Page 37 of Craving Venom

I pull up the project submission form, staring at the blank fields.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, and I start typing. The layout comes together faster than I expect. Background research, psychological profiling, interviews (if I can manage to get Zane to talk to me), and the overarching question: is Zane a product of his environment, or a true outlier of human behavior?

I hit submit before I can talk myself out of it, and the confirmation screen pops up. My wine glass is back in my hand before the reality of what I’ve done fully sinks in.

“This is stupid,” I whisper to myself, taking a long sip. “So fucking stupid.”

I glance at my phone again, at the message thread still sitting there like a big middle finger. The last message I sent to Zane stares back at me, taunting me with its patheticness.

How the fuck am I supposed to write anything meaningful if I can’t get into his head? The thought makes me want to throw something. Instead, I drain the wine glass and slam it onto the table a little harder than I meant to.

I shouldn’t be here.

Every step closer to the glass doors of Valehart LLP feels like a step into traffic. The kind you see coming but don’t bother dodging.

I stop just outside, my reflection staring back at me from the towering black windows. My hair is frizzy, I have under-eye bags, and a tote stuffed with documents I barely understand. The firm’s name is etched in silver above the revolving door like it belongs to another world. One I have no business stepping into.

This is a bad idea, Faith.

I tell myself that again, even as my legs carry me forward.

I head straight for the front desk, already holding out the manila envelope I need to fax.

“Hi, I need to use the fax machine. It’s important. I’m submitting a deferral request. College deadlines are today, and I was told your firm has public fax access.”

“We don’t.”

“But I was told that some law firms allow.”

“This isn’t a college help desk,” he says flatly, his eyes already flicking back to his monitor. “No public access.”

“This could literally determine whether or not I lose my semester—”

“Ma’am, I said no.”

I step forward before I can stop myself. “Please. It’s a one-page fax. You can watch me do it. Hell, you can send it.”

He sighs, louder this time, clearly trying to end the conversation. “You need a client ID or an appointment to be here. I don’t make the rules.”

I’m two seconds from losing my shit when I hear a voice behind me.

“Faith?”

I turn and spot Trevor. He looks just as surprised as I feel.

“What are you—wait, you good?” he asks, his eyes darting to the folder I’m hugging.

“Just trying to get a fax through. Apparently, that’s a crime now.”

Trevor raises a brow, then glances at the guard. “You’re not letting her in?”

“She’s not on the schedule.”

Trevor gives a short laugh and steps beside me. “I’ve got a friend who’s an associate here. One sec.” He taps on his phone, lifts it to his ear, and waits. “Yo. You in? Can you do me a favor? Girl needs a minute on your fax. Yeah. Cool.”

He hangs up and smiles. “You’re in.”

The guard hesitates then leans back with a reluctant nod. “Escort her directly.”

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