“And he’s had no other luck on anything?” I ask, before taking another bite of my sandwich.
“No, which is significant considering his skill set. He’s concerned there is more going on than we know and someone has covered it up.”
My brow furrows. “Like what?”
“Is there any reason the winery might be worth more money than you think? Something no property assessment can find.”
“I don’t even have to think about that answer. Absolutely nothing comes to mind and I can’t believe my father knew of any such thing. He’d have told me, or at least, left the details in his will.” My eyes go wide and I rotate to the nightstand, picking up the card. “Could this be where the answers lie?”
“No,” Nick says. “He left this for a specific birthday, knowing that you could inherit before that date. And your attorney gave you no indication it needed to be opened sooner, upon his death.”
He takes the card from me. “He didn’t support your art. If you want to open this, do it after you prepare for your show, and preferably after the show itself.”
“That was my preference actually, but if there could be answers we need inside—”
“I’ll make you a deal. If I can’t shut down these issues with the bank this week, we’ll open it. Together, and if you want that spanking for just that reason,” his lips curve, “this time, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
My cheeks flush. “Thank you.”
He laughs. “Thank you, sweetheart, for having such a sweet little ass.” He sets the card on the nightstand, when my cellphone rings my brows furrow. “What time is it?” I ask, as I’m digging in the blankets for my phone I’ve now lost again.
“Eleven,” Nick says, glancing at his watch.
I locate my phone right as the call ends, drawing in a breath at the number on the caller ID, and sucking in hair.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asks.
“It was Macom,” I say, tucking the phone under the pillow. “Josh called earlier and warned me that he’s become obsessed with talking to me. He didn’t want me to talk to him. He said he messes with my creative process.” My phone starts to ring again.
“Let me talk to that bastard,” Nick says, reaching for it.
“No,” I say, grabbing it first and standing up. “That would just turn into him calling Josh and Josh calling me.”
“Block him.”
“I almost did that earlier today, but that gives him power and satisfaction, too.”
He stands up, hands on his hips. “You know, Faith. I’m starting to get the feeling that he has a hell of a lot of power and presence in our relationship.” He doesn’t say anything more. He rounds the bed, but he doesn’t come to me. He passes me by and I rotate to watch him disappear inside the bathroom. And while he doesn’t shut the door, he’s just shut me out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Faith
I am stunned by Nick’s reaction, but I am quickly reminded of the many ways this man has put himself on the line for me. He’s pursued me. He’s set up an art studio for me. Fought for me with the bank and today, professed budding love. And now, I’ve given him a proverbial punch, maybe I’ve even hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him.
Dashing forward, I enter the bathroom as he enters the closet. Crossing the room, I step into the doorframe dividing the bathroom and the closet, to find Nick standing with his back to me at the same moment that he peels his shirt over his head, muscles rippling, the small space suddenly even smaller.
“Nick,” I breathe out.
He hesitates, not just in action—I feel the emotional hesitation and I know that my instinct was right. I’ve hurt him and that means that I can’t have that same hesitation. “I don’t love him. I don’t even like him but he, and my mother, taught me not to trust. I can’t just make that go away and I wish that I could. It’s going to take time, but what I can tell you is that you, and you alone, are the reason that I’m learning to trust again.”
Still he doesn’t turn, shutting me out, keeping me at the distance he rarely tolerates. He inhales, his face lifting to the ceiling for several beats that are just too long for me. I close the space between us, and I pretty much collide with him as he turns to face me, my hand flattening on his chest, his catching my shoulders. “I will make him go away,” I vow.
“I don’t expect him to be out of our lives any more than I do my fucked up father or your mother. They fucked with our heads. They made us and they still play us.”
This is a revelation about Nick he’s never shared. “Your dad fucked with your head?”
“Of course he did. You know that I was raised by a rotation of nannies he fucked. He’s why I am who I am today. Everything I do is to be better than him and different than him. But I know it. I admit it. I deal with it. You have done a lot of avoiding things in your life, Faith.”
“You’re right. I have.”
“I’m in your life or I’m not. It’s me. Just me. I can deal with the aftermath that he’s created because I understand it. But only the aftermath, when he’s past tense.”
“He is.”
“He just called you and you didn’t shut him down. That makes me feel like you aren’t ready to let him go. And if you aren’t—”
“He is nothing to me. You are. I just didn’t plan to talk to him ever again.”
“You’re an artist and so is he. You’re going to see him. We’re going to see him. Are you prepared for that?”
“Honestly? Not yet, but I will be. I didn’t think or even dare to dream about being in a high-profile show while I was trapped by the winery. I didn’t mentally prepare. I’m not like you, Nick.”
“If you want me to make him go away, I will.”
“And then you’ll wonder if I would have done it without you. I need to handle him and I will. Actually, I just want this done and over with.” I twist out of his arms and charge through the bathroom into the bedroom, only to discover my phone ringing again.
Anger burns inside me for about ten different reasons: I’ve let Macom get into my head and inside my relationship with Nick. The man actually expects me to answer his calls when I haven’t spoken to him in over a year. And I could keep going with the list of reasons but I’m at the bed holding the phone and I hit answer. “What do you want, Macom?” I demand, turning to find Nick standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom.
“Faith,” Macom replies, his voice low, intimate, familiar, and I feel it like a punch in my belly and not a good one.
I sit down on the mattress, my eyes on Nick. “Why are you calling, Macom?”
“I heard the good news about the show. Congratulations.”
“Why are you calling me, Macom?” I repeat.
“I want to see you. Come here. Our bed misses you.”
I laugh bitterly and cut my gaze from Nick’s. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“I messed up.”