Queenie turned her head slightly. “The third?”
Queenie’s lips curved—just barely. “And you’re not as reckless as you pretend, Erica Cherry. We balance.”
When the door clicked shut, Erica turned back to her desk. She picked up the third photo—the little girl with the lollipop—and set it gently in the center of the worktable. erica cherry and queenie sateen
Erica smiled, small but real. “You’re not as cold as you pretend, Queenie Sateen.”
“You’re profiling me,” Erica said. Not a question. Queenie turned her head slightly
Erica set down the lamp. “You didn’t come here to talk about my lighting.”
Erica finally looked up. Queenie’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—flicked over the cluttered desk, the scattered photographs, the open journal filled with cramped handwriting. Queenie Sateen.” “You’re profiling me
“And then?”