Diavolo

iv

PRESLEY

        I woke up to the sound of a soft growl, and before I could even question it, I felt slow, slobbery licks on my face. Oh Christ.

A brown eye snapped open to the object of my disturbance this morning which were a pair of Rottweilers, tilting their head and watching me with those soft, almond shaped eyes.

Another one which I suspected was Growl was too busy plastering my face with his doggy kisses while Wolf wagged his tail excitedly, sitting his butt on my bed.

        A low groan escaped my mouth as I placed a hand on Growl's brown coat, running my palm through his body. "And good morning to you too," I muttered under my breath before dragging myself from between their their tall, muscular bodies and made a beeline for the bathroom.

I glanced around the bedroom in search for a petite woman with a love of brownies and the biggest heart ever before I walked into the bathroom.

        I'd only been about four months since I'd sat with Finley at the mall, reassuring her that she would soon be pregnant and unknowingly she was already pregnant. Four months since everything had changed in my world.

        I'd finished the last of my classes, graduated and received my master's in journalism. Originally it would have taken at least six years but because of summer classes, I managed to finish under four years.

        It took a few weeks to get a call from the jobs I'd applied for which led to an internship with Desmond Grant, the COO of Grant Corp.

Grant Corp was one of the largest publishing and worldwide mass media corporation in New York, and I was beyond shocked when I'd gotten a call from his secretary congratulating me.

        Desmond Grant was a multimillionaire playboy who'd been handed the title of the COO from his father; I'd been working as his editorial intern for the last three months which was more of a fucking personal assistant.

The man loved to bother me with petty matters such as fetching his coffee, and his laundry. I'd suspected he did this to drive me away from the job like he'd done to the rest of his interns.

        Too bad for him. I wasn't going anywhere.

        Yesterday night was the first time he'd assigned me something other than his damn laundry and I'd jumped at the offer. Clutched it with two desperate hands and gotten on a bus to interview an important client for a case he'd been working on.

        And come Monday morning, I'd have to report to him that the client was a no-show, and he'd glare at me with those piercing dark eyes and brooding brows. In his silent way of saying "What are you able to handle, Mrs. Carmichael?"

        God, I hated him.

        I'd just jumped out of the shower, thrown on an oversized white t-shirt with the font 'Chicago' drawn in bold, yellow letters on it.

Whenever I wasn't at work, I was a oversized shirt and hoodie girl; it was all I wore and it was slowly becoming a problem. Especially as I walked out of the bedroom, my gaze coasting over the mountain of dirty clothes waiting to be washed.