Page 203 of Darling Venom
Her fingertips traced a leaf. “It’s the one Mom gave you.”
“Yeah.”
We stayed silent, digesting it.
Us. Them.
Finally, she lifted it flat in her palm, offering it to me. “Will you help me put it on?”
And I did.
I bribed Terry to spend the night at a fancy hotel in SoHo. Handed him a giant gift card I spent half my promotion bonus on, noting that it expired tonight. (It didn’t, but I needed him gone.)
Three aces slid down my sleeve.
Complimentary Wi-Fi. A stocked library. Soundproof walls.
None of them worked.
“What’s your angle, little thing?” He chewed a piece of cinnamon gum at the volume you’d use to blast music. “You do something to the manuscript?”
“No.” I folded my arms behind my back, grabbing onto my wrist and squeezing, trying my damnedest to look innocent to the second most jaded man alive. The first being his son. “My sister’s expecting me home early, and I didn’t want the gift card to go to waste. Maybe you’ll hammer something out if you get a taste of the luxury penthouse lifestyle again.”
“Easy, Miss Richards.” He waved the gift card next to his ear. “This’ll get me a junior suite at best. You couldn’t spring for something better?”
“You know what? Forget it. I’ll give it to my neighbor.” I moved to take it back.
“Never said I didn’t want it.” He dodged me, holding it above my head like a taunting teenager. “Just needed to see there aren’t any strings attached. I’ve seen. I get it. You don’t have any other friends.”
“You don’t have to be so brash about it.”
He cackled, waving off my sass. “Let’s see what one grand gets me in SoHo.”
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t a thank you. Which was good for me, since I didn’t receive one.
Classic Terry.
He left, tugging along his bulky typewriter case and a suitcase he informed me was a necessity for commandeering hotel goods.
And that left me alone at Tate’s, keeping myself busy with housework until he arrived. It seemed to be the only thing that could clear my mind these days.
Plus, Tate obviously needed the help. His place used to resemble the underside of a seat on the subway, caked with more grime than reasonable for two inhabitants.
(To be fair, it was all Terry. He left a trail of trash large enough to single-handedly explain New York’s one-to-four rat-to-human ratio.)
Leah would leave on her second date with Jonah in an hour or two, so I expected her to arrive home late and assume I’d gone to be
d. I had this house to myself and a limitless amount of time to stay.
A limitless amount of time to wait for Tate to arrive.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
By the time I gave up and made it back to Morris Heights, it was way past midnight, Leah had probably gone to bed long ago, and I felt dumber than the dude who sold his ten percent stake in Apple for eight-hundred bucks.
