Mal stormed down the hall after Alex. “The Empress found out? Our mother was supposed to wait on announcing our marriage until after she met Cheryl.”

Which would be after the launch.

Everything was supposed to happen after the launch.

“Someone else told the Empress.” Alex pushed the conference door open. “Her adviser is calling now.”

Mal burst into the small conference room. His other siblings beat him there; they turned to him for leadership.

A smarmy, blue dragon sneered from the tiny wall screen. He was a greasy, archaic, sniveling stereotype of the conniving aristocrat.

“There you are. Finally. It’s amazing a little male upstart like you could ever pretend to get so far. And the son of a brimstone miner dares to turn up your dirty, squished snout from taking the claw of our holy Empress? Prepare to receive the downfall you deserve.”

He roared. “I am Malachite Onyx!”

His siblings joined him. All roared, “Onyx!”

The adviser’s sneer froze on his face. “Well, the low class certainly are loud.”

“We are wealthy and powerful,” he snarled. “Take your whiny complaint to our mother. She will give you an aristocrat’s answer!”

He paled. “Your mother accepted our marriage offer. The Empress kindly deigned to consider your unworthy, low class, Outer Rim self. How dare you take another mate? You are obligated to marry Empress Horribus. Prepare to watch your company’s destruction.”

His siblings growled their fury. Amber shone with a crackling rage.

“You might as well give all your products from this launch to the Empress as compensation.”

Mal held the male’s attention. “So this is about money?”

He sniffed. “How crude. You’re threatening to embarrass the Empress. In less generous times that would be reason for her to execute you and your family line.”

“This is the modern era, old timer.”

“You’re forced to sell anyway now that your mother has foolishly given away your port privileges.”

So it was about the money. Or was it? The Empress would use the military to block their stores and outright embargo them.

He had lost his final chance to become a number one company. Number two was as high as he could go.

There was only one choice.

He would sell for a huge profit, keep his siblings together, and found a new company that hit number one.

His lips curled over his teeth. “Fine. The Empress wants to buy this corporation? We’ll begin negotiations.”

* * *

Cheryl refused to accept her mother’s rejection.

“I can’t go to this show,” her mom said from the ratty old bed. “I’ll go next time. I promise.”

“When?” Cheryl asked, bitterly. “When will you have time?”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

“You’re always saying ‘another time,’ so when is it?”

“I don’t have to sit here and take this.” Her mom got to her feet and stormed past, pulling on her thin cotton shirt as she strode down the hall.

Cheryl trailed after her. Heat rose until her whole body felt like she was on fire. Her accusation burst out. “You never do anything for me!”

“How dare you!” Her mother whirled on her with trembling anger. “I am working myself to the bone for your future. I need one day off. Can’t you give me one day?”

“It’s my last art show.” She knew she was being unfair and her mom was right but she couldn’t help it. She’d endured being alone and silent for so long. “I never ask you for anything. This is the one time—”

“You ask me for stuff all the time,” her mom denied. “Last week, it was to go on a trip.”

“That was at Christmas!”

“No, it was—”

“Yes, it was!” Cheryl bunched her hands into fists. “I wanted to go to the coast like we used to. Before my internship started.”

Her mom started to protest, then stopped. She remembered the internship part at least. “That was last month at the latest.”

“I’ve been working at my internship since December.”

Her mom’s mouth closed with a click. She sighed again, long and hard, and the gray exhaustion closed over her like a wave. “I can’t tell if I’m coming or going anymore. I just don’t have anything left.” She sank onto the couch and leaned over to lace her shoes. “You’ll have to forgive me. Okay? Maybe I can cut back my shifts once you’re done. Then you’ll have your mom back.”

“Cut back now,” she said softly. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Please. Come to my art show.”

“Cheryl, don’t be self-centered.”

That last word snapped in Cheryl’s chest. The reaction spread outward, raising heat, turning her insides into brittle salt.

She was self-centered? She wanted to spend time with her mom, and she didn’t want her mom to work so hard, and she was the self-centered one?

Cheryl smacked her palm against her bare chest. “You didn’t even notice my outfit.”

Her mom sat back and looked at her. Really looked at her. “I’m sorry. The dress looks nice.”

Well, but… okay. It was a start.

She had found the dress in Mal’s closet. It wasn’t short or low-cut like the vintage pin-ups, but it was a nice, subdued black with a devilish red underskirt. The underskirt shimmered like secret dragon scales when she turned quickly. She’d traded her tennis shoes for matching red flats and put gem-tone barrettes in her hair. Not to pull her hair back from her face. Just to accent the hair hanging down.

Although it wasn’t as brave as the vintage 50s dress, it also wasn’t jeans and a hoodie.

Her mom glanced at the clock and rose. “We’ll talk later. Have a good show.”

The dismissal hurt. It hurt, it hurt.

And she realized the truth. “There won’t be a later, will there?”

Her mom groaned. “Of course there will be. Are you trying to start a fight? I’ve got to go.”

“So go.” Her jaw ached from pinching her lips together so hard to keep the tears in. The woman who meant the most to her was letting her down. “But I won’t be here when you get back. I thought you should know.”

“So dramatic.” Her mom tugged Cheryl, stiff, into her arms. She smelled like cool hands and lily-scented lotion and Mom. “You can handle this art show. You’ll be fine.” She rocked Cheryl gently. “I know you.”

“No, you don’t.” It made her heart break. Because her mom didn’t know her. Not anymore. “I’m getting married on Friday. Did you know that?”

Her mom released her and stepped back with a frown. “What?”

“I’m engaged. I wanted to introduce you to my fiancé at the art show.”

“The art show? You’re still—no.” She barked out an incredulous laugh and held up her hands. “There’s no need to make up a fake fiancé. I promise I’ll pay more attention. Let’s finally plan that trip, okay? We’ll do it tonight after you get home.”

“I moved out a week ago.”

Her mom shook her head. Clearly, she thought this was more drama. Lies to get Cheryl’s way.

Cheryl’s lips trembled. Her mom didn’t notice anything. “Didn’t you see? All my stuff’s been gone.”

“Be serious.”

“I moved out a week ago to live with my fiancé.” Her voice quavered, and at least her mom sobered up and listened. “He’s a dragon alien and CEO of the company I’m interning at. We’re trying for a baby so the matriarch won’t… Well, it’s this whole deal. I’m going to be a major stockholder. I guess.”

Of some company, even after this one got disbanded.

“And my art is getting famous on the other planet. Weirdly. So you don’t have to work the extra shifts anymore. You can take time off and relax.” Her tears spilled over. She scrubbed her cheeks. “I know you’re doing everything for me but, sometimes, I miss you.”

“Cheryl.” Her mom took a deep breath. She pinched her nose. “You’re clearly going through a lot right now. But, look. You’ve been doing art shows your entire life. One of these days, you’ll have confidence in your own work and stand proudly in front of it without needing your mom by your side. You’re almost eighteen!”

“Twenty-two.” She sniffed.

“What? Where did the last… okay, the point is, you can do this. You’re an art show pro. It’s going to be okay.”

No. It wasn’t okay.

She’d told the truth. She’d been honest. Her mother still thought she was making everything up. And she hadn’t noticed Cheryl had been gone for a whole week.

“You didn’t even notice.” She hiccupped. “Apparently you never missed me!”

“Cheryl!”

“I’m sorry. You know how to reach me. And if you’re not interested in attending the wedding, I’ll send you an invitation to the baby shower.” She strode out the front door, leaving her mom in the living room with one shoe on and one off. The door slammed behind her.

And that was how she moved out. Apparently.

The MAX ride to her university was sticky and crowded. Cheryl got out a compact and wiped up her face, neatened her dress, and applied a light touch of makeup.

Well, she’d done it. She finally told her mom how she felt.

For all the good it had done.

But, even though her mom thought she was lying and treated her like a child, Cheryl felt okay. She’d expressed herself honestly. All the practice with blunt, in-your-face Mal had rubbed off. Now, if she could channel confidence when dealing with her professor, maybe she could pull herself out of the spiraling grade.

The rest of her class was buzzing in the professional gallery as they set up their installations. Her professor’s connections had secured visits from a bunch of donors. Many were high-placed advertising executives seeking new blood.

Nerve twinged in her belly as Cheryl plugged her tablet into the larger panel on the wall and set the display. She’d run out of time to print off her new pieces, so this was her compromise. Raw, on the monitor, final products.

Her classmates paused and stared.

She’d dumped her class pieces and instead displayed her three favorite dragon sketches. Were they ones Amber had shipped? Cheryl didn’t know or care. They were hers.

On the left, a voluptuous rockabilly dragon made a too-cool-for-you kiss while she lounged on the hood of a cherry red convertible. On the right, a generously proportioned sailor dragon tucked a spy glass behind one frilly ear while she leaned over a ship’s railing. And in the center, a bold, in-your-face dragon stuck her hands on her ample hips and dared anyone to critique her dessert-filled 50s banquet table. She was dressed in Cheryl’s favorite outfit: black skirt, red lacy shirt, and plump, polka dotted hair bow.

Yes, they were cute. They exemplified what she was beginning to regard as “her” style: Warm colors, cheery objects, and lots of twinkling eyes. And cute. Cute was her.

Maybe it was okay.

She hoped.

Mal was coming soon. She could handle her mom’s rejection because he would be here. She could handle the other student’s stares because he was coming. She could handle the comments of the trolls on her Deviant Art and Tumblr accounts, who said turning pro was selling out. She stood bravely, beside her art, while the doors to the gallery opened and the art show commenced.

Hours passed by. Like, more than one. She checked every single minute.

Where was Mal?

Her professor walked up to her during the second hour of the show. She steeled herself. Seeing him made her hands tremble. It was a conditioned response. Her semester of failures piled up and up and up.

Several employers stood behind him holding wine goblets and cheese snacks.

“Back to the cutesy animals again.” He shook his head. “Have you given any thought as to how you’re going to employ yourself after graduation?”

The employers chuckled and elbowed each other. Students were so short-sighted and idealistic, they clearly thought. Especially art school students.

She flushed hot. “I opened an Etsy store.”

One of Professor Jon’s brows rose. He crunched a cracker and spoke around it. “Have any customers?”

“I just opened it.”

“Good luck.” His tone said she was going to need it. “You should have interned at a professional company and learned how it works.” He turned to leave.

His dismissal, like the others of today, stung.

But it was for the last time.

“I did,” she said.

He paused and turned back to her while the employers continued on, leaving them alone in the quiet corner of the busy gallery. “What was that?”

“I did intern at a professional company.” Her hands shook so hard that she had to clamp them together. “Onyx Corporation. It ends next week.”

His brows rose. “Oh, you got the Onyx internship I announced last semester? Say. That guy who keeps disrupting class. Is he one of them? I’d like to meet him.”

Her professor actually sounded interested.

She swallowed. Her voice trembled in her throat. “He, uh, was supposed to be here.”

“Right.” His brows wiggled. Mal was not here. “How was it working for dragons?”

“Fine.”

“That’s it? Just fine?”

Her heart pounded hard. “They’re fine.”

“They didn’t mind your cutesy illustrations?” He crunched another cheese-cracker hors d’oeuvre.

For the first time, she noticed his sarcasm wasn’t directed at her. Like Mal was blunt to everyone, her professor was sarcastic about everything. Maybe she shouldn’t take it so personally.

She shook her head. “They liked everything.”

“Hmm. You said it’s over after graduation. They’re not keeping you on?”

“I… might keep working for them.” Although damn Mal. Skipping today was the utter limit. He had promised her he would be here. She’d trusted him to keep his word. “I might. Assuming I pass this class and graduate.”

“Oh, sweet bejeezus.” Her professor choked on the cracker and winced as though he’d bit his tongue. “You know this class is based on self-assessment. Right? I grade how you grade yourself. You know why that is?”

He seethed, darkly furious as Mal on a bad day.

Shocked, she shook her head.

“Because I’m just one guy.”

“You’re the teacher,” she said.

“Exactly!” He did a little dance. “I’m not God. I don’t run the Academie Parie. I’m not even the guy who’s going to hire any of you. You fill out your daily self-assessment at a C average, I’m going to give you a C. Write an A and I’m going to give you an A! It’s like no one can figure this out. It’s written in the damned syllabus.”

And he swore.

She tried to catch her breath. “But you hate my art.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Eh. It’s not personal.”

So he did hate her art.

“You know who else I hate? Bob Ross. His happy little cabins and his cheerful little trees. You know who else? Thomas Kinkade. He’s got a shop in every mall. He’s the only artist my mother can recognize. Picasso, no. Thomas Kinkade, yes.” Her professor rubbed his forehead. “Oh, and unless you want me to be here all afternoon, don’t get me started on Disney or Pixar.”

Well… but…

“But you’re the teacher,” she repeated, clinging to the one thing every student understands.

“I know.” He sighed. “All right. Here are your final three pieces. They’re designed for an employer; in this case, we’ll say they’re designed to appeal to dragon aliens. You know them better than I do. Considering your employers’ advertising needs and branding desires, fill out your final self-assessment sheet, turn it in with what you think you deserve for your ultimate grade, and that’s what I will give you for the class. All right?”

No. That made no sense. He was supposed to tell her whether her drawings were any good. Whether any employer would hire her after university.

Right?

He took pity on her. “Okay. I can see you’re struggling. Let’s make it easy. Pick up that piece of paper and write down whether those dragon aliens actually want any more of this disgustingly adorable art.”

She picked up the capstone Student-Employer Art Show self-assessment paper because he ordered her to, but she held the pen lax.

It depended on how Mal’s final launch went. Right?

What if it was all a mistake? What if Mal was wrong, and the dragons hadn’t liked the art Sard had stolen from her and they just loved comfy pajamas? What if everything went wrong and the Onyx Corporation was ruined and everyone had to split up? Because of her?

Could she really give herself any grade? Any in the whole world?

Really?

“Why aren’t you writing? Is one of those aliens going to kidnap you out of this class period too?” He squinted at her dragon pin-ups, shook his head, and turned to leave. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Be sure it’s filled out before you leave today.”

Her professor headed back to the snack tables.

Emerging from the crowds beside him was the guy she’d met in the parking lot outside the Onyx Corporation. That day, when she’d run out to sign Sard Carnelian’s pajamas print, and accidentally betrayed Mal for the last time.

Tall and cold, he wore the same black suit, ear buds, and opaque sunglasses like a secret agent. His too-hot-for-humanity presence should have tipped her off. She must have been too focused on her new outfit and not thinking straight.

He’d been with Sard. That meant he was working for the Carnelians.

He crossed to her. “Cheryl. Come with us.”

She backed up and hit the gallery wall. If Mal saw her with this guy, he’d get the wrong idea. “Go away.”

Another secret agent dragon appeared. Crap! Two of them.

She tried to control her quavering voice. “Simon, right?”

“Syen.”

Whatever. “What do you want?”

“We want your art.”

Apparently, she could give herself a passing grade on this assignment.

“You’re working for Sard Carnelian,” she accused.

He nodded as though it was obvious. She must be a real doofus.

Jeez, she probably was.

“He’s willing to pay.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “How about I get paid for the drawings your boss already took?”

“That is acceptable.” Syen pulled her into his muscular arms and lifted off the gallery floor. “He is ready to negotiate.”

“Hey, wait!”

And, once more, her classmates shrieked as she was kidnapped and flown away.