The Color of Love by Radclyffe Read Free Book Online Page B

reasonable contract terms to expect for a first-time
author, and what were the key items to be hammered out to the best advantage
for her author clients? Those first few months she’d worked side by side with
Henrietta and Ron, who’d been senior to her then and had graciously tutored
her.
    Part of her rapid-fire indoctrination had
been in the art of networking, one of the things she’d liked the least at
first. She preferred the quiet of her office and the solitude of her desk,
immersed in manuscripts or making phone calls to authors—even contract review
was better than face-to-face schmoozing with strangers. But she’d gone to the
meetings and receptions, because Henrietta insisted she needed to. And there,
at one of those very first too noisy, too crowded, and too false-friendly
congregations, she’d first met Derian Winfield.
    Even with dozens of people between them,
Emily had recognized her right away. Derian was hard not to recognize. A few
inches taller than most of the women, she’d stood out from the crowd precisely
because she stood apart. She’d worn a suit, the dark jacket and pants well cut,
not flashy, but superbly fit to her lanky form. Her hair had been fashionably
layered to collar length, expertly setting off her chiseled features and
accentuating the clean, crisp lines of her neck and shoulders. But it’d been
her expression that had really defined her separateness. Unlike everyone else,
she wasn’t smiling, she didn’t appear to be drinking the amber liquid in the
short glass she held in her left hand, and she wasn’t talking to anyone.
    “Come,” Henrietta had said, taking Emily’s
elbow. “I’d like you to meet my niece.”
    Henrietta had pulled her through the crowd,
kissed Derian’s cheek, and introduced them. Derian’s expression had softened
when she’d seen Henrietta coming, and after a few murmured words Emily couldn’t
hear, she’d glanced briefly in Emily’s direction, nodded to her, and said
something polite and totally impersonal.
    After downing the rest of her drink with one
swift tilt of her wrist, Derian had growled, “I think I’ve done my duty here
tonight.” She’d kissed Henrietta once again and disappeared into the crowd.
Henrietta had looked after her with a faint smile and shake of her head before
firmly pulling Emily off to the next group of people she wanted her to meet.
    How young she’d been then, and how fiercely
Henrietta had championed her. Emily struggled with the sadness welling inside.
The doctors had said Henrietta would be well again, and that was what she must
cling to. Despite everything, she hadn’t given up on hope.
    “I thought you might have left,” Derian said
from the doorway.
    Emily started, feeling heat rise to her face.
How did Derian sense so much, when others thought they knew her but rarely did?
“Oh. How is she?”
    “Sleeping. Probably conserving her strength
to start ordering everyone around the next time she wakes up.”
    “I would never say I agree with you, but…”
Emily laughed. “I thought about leaving, only I might be too tired to move.”
    Derian wanted to ask her what she’d been
thinking about a moment before. She’d had the strangest expression on her face,
half dreamlike, with a little smile that was sad in a way. But she didn’t know
Emily well enough to ask something quite that personal, and that constraint
irritated her. She must be tired too. She’d never once in her life asked a woman
what she’d been thinking. Had she never really cared enough to know? Aud had
been the only one she’d cared about, and they’d always talked so much she’d
never had to ask. The pain of their separation hit her out of nowhere, and she
shrugged off the past. The past was history, the future merely chance. All that
mattered was now, and she’d been determined to live it to the max since she’d
walked out on what was left of her family. “Well, I’m sorry you’re exhausted,
but very glad you’re still here. I