Dragons of Ardaine: Complete Series

Chapter 1 Trapped

Trapped

Lawrie

Everyone who worked at the reception of Sullivan and Burnes Inc. had to remember a few peculiarities if they wanted to avoid the formidable Davidson Sullivan’s wrath. It was my task to inform the newest guy—I hoped he’d last longer than the previous two.

“Mr. Sullivan sometimes has spontaneous meetings. He doesn’t add these into the official schedule.

Always call me when an unscheduled visitor comes looking for Mr. Sullivan.

” Our new receptionist, a young omega named Bruce, made a note on his tablet.

“Mr. Burnes, on the other hand, is scrupulous with his calendar. If it’s not on the schedule, it doesn’t happen.

He doesn’t mind direct calls though. However, you can never, and I mean under no circumstances, connect a call directly to Mr. Sullivan’s private line.

Always call me first, and I’ll connect the call based on who it is.

Mr. Sullivan has a complex web of contacts, but not all of them are—”

A movement in the corner of my eye made me pause in the middle of my sentence.

I zeroed in on a courier who’d ignored the warning sign and pushed his oversized cart into the grand revolving door before I could stop him.

Not again. I rounded the reception desk and waved frantically at the uniformed guy, who was fully focused on schlepping his cargo through the death trap.

To my horror, another man, a freakishly tall alpha in a dark business suit, entered the opposite compartment on his way into the building.

Wonderful. This time, we’d have two casualties.

“Stop! Not that way!” I yelled and flapped my arms, hurrying toward the entrance.

The courier looked back over his shoulder, and I realized my mistake.

Assuming I yelled at him and not at the alpha in the suit, he paused in his movement, one glass pane hit the cart, and with a loud peep, the door shuddered to a halt.

I knew that sound—I’d heard it twice this week already.

I was doomed to witness and take the blame each time the monster swallowed another victim.

Mr. Sullivan was going to kill me, dump my body in the desert, then sit in a folding chair nearby and enjoy the sight of vultures peeling my flesh from my bones.

The courier’s eyes widened, and he spat out an expletive.

The gap was just narrow enough that he couldn’t get through.

Meanwhile, the man in the dark suit didn’t realize the revolving door had stopped.

He smacked into the glass, rattling the whole monster machine, thus sealing our fate.

The red light above the contraption began blinking ominously.

I was already dialing maintenance.

“Hello, my name is Lawrence Winchester, and I’m calling from the reception of Sullivan and Burnes Inc., Sunrise Plaza, central Ardaine. We have a revolving door malfunction.”

“Our guys were there yesterday and fixed it,” a bored voice informed me as if I hadn’t been the one calling them yesterday and two days before that.

“Well, it’s stuck again. I have two people trapped inside.”

“Fuck.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“I can send someone there in three hours.”

“Three hours?” My voice squeaked.

Through the glass, two pairs of eyes were pinned on me, the courier in panic, the suit with mild amusement. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Sorry, sir, but I don’t have anyone available,” the guy on the phone said.

“You must be kidding me.”

“I’ll do what I can. Maybe two hours?”

“Thank you. Make sure to send cleaning service as well in case our guests won’t manage until bathroom break,” I said in my sweetest tone.

“Oh hell. Okay. Sure.”

Exasperated, I ended the call with an angry jab of my finger; the guy apparently didn’t speak sarcasm. Then I approached the glass.

“I’m very sorry. I’ve already called maintenance. They’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“Hours? Can’t you just restart it or something?” the courier asked through the three-inch gap.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’ve had a new security system installed last week, and it’s been faulty ever since. It locks the revolving door in place if it detects a use of force, and your cart set it off. The maintenance crew assured me yesterday that they fixed the problem, but apparently, they didn’t.”

The courier rolled his eyes and swore again. Just then, to complete the ambiance, a huge truck began backing into a spot in front of the building, a god-awful beeping sound spilling into the atrium.

The man in the other compartment said something, but I couldn’t hear him through the safety glass and above the racket from the street.

He was indeed very tall with broad shoulders and peculiar dark-blue eyes.

An alpha around thirty-five, brown hair, clean-shaven and elegant, two cute dimples in his smiling face.

At least this time, someone pretty had fallen into the trap.

He didn’t seem angry either, which was a relief.

The lawyer who’d gotten stuck yesterday had first called me incompetent and then a fucking idiot when I’d refused to try smashing the glass with a chair.

This man didn’t expect me to fix anything for him, nor did he urge me to douse him with glass shards. He pointed at the edge of the door and lifted his palm, raising his thick eyebrows at me questioningly.

Did he want to push it open? There was no chance. Last time, I had four guys fighting the murder machine while it groaned and snarled. It didn’t budge a millimeter. I shook my head at him.

“No chance,” I mouthed.

He squinted, still smiling. He made that “push” gesture again and mouthed, “I’ll try.”

I lifted my arms in the air. “Fine by me.” He was welcome to entertain himself however he wanted—he had a few hours to kill in the terrarium.

“The guy will try to push,” I informed the courier, who turned around to appraise Mr. Confident with a doubtful sneer, then shrugged and gripped his cart.

Mr. Confident smirked, and I put my hands on my hips. This would be fun.

He braced both hands on the very edge of the door leaf, and his shoulders bunched up under his suit.

I felt a little sorry for him, but at least he provided a nice view.

The door didn’t even groan. He straightened, looked up and down the door hinges, and then leaned into the glass with his shoulder.

Nothing. I bit back my smile. Mr. Confident frowned at me and pointed at my chest.

I made a “Who, me?” gesture and glanced behind me for good measure.

He nodded, frowning sternly, and pointed again.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. With both hands, I gripped the edge of the courier’s prison cell.

The courier observed us through the glass, leaning on his cart, a bored expression on his face.

The other man lifted a finger in a universal “Wait!” gesture.

Then he slipped his jacket off his shoulders.

Oh wow. In the tight navy shirt, his torso looked like he could move the entire building.

I would indulge him for the whole morning if it meant I could watch those muscles strain the seams of his fitted shirt.

He bent forward and shoved with both arms, his legs gliding backward. I pulled, not trying too hard. Even if I invested all my powers, little me couldn’t make any difference at all. No way could two mere humans move the door, no matter how strong Mr. Confident thought he was.

Boy, did he prove me wrong.

With a groan and clatter, the revolving door began to turn.

Mr. Confident pushed harder, inching his legs forward.

I gaped. Who was he? A strongman champion?

Did he haul boulders uphill for a living?

The courier slipped through the widening gap, pulling his cart after him.

He swiftly disappeared down the ramp and out on the street.

I was so stunned I let go of the edge and only stared as the inhumanly strong, beautiful man rotated the growling two-ton construction as if it were a kiddie merry-go-round.

He pushed until one glass pane was perpendicular to the walls, two parts closing off the entrance.

Then he straightened and rolled his shoulders, approaching me.

God, he had to be around six feet five. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he raised his thick, dark eyebrows at me.

I had a thing for noses, and this man had a massive hook with a little bump at the top, making him look like a predator.

I was swooning. His almost black hair looked messy—not the stylish bed hair that some people spend hours perfecting, but truly windswept and tangled.

He dragged his hand through it, and the shirt stretched over his pecs, just a tiny sliver of skin flashing through the gaps between the buttons.

Holy shit on a cracker, he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Was he going to preen now? He had every right.

“Hi,” he said, and his blue gaze rested on my face with disconcerting focus.

I blinked up at him. “Good morning, sir.” Are you free tonight? Can I lick your nose? Make you dinner? Bear your young? “I’m sorry for the, um, inconvenience.”

His lips twitched. “Not a problem.”

I pointed a shaking finger at his chest. “Your jacket.”

The beautiful stranger glanced over his shoulder, and we both zeroed in on his suit jacket, squished under the door like a rag, probably stuck there for good. The revolving monster demanded a sacrifice after all.

“Oops,” the stranger said, grinning.

He walked back and crouched—look at that ass!—and fished his car keys out of the pocket of the ruined jacket. Then he returned to where I stood, still frozen.

“You don’t happen to have a spare suit jacket somewhere?”

I swallowed, appraising the sheer width of his shoulders. “Um. I don’t think I have anything that would fit you, sir.”

He gave me a blinding smile and patted my shoulder. “It’s fine. Davidson won’t mind.”

The name of my boss slapped me back into professional mode.

“If you give me your size, I can call the department store and have a new jacket delivered for you within an hour, um, unless it was tailored. Which it probably was. In that case, we will of course reimburse you fully.” Was I babbling?

“Come with me to the desk, sir, and I’ll inform Mr. Sullivan that he has a visitor.

Have you booked a meeting? I don’t seem to have you in my schedule. ”

He frowned, his expressive face darkening. “I’m not sure, but he’s expecting me. And don’t worry about the jacket.”

“If you just wait for a second, sir, I’ll…”

But he was already turning away from me.

“There he is. Thank you and goodbye.” He swiveled on his elegant shoes and gave me a little wave, then hurried to the staircases.

Mr. Sullivan stood at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing, glaring my way.

He vaguely reminded me of a raven, perched above me as he was, with his black beard, black suit, and dark scowl.

I averted my gaze. My boss sometimes gave me the chills.

My phone rang in my hand, and with a sigh, I picked up the call.

“Sullivan and Burnes Inc., Mr. Sullivan’s office, how can I help you?”