Jillian sighed. “I know, it’s annoying. I’m so sorry, Dani. I requested the exact people that I want working for me, carefully chosen from extensive lists, and then the League just makes these hiring decisions and don’t even consult with me.”

All of the tension that had been gathering in Dani’s belly loosened, and she sagged against the chair. Jillian didn’t think so little of her that she was about to be replaced. Her job was secure. She didn’t have to worry about securing Grandad’s debts. “Oh, well, that does make me feel better.”

“It couldn’t be helped. But I know that you’re going to rise above it and get the job done.”

Dani nodded. “I will. This job is really important to me, Jillian. I’m not going to do anything to mess it up.”

“Of course you won’t. Trust me, I know you’re determined to do well, come hell or high-water. Like minds recognize each other,” Jillian said.

“Thanks, that means a lot.”

“I’m just sorry you had to brave Lara’s angry dragon routine to talk to me about an uncomfortable working situation that shouldn’t even exist in the first place.”

Dani waved her concerns off. “It’s fine. Is there anything you want to ask me about, from my reports?”

“Nope, they’ve all been clear and concise. Anything you care to share about the other day with Zed?”

Dani shook her head while pressing her lips together. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I should probably stop the teasing before harassment paperwork becomes involved. Then again, I’m the one who signs off on the complaints . . . so, yeah, this will never stop being funny.”

8

Zed

After they’d made what Zed considered pretty epic love in the faille clearing, Dani had been quiet the whole drive back to her house and had barely offered a kiss or a handshake or ‘Embrasse moi tchew’ before telling him, “Thanks!” and hopping out of the truck.

Zed couldn’t figure out what the hell had happened. He’d never had a woman thank him for sex, put on her clothes, and walk away. And now Zed seemed incapable of having a conversation with Dani without coming off like a complete couillion. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to look now that he’d seen what she had going on under the llamas. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He spent their rare interactions just trying to figure out where to put his hands.

And so Zed sat in Bathtilda’s Pie Shop on a Thursday morning, trying to drown his sorrows in pastry and figure out what had happened to his dignity.