Page 192 of Darling Venom
“I was young and dumb.” He waved it off with a hand, like he was swatting away a fly.
“Not that young,” I pointed out.
“Whatever. No big deal. Won’t happen again.”
He admitted it.
The great Terrence Marchetti just admitted to plagiarism.
Staring at him was like staring at the ruins of a once-great building. I didn’t know how to navigate the rubble without cutting myself.
“He thought you were the best thing that happened to Planet Earth,” I mouthed, finally.
Terry chuckled bitterly. “Yeah. At some point, I thought that, too.”
It finally sank in that my problem with Charlotte Richards was here to stay.
I couldn’t pinpoint a word to describe us, but it sure as hell didn’t qualify as friendship.
A friend would not stalk her to a library and kiss the shit out of her.
A friend would not allow her to enter and exit his home as she pleased.
A friend would not visit her sister and bark some sense into her, because the idea of having Charlie unhappy at the hands of someone else made my skin crawl. Even if I, myself, did the same thing.
I was in deep shit, and I knew it.
Charlie stood before me in my entryway, tucking her key into her pocket. She strode to the kitchen, entered the pantry, and exited with coffee grounds I didn’t know I owned.
From my perch on the stool, I watched her scoop Vietnamese condensed milk into a tall glass (something I’d never tried) and stick a French press over it (something that also never existed here pre-Charlie).
She caught me staring and quirked a brow. “Coffee?”
If she knew about my little visit with her sister, she showed no signs of it.
Good, Leah. For once, you did something right and didn’t rat me out.
“I handed you the manuscript months ago, and you have yet to complete it.” Surprisingly, my voice lacked any real venom. I shoveled cereal into my mouth, not really tasting it. “Is Reagan aware of what an unproductive worker you are?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She grabbed a drink shaker from a cabinet, and at this point, I was convinced she was doing this on purpose. Piling up dishes in a home so old, dishwasher was nowhere near its vocabulary. “I’m Reagan’s favorite employee.”
“How do you figure?”
Stop entertaining her, dammit.
“She promoted me when she came back to work this week. Said she needs to reduce her workload, and she values my contributions.” A cheeky smile spread across her face. “You’re looking at Rothschild Literary & Management’s newest associate agent.”
She took my silence as an invitation to go on.
“Basically, I’m a newbie agent that’ll receive mentorship from the principal agents. Associate agents actively seek new clients and work more often with debut writers, which is perfect for where I’m at right now.”
I frowned. “Reagan shouldn’t be back at work.”
“She’s taking it easy.” Charlie sounded defensive.
“Have you ever known Reagan to take it easy? She walked herself out of Morgan-Dunn, ignoring Nurse Kelley when she offered a wheelchair.”
“She stays glued to her desk.” She filled the coffee glass with ice, added a dash of salt, and covered the opening with the shaker. “I promise.”
