Chapter 1
I came into the condo that we shared with my fiancé Deporta Enoch. As could be expected, Deporta was in the loft standing before his gigantic easel. The canvas was white, as it always was, and I sighed. Deporta was always talking about his next masterpiece selling for as much or more than the first one, but somehow he just never seemed to be working on anything at all. It was starting to get to me, who worked nearly 12 hours a day at my soulless corporate job. My cousin Steven had started a successful business years before and had brought me aboard early. While the pay was great, the long, grueling hours were killing me.
"Deporta," I yelled.
"Yes?" Deporta's falsetto sliced through the air and I cringed.
"I told you to throw away the garbage. And the tissues are still on the table. You're going to make me ill! You know I can't miss work. We'd be late paying rent again."
"Of course," Deporta said, his French accent thick and teasing. "My fault."
It was always his fault. Since living with Deporta, my blood pressure had been rising. Managing my soul-sucking work might have been bearable if I were still in my grotty bungalow, but Deporta had made us get something more decent, where we could truly begin our lives over. But spending the rest of my life cleaning up after a slacker man-boy who boasted much but did nothing, was the last thing that I wanted to do. And yet, I had promised. Maybe, eventually, Deporta would catch on and pick up his slack around the house. One could hope.
I did not have time to battle with him. I had worked all day and had to sleep before I could report for the next shift. Steven's business had a big shipment coming in, and massive deals pending. Steven was away vacationing in Zaza while I was holding down the fort and working double shifts to keep afloat and do whatever necessary to keep the company running while Steven defended calls.
After a hot, steamy shower, I fell face-down onto the bed and immediately fell asleep. Somewhere in the middle of the night, I could feel the warm weight of Deporta snuggle up beside me. In other times, I would have wanted to put my arm around him, but neither of us had been in the mood for cuddling lately.
The next day came on schedule. I woke up to the sound of Deporta turning over and giving me a smile. My heart missed a beat. Sometimes it was hard to remember why we were there, but this smile did that nicely.
"Morning, love," replied Deporta.
"Morn," I grunted into his shoulder.
"I forgot to ask, how was yesterday?" Deporta shifted so our eyes would align. "You showered in such a rush there wasn't time for us."
"Oh, it was tremendous. We secured some business from the downtown wolf shifters. I met with one of the alphas and they adored Steven's plan."
"Wolf shifters?" Deporta scoffed, scrunching up his nose. "They're like animals. What do you have to put up with them for?"
I flinched. I'd actually really enjoyed the interaction I'd had with the wolf shifters the day before. They were a tough bunch, for sure, but they were loyal and brutal. People you could respect. Deporta simply took it as a given that they were filthy and ate out of garbage cans.
"Money is money," I muttered in annoyance.
"Too true," replied Deporta. "The moment I complete this canvas, we'll be swimming in it!"
I smiled condescendingly at Deporta, having no notion at all just when that was going to happen.
"Sure thing," I said, rising from my bed. Time to dress for work.
As I left the apartment, I was irritated to see Deporta's used tissues still dumped on top of my business magazines, and the trash still overflowing in its can. The easel in the loft was still bare, and Deporta was sleeping with a huge snore.
I went to the office as usual and worked for the next six hours like a mule. At 2:00, my cell phone rang in my pocket.
"Yo! Cousin! I'm heading to the office. Thanks for holding down the fort. Why don't you treat yourself to the rest of the day off!"
Steven hung up the phone and my heart was racing with excitement. I would be going home. Maybe spending some time with Deporta. Definitely taking out the trash.
I leaped into my convertible and sped home as quickly as possible. It had been a while since I'd been able to relax, and after two weeks of twelve-hour days, I felt I deserved it.
The condo was as silent as a ghost town when I entered. Deporta wasn't snoring and neither was he working in the loft painting. I jammed my keys into my pocket and shoved my head into the bedroom in hope of asking about what Deporta desires for dinner.
"Jesus Christ!" I cursed in disgust.
Deporta was in our bed with some other guy. Some guy he'd told me was a friend of his from the gallery. He'd been hanging around here a lot, and now I knew why.
"This isn't what it seems!" Deporta protested.
"Save it you bastard!" I yelled. "You can have the condo. I'm getting the hell out of here."
I had packed my stuff and overturned the trash can as I left. I should have been smarter. Deporta was a loser from the start. Now I would just have to start all over again.