*
“Hi, Vonnie darlin’.” Derian swung around
Vonnie’s desk and kissed her on the cheek. “You look beautiful as always.”
Vonnie jumped up and gave Derian a quick hug.
In a low voice, she said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes. How have you been?
Still my favorite bad girl?”
“So I’m told.”
“No, really,” Vonnie said gently. “It’s been
a long time. Too long.”
“I’ve been doing okay,” Derian said,
stretching the truth a bit. With each passing day she wondered if she’d been
doing anything more than killing time—or maybe wasting it, along with her life.
“A lot better now that Henrietta is on the mend.”
“Don’t I know it?” Vonnie glanced behind her
at the closed office doors. “Her getting back here can’t be too soon for me.”
“Donatella hasn’t left yet?”
“Not unless she flew out the window on her
broom, which wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
Derian laughed. “Is everything pretty much
under control?”
“We’ve had some concerned calls from clients
and publisher reps, worried that Henrietta’s absence will disrupt some of our
commitments. Everyone knows Henrietta is the power here.”
“Just tell anyone who asks it’s business as
usual and there won’t be any changes.”
“I wish that were the case, but—”
“Don’t worry. Just leave it to me.”
“You know what you’re up against in there?”
Vonnie’s brows drew down in worry.
“Hey, I was born for this, remember?” Derian
strode to Henrietta’s door, knocked perfunctorily, and let herself in.
Donatella hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen her, although she
appeared thinner, if that was even possible. Her skin was stretched tight over
sharp facial bones, her dark hair sculpted to her skull. She wore gold at her
throat and her wrists, her black suit severely tailored to her anorectic frame.
Her wide mouth tightened, her voice a hiss. “Derian.”
“Hi, Donatella,” Derian said easily, shedding
her suit jacket and draping it over a clothes tree. She rolled up her sleeves,
scanning the room. Henrietta’s touch was everywhere—floor-to-ceiling
glass-fronted bookcases filled with countless books by authors the agency had
represented over the past hundred years, the comfortable seating area where
Derian could imagine HW or Emily relaxing with a manuscript, the huge desk from
which HW steered the agency. “Did Martin call?”
“He did.”
Derian turned and slid her hands into her
pockets. “I’ll grab a cup of coffee while you gather up your things.”
“As I’m sure Martin informed you, we have an
audit ongoing which will take some time to complete.” If possible, her lips
grew even thinner. “Long overdue.”