Page 226 of Darling Venom
“Will you let Dr. Marchetti know I’m taking my lunch break now?”
I nodded, watching her leave.
Tate didn’t seem surprised when I entered. Only resigned. I set the bag on a chair and pulled out tray after tray, spreading them across every inch of his desk.
He leaned against the leather wingback. “What is this?”
“Sai oua with sticky rice, seen savanh, look seen, khao piak sen, and a complimentary dessert.” I broke apart a pair of chopsticks and stuck them out for him to take. “Hope you like your food spicy.”
“I was referring to your presence.” He returned to the monitor, clicking away at his mouse. “I already ate.”
“What a ridiculous thing to lie about.”
“When people say they already ate, it means they don’t want to eat,” he drawled, using my words against me.
He made me so furious I couldn’t breathe. That couldn’t be right. How someone else had power over your lungs.
“You remember last night?”
“Of course.”
He would be that type of drunk.
The insufferable kind.
I set my chopsticks down. “You were intoxicated.”
Plastered, actually.
He spared me a glance. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay if it does.” I pulled my lower lip into my mouth. “You can also call me again when you need to. It’s okay to lean on others.”
Technically, Luke the Bartender had been the one to call, but Tate told him to.
That counted.
Right?
Tate pressed his fingertips together, studying me over them. I squirmed under the intensity of his stare.
“That may be true,” he finally said, “but I cannot and will not lean on alcohol again. You have my word.”
“It’s okay if you do that, too. You’re far from addicted. You won’t turn into Terry if you drink every once in a while.”
“Twice in one year is more than enough. Two times too many, in fact.”
“Are you that scared of becoming Terry?”
He shifted his attention back to the computer. A bluish hue radiated from the monitor, slashing across his sharp cheekbones and illuminating half his face. Little clicks filled the room. I’d wait all day for an answer if I had to.
It finally came, and it only took a minute.
“Addiction can be hereditary.”
“Is being an asshole hereditary?”
“In the Marchetti household? Yes.”
