Chapter 7
Chance
The night air over Tampa Bay carried a quiet that Chance had not allowed himself to feel in years. It was the kind of stillness that pressed against the edges of a man’s control and asked him, in a voice too soft to refuse, what exactly he was so afraid of.
It was that same stillness that finally broke something loose inside him as he stood alone on the secluded stretch of shoreline with his jacket discarded, his tie hanging undone, and the city lights flickering behind him like a world he no longer quite belonged to.
He didn’t stop to think about it. He couldn’t because thinking would have stopped him from doing something that he so seldom allowed himself to do. As a result, the shift came the way it always had when he was younger, fast and consuming.
His body gave way to the truth he spent every waking hour denying. His bones stretched and reshaped, and his skin hardened into scales that caught the faint glow of the moon. His wings tore free and unfurled with a force that stirred the sand and sent a rush of wind across the dark water.
For a moment, suspended between the man he insisted on being and the creature he truly was, Chance let himself breathe.
Then he launched.
The powerful downbeat of his wings carried him upward in a surge that felt like breaking through the surface of something thick and suffocating.
When he leveled out high above the bay, the city spread beneath him in glittering lines and reflections.
Tampa was alive and utterly unconcerned with the war being waged inside him.
In that wide-open darkness, his dragon stirred fully awake.
Mine.
The word was not spoken aloud but it resonated through him with a certainty that tightened every muscle in his body. It pulled his thoughts into a dangerous direction he had been trying to avoid since the moment he saw Randi in his boardroom and challenged him without hesitation.
“No,” he muttered aloud, though there was no one to hear him but the wind rushing past his jaws. The word was thin and ineffective against the instinct coiling deeper with every passing second.
Mine.
His wings faltered for half a beat before he forced them steady again.
His anger rose sharp and immediate, not at the dragon, because that would have been pointless, but at himself.
The situation was the undeniable fact that the claim had already begun to root itself inside him before he had a chance to stop it.
Because Randi was not just any woman. She was a complication.
She was an employee, and a new one at that, and far too perceptive for her own good. She was entirely too bold in a way that unsettled the careful hierarchy Chance had spent years building around himself. Worst of all, she was valuable in ways he could not dismiss without lying to himself.
The memory of the meeting earlier that day surfaced uninvited. Her voice had been steady as she laid out ideas that had cut through layers that his senior team had failed to address, and her focus was sharp and unapologetic.
He had shut her down anyway.
Not because she was wrong. He knew she wasn’t, but because agreeing with her and encouraging that spark would have pulled her closer into his world, and that was the last thing he could afford.
He exhaled a long stream of heat into the night and banked hard over the water as frustration burned through him.
He had seen the flash of disappointment she tried to hide and the tightening of her expression as she reined herself back into professionalism.
He hated the necessity of it, hated that he had been the one to put that look on her face, hated most of all that part of him had wanted to do the exact opposite.
She’s an asset, he told himself again, clinging to the logic because it was safer than anything else. A strong addition to the company. Nothing more.
Mine.
His jaw clenched.
“No,” he said again, more forcefully this time, as though repetition might make it true.
By the time he finally descended and landed in a controlled arc back onto the deserted stretch of shoreline, the decision had already been made. It wasn’t the one his dragon wanted, but the one he needed. It settled into place with the cold precision that had built his empire.
If he couldn’t trust instinct, he would rely on information. And information, unlike instinct, could be controlled.
The next afternoon, he closed the door of his office so he could take a phone call with no interruptions.
The private investigator came highly recommended, was discreet to the point of invisibility, and expensive enough that Chance didn’t bother negotiating.
This was not an area where he was willing to cut corners, not when the questions circling Randi had begun to multiply in ways that made him uneasy.
“I want everything,” Chance said, his tone even as he sat behind his desk with his fingers steepled in front of him and the city skyline framed neatly behind his shoulder. “Background, education, prior employment, personal associations. Basically anything that stands out.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Anyone specific she’s connected to?”
Chance hesitated for just a fraction of a second before answering. His mind drifted to the memory of ink against skin.
“And there’s a tattoo on her wrist,” he added, voice tightening slightly despite himself. “I want to know where she got it, what it means, and why she has it.”
“Understood.”
When the call ended, Chance leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly as the weight of the decision settled over him. Digging into Randi’s past was not something he would have done lightly under normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances, and she was not a normal variable.
If she was tied to something or someone that could threaten him, his company, or the fragile control he maintained over his other nature, he needed to know.
And if she wasn’t…he pushed the thought aside before it could take shape. It didn’t matter and he would push her away regardless. Harder this time.
Final.
Because whatever this pull was, whatever dangerous curiosity had begun to form between them, it would not end well if he allowed it to grow.
It never did.
He pushed Randi from his thoughts as he drove the following morning to check out a new property.
Clearwater greeted him with bright sunlight and the faint scent of chlorine that lingered even outside the gates of the failing water park, the once-popular attraction now showing its age in peeling paint and outdated structures.
Its potential was buried beneath neglect and poor management decisions that Chance fully intended to capitalize on.
He stepped out of the car already shifted into work mode. His attention scanned the property with a practiced eye as he assessed layout, traffic flow, renovation costs, and rebranding opportunities in a single, fluid sweep.
“Mr. Parelli.”
The voice caught him off guard. He turned and there she was.
Randi stood a few feet away with her sunglasses pushed up into her hair and a tablet tucked under her arm. She was dressed in sensible heels, slacks, and a TimeOff polo. Her posture was just stiff enough to suggest she had not expected this pairing any more than he had.
“Where’s Celia?” he asked before he could stop himself. The question came out sharper than necessary.
“Food poisoning,” Randi replied, her tone edged with something that might have been satisfaction if he didn’t know better. “Last-minute change. You’re stuck with me.”
His dragon stirred at that, an almost smug flicker of approval that he immediately ignored.
Unfortunate, he thought, even as something in his chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with irritation.
“Fine,” he said, brisk and controlled. “Let’s get this over with.”
She fell into step beside him as they moved toward the entrance. Her silence lasted just long enough to feel intentional before she spoke again.
“I read through the preliminary reports,” she said, her voice shifting into a professional cadence. “There’s a lot of wasted space in the eastern section, and the current branding is completely disconnected from the demographic shift in the area.”
He glanced at her with the intention to cut her off, to remind her of her place. Instead, he saw the spark.
The unmistakable excitement in her eyes as she looked out over the park and revealed how much she genuinely cared about the work itself.
“Go on,” he heard himself say, despite everything he had so carefully planned.
Her gaze flicked to him and surprise flashed briefly before she continued. Her words gained momentum as she outlined possibilities, improvements, strategies that aligned far too well with his own thoughts. Her instincts were sharp and unpolished in a way that made them all the more dangerous.
She’s good, he admitted silently, the realization settling with reluctant certainty. And that was exactly the problem.
Because as he walked beside her through the fading remains of a dying business and listened to her ideas, he watched the way she came alive in the middle of it.
Chance knew with a clarity that left no room for denial that pushing her away was going to be a far greater challenge than he had anticipated.
And worse still, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to succeed.