I nod, and draw in air, holding it before I let it out, while my mind focuses on one coherent thought: My dream of a career as an artist is becoming real. I repeat this thought about ten times before we reach the stage. “Congrats, sweetheart,” Nick says, as a man in a suit offers me his arm and helps me up the stairs.
In five steps, I am on the stage and completely unprepared for a speech. I’m most certainly unprepared for Macom’s greeting, which includes pulling me into a hug. “It was fate that I presented this award,” he murmurs in my ear. “We’re going to celebrate tonight.” He releases me and I’m too overwhelmed right now to do anything but dismiss him immediately and step to the microphone.
Suddenly, lights are shining on me and unknown faces are looking up at me. Seconds tick by before I realize this is where I need to speak. “Hi everyone.” Audience voices reply, and smiles abound, which eases my nerves. “To say that I am stunned and appreciative would be a gross understatement,” I continue. “It seems I almost forgot how to walk while trying to get to the stage. Which brings me to the person who helped me make that walk and who not only encourages me daily, but inspired one of the paintings on display tonight.” I search for Nick and find him at the edge of the stage. “Thank you, Nick. I know that I would not be here without you. And I know you would tell me that I would have found my way no matter what. But it’s a better journey with you.” He presses two fingers to his lips and then does a little motion toward me before I refocus on the audience. “Thank you specifically as well, to those who saw my entries, and then my work, and offered me this amazing recognition and opportunity. I hope everyone enjoys the show tomorrow.”
I step away from the microphone to the clamor of more applause and I fully intend to join Nick at the bottom of the stage, but the man who’d helped me up the stairs stops me. “We need you for a photo op backstage.”
I’m then ushered away, and I try to turn to find Nick, but the lights are in my eyes. The next thing I know, Macom is at my elbow and cameras are flashing around us. “Congrats, baby,” Macom says, as we shove through a curtain.
I’d tell him not to call me baby, but I have no idea who the other man at my opposite elbow is, and I’m swarmed by people before I can reply anyway. Cameras flash at close range and I’m hurried to stand in front of a photo backdrop. I’m also holding a statue that is a paintbrush and palette that I’m pretty sure I was given on stage, and the fact that I don’t remember getting it is a testament to just how consumed by nerves I am.
Suddenly, Macom is sent back to my side for additional photos, along with a show sponsor, both instructed to stand beside me. Both place their hands at my back, but Macom’s is low, too low for comfort. I don’t want to seem as if I can’t support the organization when my ex is involved and I try to be savvy in my avoidance. The minute the shot is done, I step to the opposite side of the sponsor, placing him in the center. And this kind of push and pull with Macom continues until I can take no more.
“Excuse me, please,” I say to a man who seems to be in charge. “I need to attend a meeting. Thank you for everything.” I hold up my statue. “Really. Thank you.” I dash toward an exit sign, and I don’t stop. I close the space between me and it, and push the bar on the door beneath it. On the other side, I find myself in some sort of narrow hallway that renders me trapped if Macom tried to follow. Wanting out of this maze, I head down the path, and I’m close to an archway leading to another room when a door opens in front of me and Macom steps in my path.
I start to back up, but he’s fast and already he’s in front of me, his fists on the wall on either side of me, caging me. And with the statue in my hand, I’m at a disadvantage that reaches beyond his size versus mine. “Please move,” I say, not because I want to be civil, but because I know him. If I set him off, this gets worse.
“Baby, please talk to me. Don’t put me through seeing you with that man for another minute. I saw the painting. I know what it means. I hurt you. I get it. But you’ve punished me.”
“That painting wasn’t about you, but me. Step aside, Macom.”
“It killed me to hear you thank him tonight. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.”
“There is no you and me.”
“I’ll be more supportive in all things, your art especially. Whatever he’s doing to help you at the winery, I’ll do ten times as much.”
I laugh without humor. “Priceless. Josh took all of thirty minutes to run his mouth to you. And you can’t do ten times what Nick does because Nick is a hundred times richer than you. Move.”
“Faith—”
“Move or I will put a knee in your groin so hard that your balls will retract and disappear.”
He reaches for my face and leans in, intending to kiss me, and I don’t hesitate. I raise my knee and I don’t hold back. He grunts and doubles over. “Fuck, Faith. You fucking bitch.” He sucks in air and straightens, leaning close again, his breath warm on my cheek. “You will pay for that. You will not get into another gallery in L.A., ever.” He turns away from me and starts walking, or rather hobbling in obvious pain.
I sink against the wall, aware that I’ve provoked the vicious monster I was trying not to provoke right up until the moment I stuck my knee in his balls. But I also know him well enough to know that he’s gone. He’s not coming back.
“What the fuck,” he growls and I look right to discover Nick is standing under the archway, his shoulder pressed against the wooden frame. “Move out of my way,” Macom orders, trapped the way I was just trapped.
“Here’s the thing, Macom,” Nick says. “No. Not until I’m ready.”
“You don’t want to fuck with me.”
“I have compromising naked photos of you,” Nick says. “I have IRS documents, bank records, and the list continues, all of which have your name on them. And if you don’t believe that I will use those things fifty ways to Sunday, you haven’t researched me the way I have researched you. Touch Faith or her career again, and I will come for you.”
They stare at each other for all of two beats, before Nick steps aside and Macom quickly leaves. I walk to Nick and he immediately folds me into his arms. “How long were you there?”
“The entire time,” he says. “And I let you handle him as you wanted to handle him, certain that he’d give me a reason to punch him. But then you went off and retracted his balls before I got the chance.”
I laugh. “I can’t believe I said that.” I cringe. “I can’t believe I told him that you’re a hundred times richer than him.”
“Why? I am.” He softens his voice. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Yes. I am. Really okay, actually. And ready to go upstairs.”
He slides his arm around my shoulder and we start walking through what looks like an empty banquet room. Thankfully we make it to the elevator without being stopped, and we wait on a car. The doors open quickly and Josh steps out. “Faith. Holy hell. I’ve been looking for you. You rocked it tonight.”
“You’re fired,” I say.
He blanches. “What?”
“You told Macom about our conversation. We’re done. I won’t change my mind.”
Nick catches the door as it tries to shut, and I step around Josh. Nick and I enter the car and when we face forward, Josh has turned and is staring into the car. Nick punches in the code to our floor and the doors shut us inside. “That was unexpected,” Nick says.
“But necessary. I’ll deal with a new agent hunt next week.”
I rotate to face the window, the stars and city lights flickering in the night sky. Nick steps behind me, holding me close. “I thought you didn’t like heights.”
“I changed my mind,” I say. “I’m not going to be afraid of anything.”
And as Nick murmurs, “Congratulations, Faith,” I feel as if the past is now behind me, and a new beginning, before me. Everything that was once wrong is now right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Faith
The morning of the
show, I’m nervous. By afternoon, I’m so high, I’m flying. Macom and Josh stay away from us and the interest in my work, and invitations to events, overflow. And Nick and I have so much fun together. Sometime around lunch we hear that the apartment is ours, and Nick takes me to an incredible restaurant to celebrate it all. On Sunday morning, we have breakfast in our room and I gift my flowers to the maid. Nick refuses to give up the chocolates and we proceed to eat most of them on the plane home.
Come Monday morning, Nick is scheduled to begin the negotiations on a merger that he warns me will make for an intense few weeks. He leaves the house wearing one of his sharpest suits, and a dark, cutting edge that says he’s already in battle mode. I am feeling rather fancy today and since a dress doesn’t make much sense for a pre-opening at the gallery, I trade in my jeans for dress pants, boots, and a soft, pink V-neck sweater that pairs with the classical flagship Chanel purse that had been in the items Nick bought me over the weekend.
I arrive at Allure with a smile on my face and a stack of cards in my pocket. I settle behind my desk to find a random list of things Sara needs to accomplish before the gallery opening, and a formal offer of employment.
Oh yes, I think. Life is good.
Sara appears in the doorway, looking adorable in jeans and Keds. “Well?” she asks, claiming the visitor’s chair in front of my desk. “How was the show?”
“Amazing. The Forum picks one up-and-comer to watch every year and they chose me.”
“Oh my God. Woohoo! I’m so excited for you. You said nothing of this when you sent me photos this weekend.”
“It just didn’t feel real,” I say. “It’s a big surreal.”
“Of course it is. Are you still riding the high?”
“In a big way and even after I fired my agent.”
“You fired your agent?”
“Yes. And it was past due. He’s my ex’s agent and it just got sticky.” I set the stack of cards on my desk. “And I have all these people wanting to buy work or book me for events. I’m going to start a hunt today.”
“Let Chris help.”
“No. No, I don’t want to intrude or seem like I’m using you, or him, for my own benefit.”
“I’ll call my agent,” Chris says, appearing in the doorway in a brown Harley shirt, after clearly hearing our conversation. “If he can’t take you on, he’ll help you find the right match.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly.
“Why the hell not?” he asks. “You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t believe in you.”
Sara twists around in her chair to look at him. “She won the Forum’s up-and-comer award.”
“Not a surprise to me at all,” Chris says, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans and punching in a number. “Gabe,” he says. “Yeah, man. I have a new artist for you. I’m behind her. We’re trying to convince her to work here at Allure with us. She’s helping us launch and she’s on display here. Yes. Call her here.”
Sara holds up a hand and when Chris offers her his attention, she points to the stack of cards. “All offers she needs managed.”
Chris gives an incline of his chin. “She comes with offers from an event she just did. A stack of them she needs managed.” He listens a moment. “I’ll tell her.” Chris ends the call. “He’s headed into a meeting. He’s going to call you this afternoon, but he’s on board.”
“That’s incredible of you,” I say. “Thank you. I…hate to seem unappreciative but I’ve been through Macom being Josh’s star. I don’t want Gabe to sign me because of you.”
“A valid concern,” Chris says, “but that’s not Gabe’s style. He’s got a mind of his own and balls the size of Texas. You’ll like his balls, I promise.”
We all laugh and Chris glances at his watch. “I need to head to a meeting.” Sara pushes to her feet and hurries to Chris, kissing him, before he departs. I smile because, I have a lot to smile about, and I sign the offer letter. And when Sara turns to face me again, I hold it up. “I’ll get to work on your things-to-do list, boss.”
Now Sara is smiling. “You’re staying.”
“Yes. And I’m thrilled to be here.”
We chat a few minutes, and she leaves me to my work. About an hour later, I receive a call from Gabe. Fifteen minutes later, I send him samples of my work. Another fifteen minutes later, and I have a new agent. I’m dying to call Nick, but he’s in those intense negotiations. I could text, but that is a distraction he doesn’t need as well. Sara and I celebrate by walking to the coffee shop, and we return with white mochas and chocolate chip bagels. Nick sends me a text at noon: Hell here. I’m going to be silent and late tonight. You okay?
My reply is simple: I’m great. You focus on your negotiations.
He doesn’t respond which tells me hell is real for him right now. I consider all the ways I can ease the stress when he gets home tonight.
Home.
Our home.
I revel in those words.
It’s nearly six and Sara has just left the gallery. I’m finishing some paperwork before I leave as well. I file away the documents I’ve just finished before I reach for my purse, when my phone buzzes with a text. I glance at the message to find Bill is the sender.
I need to speak to you urgently. I’m at the coffee shop next door.
My heart starts to thunder in my chest. He’s here? I text him back: What coffee shop?
Rebecca’s, he replies.
How does he know I work here? Did I tell him? Did Kasey?
My fingers hover over the call button for Nick, but I think better. I dial Rita. “How busy is he?”
“At the moment, he has ten people sitting at a conference table and they all want to kill each other.”
“All right then,” I say, and because I don’t want to freak her out and have her freak him out, I add, “now is not the time to talk dinner.”
She laughs. “No. Not right now. He could be a while. Or not. Sometime these things end abruptly.”
“Okay. Thanks, Rita.”
“Congrats on your show, Faith. Nick came in this morning bragging up a storm.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He did. He’s incredibly proud of you.”
“Thanks, Rita. He says it to me but it’s pretty special to hear it from other people.”
My phone buzzes again. “Talk to you soon,” I say, and end the call to read the new message: It’s an emergency, Faith.
He’s going to press me about the winery. I know it. And I’d decline the meeting if I wasn’t afraid he’d go after the winery in some way again, and hurt the employees. Or Nick. He could go after Nick, and while Nick can take care of himself, he doesn’t need to fight a war I create, when he has his own he’s fighting right now, in this moment.
I stand up and slip my purse over my shoulder, dread in my belly, but I can do this. I’ll navigate whatever he throws at me, milk him for information and missteps, and then hand it to Nick. Ready to get this over with, I hurry through the gallery, lock the doors, and make the quick walk to the coffee shop. I step inside and wave to the regular girl, June, behind the counter before my gaze lands on Bill sitting in a booth.
I cross the space between us and sit down. “What’s the emergency?”
“Look, honey. You’re the closest thing to a daughter I have. I know you don’t believe I care, but I do. And it killed me to be shut off from you.”
“And yet you slept with my mother.”
“That’s a complicated story that I still believe is not my story to tell. But I need you to set that aside, just for now. Because I need to tell you a story that ends right back here, in the present, with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I heard rumors that you were struggling to pay the bills and I called the bank. They told me you bought out the note.”
“I did buy it out.”
“You mean Nick Rogers bought it out. He’s an owner now, right?”
“Emergency,” I say. “You sa
id there was an emergency.”
“We need to go back in time. Way back. Your mother had a gambling problem and they were in a lot of debt. You father contained it the best that he could. Back before he and I had our falling out. Some men came to him. They offered him a hundred million to sell out.”
I blanch. “A hundred million? Why so much?”
“They were bad men and there’s mercury on the property, a fact that I had buried way back then. No one else knew.”
“Mercury? I assume it’s valuable, then.”
“It’s used for weapons and these men were the kind of men who knew all about weapons.”
“How do you know this?”
“Your father came to me in dire straits because they’re also the kind of men that don’t take no for an answer. They’ll pay you, but you take what they offer.”
“But they did take no for answer.”
“Only because I hired an ex-CIA agent to help us. He tipped off the right people and they handled it.”
My brow furrows. “Why would they pay my father at all if they were that bad?”
“They couldn’t just take it without question, not with the way your father loved that place. And they knew that. They ran everything through a legit investment operation and the truth is, that mercury might not be worth much to you and me, but to them it would net billions.”
“Obviously there’s more,” I say, not liking where this emergency is leading.
“Your mother started gambling again when your father died and this time she went off the deep end. She came to me for money. I helped her and tried to get her into rehab, but she pushed back. She wanted to sell. She wanted to find the men who wanted the mercury.”
“Oh no.”
“I’m afraid so. She told me you wouldn’t sell and that I had to find a way to get around you having to sign off on the deal, and that if I did, she’d split the profits. I won’t lie to you. Your father and I had disagreements, but I agreed with him on the mercury. Selling to those people would be blood on his hands he didn’t want, and neither do I. I told your mother I’d look into pushing you out of the deal, but eventually told her there was no way around it. I urged her to go to you and confess the gambling issues. I told her I’d even buy the winery and give you both a profit.”