Page 274 of Darling Venom
It occurred to me that Charlie did that often.
Got all up in my business. Consumed me. Forced me to confront things I wouldn’t otherwise.
“You are frozen in place, Tate. Stuck in slow motion and unwilling to take a step forward. Have you even listened to the voicemail Kellan sent you that night?”
No. And I have no plans to.
“That’s what I thought.”
She plucked some
thing from her pocket and offered it to me. When I didn’t take it, she touched me for the first time in weeks, uncurling my fist, setting the object on my palm, and wrapping my fingers around it.
The key to Kel’s second drawer.
Now there really was nothing left of us.
I staggered back and tumbled past the gate circling the playground, feeling as if I’d left a piece of myself in the park.
It was time to return to my old way of living.
At a distance.
Turns out, life is a tragedy up close.
Today’s unexpected dose of Charlotte Richards came from Reagan. I didn’t need the reminder that I hadn’t seen or talked to Charlie in months, but leave it to Reagan to dish it to me free of charge.
“Kellan received eight starred reviews on Darling Venom.” She read my face. “You have no clue what a starred review is, do you?”
“No, but it sounds important.”
“It is. This is major for a debut book shopped by a newbie agent. This will make Charlotte’s career.”
I snapped my gloves off, reminding myself to smile.
My half-grin worked on Reagan, who returned it and straightened her paper gown, hopping off the exam table. “So, I’m all clear to have sex this time? At this point, I’m convinced you’re afraid I’ll get knocked up and add to your workload.”
“I’m giving you the green light. Take it slow, and if you experience any pain or discomfort, be sure to call.” I moved to give her privacy to change, pausing once my hand hit the doorknob. “How’s Charlie been?”
Reagan tipped her head to the side, taking her time to answer. “She’s Charlotte. Strong. Dependable. Caring. And yet, she’s different.”
“Sadder?”
“No. I think she’s healing.”
It was a good thing.
I told myself it sweetened my sour mood, yet I lashed out at Sylvia for being unprofessional when she came back from her lunch break with an Italy-sized marinara stain on her blouse. Walter shoved me into my office as if I were a bomb he needed to disarm.
After Kellan died, we’d cleaned house at Bernard and Marchetti.
I didn’t want anyone to talk or even think about his death.
Walter protested at first, but once I began snapping at everyone who dared to offer condolences, he let the entire staff go, gave them generous severance packages, and set them up with new jobs at his colleagues’ practices. (Unlike me, he managed to socialize and make friends in the industry.)
This time around, I wanted to do the same.
I’d lost Charlie.
