Page 193 of Darling Venom
“Sure,” I deadpanned, watching her mix the drink. “Because I trust you to narc on your boss. She’s a single mom and too controlling to let someone babysit her kids so soon.”
“The babies come with her to work in this giant stroller contraption that must have cost a fortune. She has this whole nursery setup in her office, and we have a tiny lactation room next to the break room from when one of the sub-rights agents gave birth.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“She seems happy. Happy enough to promote me.” She winked. “I’m moving up in the world.”
“Speaking of moving, when will you move on from my home and out of my life?” Again, there was no real poison left in me.
I was actually pretty sad about it.
I needed her to leave ASAP, because I was liable to kiss her again. Lately, it was all I could think about, and I hated myself for it. She knew about Kellan’s suicidal ideation and said nothing.
It should’ve been a deal breaker.
“Soon. Maybe,” she said in a way that was about as reassuring as getting held at gunpoint and being told the survival rate of a bullet wound was five percent. “I’ve got a helping hand now. I asked Terry to help me with the manuscript.”
“He wouldn’t say yes.”
“He did.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you have on him?”
“Is it that hard to believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart?”
“Yes. Impossible, actually, on account of the fact that he has no heart.”
“And yet, he’s alive and breathing. Impressive stuff. Someone should call God. I think we have a miracle on our hands.”
“What did you have to give him to do this?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She shrugged. “Maybe he’s changed.”
“People like him don’t change.”
“Maybe you don’t know everything, Tate.”
“I know Terry.”
“Do you? How often do you talk to him these days? When was the last time you had an actual conversation with him? You know, what you told me to do with Leah despite refusing to do so yourself? There’s a word for that.” She tapped her chin with her pointer finger, looking up as she made a show of pretending to think. “Absurd? Illogical? No, that’s not right.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know! Hypocrite!”
“He’ll disappoint you,” I warned, ignoring her theatrics. Again, my heart sank for her. Why did I care so much about her feelings? “He always does.”
“I’m prepared to be disappointed. But on the off chance he doesn’t, the manuscript will be better for it. That’s all that matters.”
“Did you forget the part where he’s a fraud?”
“He’s still talented. We already went through the first twenty-thousand words. It’s good stuff. His insight is spot-on. The wit and humor he adds complements Kellan’s manuscript well, especially when it veers too dark.”
Leave it to my brother to write a manuscript so dark, Terrence Marchetti’s contributions were considered light.
“I trust him with this, Tate.”
Either Charlie was more naïve than I’d thought or she knew something I didn’t.
