Shameless (White Lies Duet #2)

“Okay,” she says. “Then can you use that dummy document to force them to pay you back the money you paid on not just my behalf, but that of the winery.”

“I’d demand they compensate both myself and you,” I reply. “and for all the monies paid on behalf of the rightful owner of the winery. And because under that treasure scenario, the bank would just want us to go away, I believe they’d settle with us. But we’re a long way from that point.”

“Nick’s the expert here,” Abel says, “I believe there would be a case to prove deceptive practices among other charges, and force the bank’s hand into backing off. But we have to find the proverbial treasure.”

“Which is why, among other things,” I reply, “that we have a private investigator working on this.”

“The private investigator that you’re paying,” Faith says, gathering up the documents and turning her attention to Abel. “I’ll read these and let you know if I have questions.”

“This is time sensitive,” Abel says, before I have the chance. “Let’s read through them together.”

“Nick needs them by morning,” she says. “It’s afternoon. And I need two things from you. One is your fee agreement. I need to know how much you charge, so that I can budget to pay you.”

“I’ve been paid,” he states.

“By Nick.”

“Not with cash,” he clarifies.

“He’s been paid, Faith,” I reiterate.

She ignores me. “Please put together a bill,” she states again. “And additionally, I need a contract that states that I will pay Nick back any and all money he spends on my behalf with fifteen percent interest.”

My jaw clenches. “Faith—”

“And,” she continues, as if I have not spoken, “if I do not do so in a year, he receives thirty percent interest in the winery. There will need to be a financial ledger.”

“He’s not going to do that, Faith,” I say.

She rotates to face me. “He is or he isn’t my attorney, but yours, and I’m not protected at all.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

She looks at Abel. “I need those documents.” She holds up the paperwork in her hand. “And I’m going upstairs to read these in detail.”

“My cellphone number and email are on the offer letter,” Abel says, drawing her attention again. “Email me and text me so that I have your contact information to get you those documents. And you can give Nick the signed documents, but if you have questions or concerns, text me, email me, call me. Whatever works for you, but do it this evening.”

My cellphone rings, and I glance at the number to find Beck is calling for the second time in forty-five minutes, and just that fast, Faith has darted around me and is walking away. I hit the decline button, and take a step in Faith’s direction. “Wait,” Abel orders harshly, his tone insistent, his hands coming down on the counter. “Don’t go after her yet.”

“Now is not the time for whatever you plan to say,” I say, taking another step, but he doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

“Damn it, Nick,” he growls. “Wait.”

With agitated reluctance, I halt, facing him, my gaze pinning his. “Now is not the time,” I bite out again, “for whatever it is you want to say.”

“Quite the contrary,” he assures me. “It’s the exact right time considering you’re about to go upstairs and bulldoze Faith. Let her do what she feels she needs to do.”

“You’re supposed to be working for her. Do that. Protect her, not me.”

“I am working for her,” he says. “Which is why I repeat: Don’t be a bull charging at her. If you—”

“I don’t want her money.”

“I know that,” he says. “I get that. So does she.” He grimaces. “Look, man. You don’t deal with death with your job the way I do. I see how it impacts people. It steals your control. It makes you need to find it in other places, and finding it is part of healing.”

“Death has nothing to do with this, Abel. Again. For the third time. Now is not—”

“Death is a part of this,” he presses. “You both are dealing with its biting impact on your lives.”

“There is no biting impact for me. I hated my father.”

“And yet, despite hating your father, you had to solve the mystery of his death. Open your eyes and recognize how much you both need control right now. Because if you don’t find a way to give Faith some of what you want to take, she will push back and perhaps even push you away.”

I run a hand over my face, begrudgingly admitting that he’s making sense. “Fuck,” I grind out, stepping to the opposite end of the table from him and pressing my hands to the island. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Go talk to her,” he says. “But don’t bulldoze her with your money, or even with good intentions. It will make her feel unsettled. It will push her away, and frankly, if she was willing to just take your money, I’d be concerned. I was concerned until I met her and she stepped up to do the right thing.”

“I want—”

“Her,” he supplies. “I see that. But money doesn’t buy love or anyone worth having. Providing that paperwork to her proved to her that you’re honorable. The fact that she didn’t just accept the money proves she is as well. That’s not a bad thing and neither is her having enough pride to want to pay her own way.”

“I told you—”

“Even if,” he continues, “you buy her a diamond the size of Texas and a wardrobe to match.”

“Where the fuck did that come from?”

“You,” he says. “It came from watching you with her and for years without her. And on a side note, you have an excuse for not telling her about most of this which is her safety. You don’t have that excuse with the club. Obviously not now, but if you wait too long, that is going to bite you in the ass that is already in deep shit.”

He starts walking toward the door and I don’t move, his warnings radiating through me, as well as his comment about Faith and a ring. I have never considered myself a marrying man, and even if I did, the mountains I have to climb with Faith are many. The club matters. The truth about how I found her matters. Her safety comes first. And right now, I need to make sure that while I’m trying to destroy our enemies, I don’t destroy us in the process.

Feeling the urgency of that need, I start walking, double-stepping the stairs, telling myself Faith trusts me. She told me about her mother’s death, but did that come from a place of trust or guilt? Fuck. I need her to trust me. If she doesn’t now, she damn sure won’t when she hears about the club, let alone how I found her. Reaching the second level, I enter the bedroom and Faith isn’t in sight. Continuing on to the bathroom, I find her suitcase open on the floor. She’s exiting the closet with her clothes in hand. “I need to go home.” Her announcement proves that the control I seek is not mine.

“We talked about this,” I say. “You’re staying and we’re going back at the end of the week together.”

“You talked about this,” she says. “While I was drinking.”

“The contracts—”

“I can read them on the plane and scan them back to you.”