Diavolo

v

PRESLEY

        Karma had a twisted way of getting back to you. Once the bitch had her hands around your throat, she wasn't afraid to twist, tug and pull. Something inside my gut had been warning me to double-check my fucking alarm since I'd finished my face routine that night.

       I'd shrugged the idea from my mind, woken up this morning only to realize I'd never set an alarm, and now I was running thirty minutes late.

        Running into the eye of the storm to Mr. Grant who I'd been nervous about facing and now I might as well had slapped on a 'Fire me" on my forehead.

        Jesus Christ.

        Everything about this morning was going terribly wrong, and I'd suspected it had something to do with how my weekend went.

        I spent the weekend with Finley and Octavius, traveling in and out of shopping malls for the arrival of their baby and I was prepared to apologize—or say something for how I'd treated Silvio last time we met but then realized he was avoiding me entirety.

        Cosimo had told me Silvio recently took over Octavius' job—whatever that fucking was—something about how it was a high-ranked position so it was supposed to be secretive.

        Even so, normally I'd run into Silvio at least once whenever I hung around Finley but I never saw him. The closest thing I was gifted was the sound of his voice when Finley had called to check up on him.

        He was definitely going to hell.

        I shoved the topic of the man into the back of my head as I walked into the buildings of Grant Corp, the sound of my black stilettos click-clacking against the expensive, polished tiled floors. I'd thrown on a grey, low-cut, long-sleeved blazer on and dress pants, wrapped my knotless braids into a low ponytail and quickly glossed my lips before I left.

        I didn't have time to breathe, rushing out of the elevator before I met a pair of dark eyes staring deeply into mine.

        Mr. Fucking Desmond Grant.

        "Ms. Carmichael." His sharp, dulcet voice called out as he stood proud and tall in front of his office. Looking like every woman's wet dress in a tailored black suit, dark brown curls and piercing dark eyes with a week-old stubble.

        If I wasn't so pissed off at every singe thing he did or said, I would have found the man rather attractive. Otherwise he was just petty in my book.

        Walking closer, I braced myself for the slight change in his voice and his infamous eyebrow raise whenever he got pissed. "You're late." He muttered under his breath, not hiding his pure irritation at my existence.

        "Yes." I breathed deeply coming to stand in front of him. He looked down at me with that disapproving expression, and judgement in his eyes. "Traffic rush this morning was insane, I'm so—"

        He held a palm in the air, stopping me midway into my apology. "Ms. Carmichael. What'd I say about apologizing to me?"

        Right.

        "There's no need for apology if I'll end up repeating my action." I read off the same words in an monotone voice he'd repeated to me from the first day I made a mistake and apologized profusely for it.