Page 90 of Darling Venom
Ripped tights under a black dress littered with candy-red paint splatters. I wore a choker around my neck, fingerless gloves on my hands, and a frown on my face, which deepened when I spotted a crowd around my desk.
Irene bent forward at the waist, hands behind her back, staring at something like she was too afraid to touch it.
Abigail noticed me first.
“There she is!” She stampeded toward me, looping an arm around my shoulder. “Where did you find it?”
“Find what?”
“A signed copy of The Imperfections. I hear Terry Marchetti hasn’t done a signing since the first print, and those were eighteen-and-over events. You were a baby when it came out.”
“I was thirteen.”
“Yeah. A baby.”
I scrunched my nose, unsure what she was talking about before I remembered my deal with Tate. “Was Dr. Marchetti here?”
“No.” Her brows furrowed. “Why would he be? Is Reagan okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I got confused for a second.”
“Wait.” Abigail slanted her head. “I just realized Dr. Marchetti and Terry Marchetti share the same last name. You don’t think…” she trailed off on a laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t think they’re related, do you?”
God. Tate.
Lately, it always came back to him, and I was starting to feel trapped. Like I’d been buried alive with him, only to learn I was claustrophobic.
He was closing in on me from all angles.
I didn’t know if Tate and Terry’s relationship was public knowledge, so I just shrugged, mumbled an excuse, and darted to Reagan’s office. She called for me to enter on the second knock.
I poked my head in first, followed by the rest of my body. Why did I feel like I was visiting the principal’s office?
“I left a book on your desk.” Reagan closed the manuscript perched on her keyboard. She wore a question in her eyes, but she didn’t voice it.
“Thanks. Did Dr. Marchetti give it to you?”
“Yes. I thought he’d left the party, but he returned with the book.” She paused, meaningfully. “He said you left it in his office when you delivered the invite.”
It sounded like an excuse.
A stupid one.
Who walked around with a signed copy of The Imperfections? That was the type of book you kept in a glass case, framed under lock and key. And possibly insured.
I dug my heel into the carpet. Maybe the floor would get the message and swallow me whole.
Reagan was still staring at me. Waiting for an answer to the question she’d never asked.
I hovered by the doorsill, unwilling to step farther inside. Insecurity churned in my stomach, making me a little nauseous. I’d risen up the ranks faster than anyone in this office, and I felt like Tate had eviscerated that progress merely by existing.
I cleared my throat, stalling. “It was actually a gift.” Gift. Deal. Same thing, right? “I knew Tate’s brother Kellan, but I didn’t meet Tate until you asked me to set up an appointment for you in February.”
“I realized after receiving the book at the party that Tate and Terry are possibly related.”
I nodded. “Father and son.”
In the same way Lucifer and God enjoy a father-son relationship.
