecka made her way to The Villain’s desk to set down another chalice of the foul, non-sugared brew. “Good morning, Rebecka.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She nodded happily, a wide smile spreading beneath her thick frames.

Blade frowned at her back as she returned to her new desk—right outside Trystan’s office. The dragon trainer walked over and closed the door behind her before turning to Trystan again. “I don’t care how hard you need to beg—just do it, please. That was terrifying.” He shivered, like Ms. Erring’s happiness was a sign of an apocalyptic end.

“I don’t beg. For anything,” The Villain insisted, crossing his arms and noting his shirt didn’t feel quite as soft as when Sage managed the launderers. Today, his shirts were scratchy and irritating.

“Sage is the one who made the dramatic declaration and quit. She is the one who must apologize, if I still allow her a position here after her obvious deceit with that letter.”

The dragon trainer stiffened, his hands fidgeting as his eyes darted toward the extra growth in Trystan’s usually cleanly honed stubble on his chin. “Rough night?” Blade asked.

“I’ll cut your tongue out,” Trystan threatened.

“Right.” Blade nodded. “Fair. Before you do that, can you settle a matter for me?”

Trystan pinched the bridge of his nose, battling away a writhing headache. “What?”

“I would like your permission to name the dragon.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Did you not name him already?”

“All the books say you’re not supposed to name them until after they’ve completed their training,” Blade insisted.

“And how reputable is this book you’re taking such careful advice from?”

“Well…” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m unsure. Mostly because everything it’s told me to do thus far seems to only anger or frighten the wits out of him. But I figure I would be a little crabby, too, if I had nothing to call myself.”

“I have a few things I’d like to call you.” Trystan tried to add a threatening edge to his voice, but all his senses felt duller this morning, like he’d been in the dark for too long.

“Can you suggest a few for the dragon first?” The hopeful look in the trainer’s eyes reminded Trystan too much of someone he needed to stop thinking about before he sent a chair through the window.

“I don’t know.” Trystan paused, a strange thought coming over him. “Fluffy. Name him Fluffy.”

Blade’s head whipped backward, mouth falling slightly open. “Fluffy…sir?”

“It’s an adequate name, I’m told,” he muttered defensively. Trystan didn’t like the appraising look in the trainer’s eyes. “Now get out of my face, Gushiken. I’m very busy.”

Blade nodded, taking a step backward. “Right away, sir.” He spun toward the door but stopped, his palm above the handle. The brawny man swallowed hard, then turned back to face Trystan, looking like he was about to lose his lunch.