Page 35 of Darling Venom
I looked up from the manuscript. “Good luck?”
She shot me a dark look. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She pointed a manicured nail at me. “Don’t knock on his door.”
“You have my word.”
The minute Brunette Barbie was out of sight, I jumped up from my seat and practically lunged myself at the guy’s office. A golden sign hung on the wall, but I couldn’t read it when I was all the way across the room.
Now I could.
Tatum Marchetti, MD.
The name descended on me like the entire sky, hammering me to the ground.
Tatum.
Tate Marchetti.
As in, Kellan’s brother.
As in, the asshole who had a hand in making Kellan hurl himself off of St. Paul’s roof exactly four years ago.
What were the odds?
Not horribly bad, a vicious voice inside me snapped.
In high school, I’d never bothered checking who Tate was or what he did for a living. I’d never googled him or asked Kellan. I just knew he worked insane hours and night shifts.
Now it all made sense—he was a doctor.
And he was here.
A door away.
The man I’d wanted to strangle from the moment Kellan entered my life. Eight years and counting. My hatred for him had time to stew, build, simmer, and flourish.
My throat rolled with a swallow, and my eyes narrowed at the door. I was not a reckless person. Everything I did was planned to the finest detail.
Especially since The Night Of.
But the realization that Kellan’s brother was here undid every single positive trait I’d honed after that fateful night.
My fingers curled over the doorknob.
I waited for my sensible side to tell me to stop. To turn around. To come to my senses.
Silence.
I flung the door open without knocking (I’d promised Miss Bitch I wouldn’t).
Took a step inside.
Froze in my spot.
I blinked, trying to digest the scene I’d walked into. A sheet of long blonde hair cascaded down a deep-cherry desk in waves. The owner of the hair had her mouth open in an O-shape, her eyes squeezed in pleasure and concentration as the man between her legs thrusted into her ruthlessly.
