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Rowan thought of Milo.
Milo who worked three jobs to try and support his hoard. Milo who couldn’t afford another two percent when he was giving everything he already had. How many other Milos were there out there? Dragons usually had generational wealth, but what about the ones that didn’t?
“We should swallow the cost,” Rowan said.
The room rippled in surprise. Harold seemed horrified. “But it will affect our bottom line.”
“But it will show clients that there’s a reason they choose us to display their hoards in the first place. If we can’t guarantee safety, they’ll just go somewhere else. We shouldn’t charge them for something that should be there anyway.”
“From a business standpoint—”
“We’ll pull in more clients over our competition by having good business practices and reliable buildings. We’re not putting the cost on the client. They already pay enough to commission these rooms, and the viewing fee more than covers expenses and generates profits.”
“The budget doesn’t account for this, Rowan. Your father—”
“Trusted me to oversee these meetings. Or are you calling my authority into question?” he asked, smoke leaking from his nose.
Harold was taken aback. Rowan had never been so forceful before.
“Run the numbers again. We’ll discuss it in our afternoon meeting.” It was all he said before he got up and left the room.
Harold would no doubt call his father regardless.
He gritted his teeth and made his way to a park nearby to let off some steam. Literally. He entered the small glass cubicle in the far corner of the park and closed the door. He waited for the signal before he took a breath so deep his lungs felt like they might explode. He held it in, tasting soot and ash on his tongue before pushing all of it out. The smoke and steam fogged up the little space and the vent system came on, collecting all of it until there was nothing but clean air inside, and Rowan felt slightly more grounded.
He walked out and sat on a nearby bench, pulling his phone out again and looking at a certain name.
He couldn’t call. He shouldn’t call.
What would he even say? Hi, just calling to check in. About what? Surely if Milo had found something out about his dragon he would have sent a text in all capitals with several hundred exclamation marks.
Rowan just wanted to go home.
His phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down, heart hammering, only to see his father’s name.
Fucking Harrold.
“That took longer than I expected,” Rowan said.
Rupert snorted. “He was…perplexed.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“Golden dragons don’t like their money being messed with.”
“Then he can choose another company to work with.”
Rupert seemed shocked. “You’re usually more level-headed than this.”
“It’s been a long few days.”
“I can pack up and head down there—”
Rowan’s stomach dropped. “If you think I can’t handle it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then could you let me try it my way?”
