Page 38 of Darling Venom
An hour ago, I’d thought I couldn’t possibly hate Tate Marchetti more than I already did based on what had happened with Kellan. Now, I knew I could.
It’s true what they say. Sometimes the sky really is the limit. In Tate’s case—he was unfathomably unlikeable.
I jerked my finger at the iPad in front of him. “Just book Miss Rothschild an appointment and let’s get it over with.”
“Sylvia, go back to your station. Allison, it’s been a pleasure, all puns intended.” He dismissed the two women with a wave of his hand.
It surprised me how quickly they slinked away. He obviously enjoyed the treatment of a king inside these walls. Mainly, I felt glad for that Hannah chick he’d been about to marry several years ago. She’d dodged a deadly bullet.
The door closed with a polite click. It was just the two of us. My panic danced behind my ribcage like a fly caught in a cobweb.
“All right, let’s see, Miss…?” he trailed off.
“Richards.”
“Do you always burst into places where you are not welcome?”
I thought of Leah.
I was never welcome anywhere.
“Only when I don’t care what the people inside them think of me.” I smiled sweetly. “And just for your information, holding someone’s gaze when you are inside someone else is ill-mannered.”
He smirked. “I’m sorry. Did I give you the impression I was trying to impress you?”
I put a hand to my heart, pretending to swoon. “Such a gentleman.”
“Darling, you cannot afford the sum people pay to see my gentlemanly side.”
How had Kellan survived him for four years?
I couldn’t even stand him for ten minutes.
Tate grabbed his iPad, his eyes on the screen. I hoped he’d finally decided to do us both a favor and book Reagan an appointment, but after long seconds where I stood there and he ignored me, he clipped, “Get out of my office, Miss Richards.”
“But the appointment…”
“I don’t take appointments today. Tell Ms. Rothschild to call me tomorrow.”
“You have to.” But I knew he didn’t, and that caused the panicked fly in the cobweb to make the mistake of thrashing uncontrollably, losing energy as the spider dove in for the kill. “I’ve waited here for over an hour.”
“You also walked in on me balls deep inside someone else and didn’t bother apologizing, not to mention you made a Netflix special out of it. Leave.”
“Tate…”
“Dr. Marchetti,” he amended. “I’m not your playdate.”
My eyes widened at his chiseled face.
He didn’t return my gaze.
“You’re shocking.” I sounded like my mother. Well, my late mother.
But it was true.
“I am?” he asked, not an ounce of interest in his dry tone.
“Yes.”
