Bianca
Despite having slept beside a snoring, whiskey-reeking Isaac, I’d managed to wake up early and get back to work. I was surprisingly energetic today, although I tried not to attribute it to the warm feeling that had spread through my chest when Isaac had drunkenly professed his love for me last night.
It didn’t mean anything. He was plastered out of his mind and apparently didn’t even remember saying it. This morning, he had simply stumbled out of bed with a groan, mumbled something about needing coffee, and disappeared without so much as mentioning his declaration or the donation he’d secured.
But the donation, at least, had been real. I’d found the check in his wallet while he was showering—a sizable contribution from Alpha Donovan to the Shelter project. It was enough
