Page 170 of Darling Venom
I was resigned to what we were.
Two ghosts haunting the same space.
A week later, Helen invited me to eat in the same private room at Toshikoshi.
I couldn’t gauge her state of mind from the call, but if she had any taste, she loved Kellan’s words. Anyone worth their salt in the literary business would foam over the goldmine that was his writing.
And me?
I was this manuscript’s protector.
The second I decided to accept Kellan’s challenge, I vowed to shield
his story. Darling Venom would not be butchered. Warped by outside minds who’d never met, known, and loved him. Turned into commercial fodder to feed the masses.
Last time I’d dined with Helen, Reagan forced me into business attire.
This time, I reconsidered.
If Helen couldn’t accept me the way Kellan wrote me, I couldn’t trust her to handle his manuscript without changing its fabric.
So, I decided last minute to ditch the business outfit I’d laid out, arriving in boots that laced up all the way to my thighs beneath my favorite pleated plaid skirt, a top with oversized sleeves, and a neckerchief.
In other words, Dead Master’s answer to Sailor Moon.
Just like Venom would wear.
Helen’s brow popped up at the sight of me. I hadn’t exactly considered the dining situation when I picked these shoes. Unfortunately for her, she boasted a front-row seat to me untying the knee highs and shoving them as gracefully down my legs as I could manage.
I wobbled like I was on a speedboat, hopping on one shoed foot. The poor waitress stood off to the side, waiting for me to hand her the boots so she could tuck them into a cubby and give us time to browse the menu.
“Killer shoes,” Helen commented when the waitress left us alone.
“Literally.” I plopped onto the floor across from her, picked up the menu, and squeezed my hand around the edge when the urge to rock my leg reared its ugly head. “I was two seconds away from breaking my neck.”
Nice, Charlotte. Real nice.
God, if you’re up there, if you can help me manage this without fucking up, I will donate my brain to science and maybe they’ll find the cure for idiocy.
It felt like one of those jokes. A literary agent assistant and a top acquisitions editor walk into a bar… Only, it was a private room at an exclusive restaurant with zashiki seating.
No debut author got this kind of treatment. Especially one repped by someone who’d yet to receive a promotion to agent.
“Before we begin, can I ask why you sent this to me?” Helen’s menu remained flat on the table in front of her. There was something in her unwavering gaze. Something… peculiar. “While I’m not well-acquainted with you, Reagan is one of my oldest friends. I’m sure you’re aware it’s a risk to negotiate with someone you have a personal relationship with. Because equitable deals are rare, there’s a chance one of us will edge ahead of the other.”
“I couldn’t give the manuscript to Reagan. With the preeclampsia and the birth, it wouldn’t be right to put another load on her.” My leg shook. Just the one. “I sent this to you first before shopping it around because I need this book in the hands of someone I trust. Since you’re one of Reagan’s oldest friends, I believe that’s you.”
“And this is the manuscript you selected as your hill to die on?”
Nerves rattled my hands. I fisted the menu tighter to settle them. But I didn’t think I seemed on edge, and that mattered to me.
I needed her to know how confident I was in Kellan’s work.
“If it’s the hill I’m going to die on, it’s a damn good hill.” I set my menu down, resting my palms flat on the table. They were steady now. I had this. “I’ve read hundreds of manuscripts in the past year, and none of them came close to the one I gave you. It’s magic. I know you agree, because magic is the thing we look for in this business. This evasive, never-quite-there thing we chase.”
She nodded. “You’re right.”
The beginnings of a smile curved one side of her lips. Amusement hadn’t been on my bingo card for the meeting, but I’d take it.
