Corrupted Angel -A Mafia Romance

EX

ting dark

bottom drawer of my desk, eyeing the goodies inside. Ah, yes, the good ol' secret snack drawer. It's a secret not because I'm ashamed of how much I sna

ter screen while I gnaw on the end of a stick of strawberry licorice. I told my fiancé, Grant, that I

r. Finkel spent half of the interview reminiscing about how much everything used to cost in those days (a can of soda-a nickel; a hot dog-a quarter; two scoop

hat pile of boring jelly into a thought-provoking article examinin

wants me to write the story. In fact, her exact words were, "Nobody's going to r

here are bigger stories to tell. I just wish she would give me one of those bigger stories.

pped voice from the e

Speak of

. She has a commendably infinite selection of bold-colored pantsuits. Today's number is a fuchsia blazer and slacks with a bright white top underneath. She looks about forty-five, but in my two ye

g?" she asks in her t

the end of the Twiz

I'm just here to give you your assignment for

nally going to give me somethi

show!" she

O

leans against my cubicle wall. "

a brow,

e. "All the dogs are ce

frustration. "That's just more of the same crap

r, startling me upright, then f

ky you are to even have this job? I've got a dozen résumés in the drawe

ou're right. I'm

les and

ation. As cute as the dog show does actually soun

oday. I just want to curl up on the sofa with Grant and a big glass of red wine and

our loft in Brooklyn. Grant is lucky-he was just made junior partner at a commer

s me draw my coat closer around myself as I walk from the subway to our apartment building. I

nt works tough hours. He'd said he wouldn't be too late tonight, though, so I wonder where he's gotten off to. I

e under my feet as I walk toward the bedro

k. Sq

't stand the creaky springs. The thing is, though, that the springs only make noise whenever he and I get down to some

Je

that suddenly feel pale and trembly, I'm gree

is Grant's pale ass, c

an beneath him, who has just locked eyes with me and re

hits th

but it takes the big oaf a second to realize what's happening. When he fin

of bed, pulling on a pair of boxers-the ones I got him for

instead. She's huddled beneath the comforter. Her bottle-blon

!" Grant repeats, like I had

his lies than to accept that my fiancé, the man I've spent every Sunday cudd

ng that it is exactl

like kerosene. All

. "Were you inspecting each other for lice

g up in wild tufts and there is lipstick smu

ought were mine alone to kiss-sets fire to

good in the candlelight at the Italian place he took me for our first serious

in a box, lock it, a

a finger toward the front door. "Bot