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of him was pure lethal muscle, and even covered in an expensive handmade Italian suit as it was, there was no hiding the impressive strength of his body.
    Having just stepped out of the restroom, Misty had come to a dead stop when she realized what the almost awed silence was all about. Her heart started to race as he drew nearer, his aura of sexual magnetism becoming stronger and more irresistible as his long, powerful stride took him closer to her.
    She crossed her arms over her chest, ashamed at how so easily her body responded to his presence alone. Yesterday, Domenico had promised that he would prove to everyone he was sexually infatuated with her. Had that moment finally come?
    When he was inches away from her, she held her breath.
    Domenico walked past her without even sparing Misty a glance.
    Misty froze.
    Beside her, Janice Rudely said in a pseudo-whisper, “Did you really think he’d give you the time of the day just because he had his limousine take you home?”
    That happened yesterday, too, but now it seemed forever had already passed since then. Misty bit her lip hard to stop it from trembling. Yesterday, everyone in Ze Morgue, her private nickname for the company’s Administration Department, had heard Misty – their sole intern and most despised copy editor - being called to the CEO’s office. Yesterday, everyone had seen her helped inside Domenico’s limousine by his chauffeur after office hours. And yesterday, only she knew that Domenico Moretti had asked her – Misty Wall, the wimpiest nobody in the world – to marry him.
    But right now, everything that had taken place yesterday felt like a nightmare, a prank that would leave her the laughingstock of the company.
    Had she only imagined Domenico Moretti turning into a werewolf in his office?
    Had she only imagined being attacked by other werewolves last night and Domenico rescuing her?
    Had she only imagined being finger-fucked into an orgasm by Domenico as he demanded that she marry him?
    “Are you listening to me?”
    Janice’s hissing voice snapped Misty out of her misery. She looked up – she had to since the other woman was several inches taller than Misty. Today, Janice wore a skintight black dress that fell below her knees but revealed her back completely. It was an inappropriate choice for someone who worked as the head receptionist of Ze Morgue, but entirely unsurprising for someone whom Misty had caught paying homage to William Grant, a balding executive from 10/F who also happened to be married. Janice had been on her knees while William had his pants around his ankles. It was the ungodliest sight Misty had seen in her entire life.
    “I’m sorry,” Misty mumbled, still depressed at how Domenico Moretti had completely ignored her. “I didn’t quite catch---”
    “Did you tell him, you bitch?”
    She blinked. “Tell who what?”
    Janice’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that fucking wide-eyed look. I never did buy your Miss Goody Two Shoes image. Were you called by Mr. Moretti because you told him what you saw?”
    Finally understanding what Janice was worried about, Misty shook her head. “I didn’t.”
    Distrust contorted Janice’s beautiful face. “Then why were you with him for so long?”
    “I…” She couldn’t make herself say the words, not after how Domenico didn’t even seem to remember having asked Misty to marry him.
    “Don’t mess with me, you little bitch. If you didn’t tell him, then why were you called to his office?”
    Unable to help it, Misty’s eyes sought Domenico. He had his back to her now, talking to his chauffeur-slash-bodyguard Matteo Barrios, a stocky sandy-haired man with a rugged unsmiling face. Misty colored, recalling how she had cried so hard in his limousine when she had thought Domenico had just been playing around with her. And here she was again, about to do the same thing and for the same fracking reason. Fracking was Misty’s version of the F-bomb and her way of avoiding