To Love a Shifter: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set (3 page)

I do my best not to gag.

For the love of --

That was --

Okay, I’m gagging.

“Fuck!” Janice jumps back as I puke out the last bites of my sandwich on the carpet. “God, you’re gross!”

I
was gross? That’s rich, coming from a woman who thinks nothing of --

I gag again.

“You will not tell anyone what you saw.”

I nod in wholehearted agreement. In fact, I’m already wishing I can forget the entire nightmarish episode.

“Swear it,” she screeches.

“I swear,” I mumble, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I take several gulps from my plastic tumbler. Powdered juice has never tasted this great.

“I’ll kill you if I hear one word about this,” she says when I finally force myself to meet her eyes again.

“I already promised I won’t.” If I do, I’d have to recount every second of what happened, including what I saw----

I gag for the tenth time.

Her face has hardened into a stony mask when I recover from my last puke fest. Maintenance will kill me for this.

“One word,” she hisses.

I force myself not to rear back. This woman is terrifying when she’s mad. She looks like she wants to eat me. The only other time I’ve been
this
scared was when the kids corralled me into watching Paranormal Activity 4 with them.

Her mascara-heavy eyes bore through me. “Not a word.”

“Not a word,” I repeat, trying not to sound too ardent given the situation.

The elevator’s bell rings again, this time like a boxing referee. So far, between Janice and me, it's a draw. She walks past me into the elevator, head held high.

William follows, pausing beside me to whisper in an oily voice, “Let me know if you want the same thing.”

I rush to the restroom even before the doors close on their faces. There goes the rest of whatever was left of my lunch.

4:35 PM

My phone beeps. It’s Nanette, my foster mother.

I need $200. Withdraw on your way home.

OK,
I text back. It’s not like I have a choice. She steals Andy’s allowance when I don’t. Andy – who is five years old and the most adorable boy in the world. On my lowest days, I think of Nanette as a pedophile because she preys on kids as much as pervs do – except it isn’t sexual at all. Most of the time, I try to fool myself with some feel-good Ellen DeGeneres philosophy. Forgive her, for she knows not what she does. Pray for her, so that she may go to Hell.  

There’s another beep. This time it’s from eighteen-year-old Kevin, who’s closest to my age along with his twin sister Kelly. The orphanage says the twins are half-American, half-something-European. Apparently, a still-anonymous woman made the mistake of literally dumping the twins in the arms of a semi-deaf nun. When she took the twins to the orphanage, she couldn’t remember whether the woman had said the twins’ names were Pedro/Pedra or Petro/Petra.

Personally, I think they’re half-Italian, but Nicole insists the twins look half-Greek. Something about their
swarthy
complexions and all that. I’m just three credits away from getting my Mass Communications degree, but even I don’t know what swarthy means. Whatever. Kids these days are so nerdy it’s uncool.

It doesn’t really matter either way since the twins don’t give a shick about their lineage – to the point that they chose the Americanized names Kevin and Kelly when Nanette adopted them.

I tap on the unopened message in my inbox.

Nanette has another.

Shick. Drat. FRACK.

I’m blaming Angelina Jolie for this. It’s
her
fault that Nanette’s turned foster care and adoption into a lifelong business.

I hurriedly text Kevin back.
We’ll fix it later.

4:45 PM

“Misty?” It’s Ed again, but this time he doesn’t look into my eyes. He pulls on his collar, which he has a reason for doing since it’s buttoned all the way up, nearly choking him with the stiffness of its starched fabric.

“Yes?”

“You’re, ah, asked to go to the CEO’s office at the penthouse.”

My heart stops beating.

Interns don’t get summoned by the CEO for nothing. The word ‘intern’ isn’t even supposed to
exist
in a CEO’s vocabulary unless--

It’s Janice and William
, I think to myself dully. They hadn’t trusted me to keep my mouth shut so they’ve concocted some wild story to get me fired by the CEO himself. Fracking apeholes. Cunning of them, but really – total apeholes.

I clear my throat. Maybe Ed heard wrong. Maybe it’s Do…Donaldo from 14/F who’s looking for me, and not the Big Boss himself. “If you’re really sure,” I say slowly, silently begging him
not
to be sure.

Ed still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I received the call myself,” he mumbles. “He even gave your complete name,” he adds unhappily.

What the hell did those two apeholes tell the CEO anyway? That I grammatically sabotaged their papers or something? It’s not like I can do anything else.

Ed coughs, drawing my attention back to him. I have a feeling he wants to wish me good luck but doesn’t want to because that means something is wrong. And nothing can be wrong in his happy place.

He’s a good man, really. Nerdy, meek, but a good guy. I’m secretly terrified I’ll be like him if my life doesn’t change in the next few years.

Wait –

I shouldn’t be terrified. I should be ecstatic. Boring is good. Boring is safe. Boring puts food on the table and doesn’t get called on by the CEO to get royally fired.

Why do you listen to me, God? I’m stupid. I don’t know what I’m asking for. Don’t listen to me again.

The walk to the elevator feels like the green mile, and I feel the zombies of
Ze Morgue
grinning behind me. The elevator’s mirrored walls taunt me with my reflection. It’s saying –
you don’t look boring enough
. That should teach me and my big, fat mental mouth.

It’s a long way up to 19/F, with people coming and going nonstop. I while away the journey by reviewing what I know about Domenico Moretti.

He’s 29 – eight years older than I am.  Make that seven in a few months’ time. He’s the eldest in a brood of six, with extraordinary dark Italian good looks – so much so he’s had to file a TRO against a supermodel who’s gone maniacally obsessive over him after their one-night stand.

All the business journals describe him as “ruthless” and “cunning”. Moretti Inc. only used to do business in Italy and the United States, but when Domenico took over less than 10 years ago, he turned the family business into a global empire by taking some mind-blowing, risky gambles that paid off big time.

The doors open one last time for me as the elevator arrives at 19/F.

It’s my first time to be here since this floor is strictly by-invitation only. According to the office grapevine, there are only 3 reasons you get an invitation to the hallowed offices of the CEO. You either pleased someone very high up in Moretti Inc. – so much so that you’re worth a thirty-second congratulatory message delivered personally by the great Domenico Moretti himself; pissed off someone important enough that you warranted a meeting to get personally fired by said CEO; or you’re a female who’s hit the jackpot by snagging a highly-coveted invite to his private orgy room, which rumors say are hidden somewhere on this floor.

His secretary, a stern-looking woman in her forties named Evelyn, looks at me with genuine pity in her eyes.

Oh, shick.

“Do you have a restroom somewhere?” I’m about to pee in my undies. I’m
that
scared.

To give her credit, she doesn’t even blink and just gestures to the hall to her right. “There’s a ladies’ room at the end.”

I do my business as quickly as I can and return to the sitting area because I don’t want to leave Domenico Moretti waiting. I don’t want to give the CEO even more ammunition against me.

Evelyn knocks twice before opening the door to usher me in.

I trip on my way inside.

Her scent
seduced and enslaved him the moment she came into his den. 

Domenico had always been proud of how different he was from the rest of his kind. He never lost control, never let passion rule him the way others did.

This once, however – just this once he wanted to ignore his meticulously laid-out plan. Her scent alone made Domenico want to just fuck Misty into oblivion, fuck her hard until they both lost themselves in the pleasure of it.

Fate was truly on his side, he mused while listening to her hesitant steps toward his office. He could not have chosen any better. Of course, it would have been nice if she had happened to be of royal birth as well or perhaps the daughter of a senator – a Democrat preferably – but Domenico could work with what he had. Besides, the reports showed that one of her sisters, Nicole, was a cross between a budding Machiavelli and Jackie O. If Domenico groomed her early enough, she could be the start of a new political dynasty.

He smiled when he heard Misty nervously asking his faithful secretary for the restroom, but his smile faded when he sniffed something else in the air – something unexpected. He frowned. Every emotion had its own unique smell, and right now he could smell fear on her.

Why?

She should have been excited. Or curious, at the very least.

He took the remote control on his desk, punched a few buttons, and the panel to his right parted, revealing a wall of monitors connected to the building’s CCTV system.

He fast-forwarded the replay from the moment Misty left her office for lunch, his face darkening when he saw what happened to her at 5/F. It insulted him – it offended him greatly that his future princess would be subjected to such a sight.

For a moment, Domenico wanted to simultaneously rip the old man apart and castrate him. He was a very possessive man – yet another unusual trait among his kind. Others didn’t mind sharing. All they cared about was the rut – the mindless raw sensations that came with the pleasures of the flesh.

He wasn’t like that. Life had shaped him to go for what he wanted. It had taught him not to stop until he had conquered what he desired – and how to keep it in his possession even if he no longer wanted it.

Right now, he sought Misty with such fierce need it took every ounce of his control to keep still in his seat – to think before acting.

A red haze of rage blinded Domenico when he saw William whispering to Misty. He did not like seeing anyone coming on to her, and his fingers clenched around the remote control so hard he accidentally crushed it into pieces.

Shit.

He took out the spare from one of his drawers and had the panel slide back into place. It wasn’t that he made a habit of grinding remote controls. He just liked being prepared for every eventuality – and he never failed to do so until this. Until now. Until Misty.

Misty was coming. Her scent beckoned to him, a siren’s call that Domenico’s body strained to answer. His cock had never felt this huge inside his pants, this near to bursting just because he was anticipating meeting a slip of a girl.

Damn. Domenico had not been prepared for this – had not made a contingency plan against this.

What would happen if he fell in love with Misty Wall?