The Werewolf Prince and I (The Moretti Werewolf 1)

I had nodded and pretended I’m as clueless as he is. I didn’t have the heart to break his illusions about his happy place by letting Ed know that all was not fine in Ze Morgue.

I try to concentrate at Tony’s document but fail. Sometimes, their hatred really gets to me because I know I don’t deserve it. It’s not my fault that the orphanage I came from only had Scrabble as a board game. Honestly, I wished it was Monopoly instead.

Glancing at the report like it could detonate any moment, I take another deep breath before diving straight into yet another grammatical quagmire.

SUPPLIES INVENTORY UPDATE

Four (4) AA batterys

Forteen (14) ballpens (black)

Three (3) AAA batterys

“Misty?”

I perk up. Tony’s back and – even better - he knows my name! Most people here call me Minnie. I tell myself it’s accidental and not because I’m so wimpy I remind them of a mouse.

I beam up at Tony, all the while crossing my fingers under the desk. Please let him not ask about how he’s doing. It’s such a friendship killer.

He returns my smile with an upper curl with his lip. “I forgot to change something in my update.”

Oh. Right. Maybe he’s too busy for a friendly chat. There’s always tomorrow.

I give Tony his papers back.

“Thanks,” he says stiffly a moment later.

I look back at the document, wondering which of his mistakes he’s corrected.

SUPPLIES INVENTORY UPDATE

Four (4) Five (5) AA batterys

Forteen (14) ballpens (black)

Three (3) AAA batterys

Right.

It’s time for another breathing exercise.

After, I pick up my red-ink pen with a sigh. Tony’s going to hate me even more when he gets his update report back and sees all the red circles, strikethroughs, and text inserts I’m about to make.

God, I’m bored.

12:00 NN

Lunch break in Moretti Inc. is a torture. Outcasts like me eat alone. Taking my lunch bag from the bottom drawer of my table, I lock everything up and quickly leave Cubicle 85 and the rest of Ze Morgue behind me before the zombies blast me with their pitying looks again. If they pity me so much, why don’t they just give me a chance and let me have lunch with them?

But of course I know the answer to that. They don’t really pity me. They just plain hate my guts for whatever reason.

Finding a private space to enjoy my peanut butter sandwich and orange juice is never easy. You see, my workplace also happens to be one of the city’s major tourist attractions, thanks to its 18th floor viewing deck, which continues to snap architectural awards left and right. Veganista is also located on that floor, a world-renowned restaurant that caters exclusively to human herbivores. It’s always fully booked for months ahead, but twenty of its 200-plus seats are reserved every day for walk-in patrons. The lines for those twenty seats sometimes force me to take the stairs instead.

I take a short trip to the ground floor lobby to see if there are any available spaces on the lounge areas left. There’s none, with every seat occupied by Asian tourists. I smack my forehead. I forgot about that. A memo’s been posted about it since last week, telling us that we’re having busloads of tourists from China for some cultural exchange project Moretti Inc. has with a Beijing company.

Stepping back into the private employees’ elevator, which is surprisingly empty, I swipe my card then punch 5 on the digital keyboard. It’s where the library and records center is, and in the two months I’ve been working here I’ve never bumped into another soul there.

I take out my peanut butter sandwich and start eating. It’s been my favorite since my orphanage days, mostly because we only get to choose between this and rice broth for breakfast. My BFF then, a Chinese girl named Mei Li, was the only one who went for the rice broth. Nothing against it, but my Western mind’s been preconditioned to only have it when I’m burning with fever in bed.

But there’s always a first for everything, I think moments later with a sinking heart. The good news: there are finally employees than myself who appreciate what 5/F has to offer. The bad news: we don’t appreciate it for the same reasons. I come here for the free books, these two come here for the free --- privacy, I guess? Or so they thought.

In full view from the elevators is Janice Rudely, the glamazon lipstick monster who works as receptionist of Ze Morgue. She’s on her knees, head bobbing up and down, like a constantly bowing servant.

Before her is William Grant, the balding octogenarian mid-management executive from 10th floor, pants pooled around his ankles.

Ding-dong. It’s the elevator, alerting the lovers to the fact that they have a reluctant Peeping Tom in their midst.

Oh, shick.

It’s a word I made up for the twins and me so we don’t end up swearing in front of Nicole and Andy. And if this moment isn’t shicky then I don’t know what is.

I spin back to the elevator, stuffing my half-eaten sandwich into my mouth so I can slam my free hand on the down button.

Sharp fingers dig deep into my shoulder.

SHICK!

Clawed into place, I turn around to face Janice with a weak smile, but she’s clearly less than thrilled to see me.

“Hello, Janice.” But the words come out all wrong since I’m speaking with my mouth full.

In the background, I see William Grant hastily tucking his shirt back into his pants, which are still unzipped, revealing a protruding, limp---

I do my best not to gag.

For the love of---

That was so---

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 when 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.