Several beats pass and she remains immersed in her work, which is my signal to get lost and let her work. I’m about to exit the studio when Faith laughs. I glance back at her and she grins. “You’re pretty easy to fool, Tiger. Did you really think you were that stealthy?”
I laugh and take a step toward her. She points her brush at me. “Stop right there. You go shower and get focused on your game, counselor. That’s the point in this little exercise. You motivate me to paint. I expect you to keep being a bad-ass attorney who doesn’t lose.”
“I don’t know how to lose, sweetheart,” I say, giving her a wink and heading down the hallway, and I hit the shower, following Faith’s order. I’m one hundred percent focused, but that focus is on her. She’s worried about my career. She’s worried about paying me back. She’s a good person who deserves the world. I’m an asshole who plans to give it to her, when I would give it to no one else. Maybe that’s the definition of love. Heartless bastards like me grow hearts. Whatever the case, I’m her asshole and she’s stuck with me. I’m going to make sure of it.
***
Twenty minutes later, not only shaved to the fully outlined goatee I prefer when headed to court, as I will this week, I’ve dressed, in a grey, pinstriped suit with a vest and a pressed white shirt. I’m standing at the mirror, fitting the black tie I’ve chosen to match the pinstripe around my neck when Faith not only appears, but scoots between me and the counter.
“I’ll do it,” she says. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Sweetheart, if it’s on my body, you can touch it.”
She laughs. “That is such a you thing to say.” She works the tie with expert technique, and I dislike the idea of her doing it for Macom and I don’t even care how possessive that makes me. “How did you learn to do this?” I ask.
“My father,” she says. “He always wore a tie at the winery and I had this obsession with artsy ties even before I started painting. I’d pick his tie and then tie his tie.” She pats my tie. “Done and you look good in this suit. Powerful. But then, you always have that alpha power thing going on.”
“Do I now?”
“You do. It’s very sexy, but I’m pretty sure you know that.”
I stroke the hair behind her ear. “And I know you didn’t know I was there until the end. I watched you with your paintbrush and, sweetheart, that is what I call sexy.”
“I knew,” she says. “I always know when you’re close, Nick, but I was finishing one little spot that I didn’t want to screw up, and then you were leaving.” She reaches for my arm and glances at my brown Cartier watch. “It’s seven. You have to be at work at eight.”
“I’m the boss. I won’t get fired if I’m late.”
She pushes to her toes and kisses me. “The boss of everyone but me. I’m going to change shoes and touch up my make-up and I’m ready to go.”
She tries to move away and I bring her to me, my hand tangling in her hair, as I drag her mouth to mine. Taking a long, good morning drink of this woman before I say. “Sometimes you like it when I’m the boss. At least when we’re naked and that’s not a bad thing. You like it. I like it.”
“I know that.”
“Just in case you don’t know. I’m never going to hurt you and I damn sure will never share you. You know that, right?”
“I already told you. I like when Tiger comes out to play. And don’t start thinking I’m some shrinking violet, Nick Rogers. I told you some stuff. You know. Move on. And if you underestimate me, I’ll end up on top every time that way. And sometimes l prefer you on top.”
“As long as I’m inside you, sweetheart,” I say. “I’ll be on top, bottom, sideways, or any which way.”
She shoves against my chest. “Go make coffee or whatever you do before work.”
I laugh and step away from her and leave her in the bathroom, taking a path toward the stairs, but once I’m there, I pause, my curiosity over how Faith’s new work is developing winning me over. Walking in that direction, I enter the studio, cross to the painting and stare at what has become a dramatically changed image that downright punches me in the gut. I’m looking at two eyes that I know represent ‘An eye for an eye’. Words she connects to Macom’s betrayal. Macom, who she dreamed about last night. Suddenly, I feel like the fool, on my knees for a woman who’s on her knees for another man. I don’t want to believe that’s true, but I don’t know how else to read this, either.
I cross the studio and don’t even consider the bedroom. I have a job to do, and as Faith herself said, a focus I need to maintain. I gather my work from my office and end up in the kitchen, where I set my briefcase on the island bar. Faith hurries down the stairs, her blonde hair bouncing right along with her beautiful fucking breasts in a light blue V-neck t-shirt, her purse on her shoulder. In this moment, I do not want to want her, and yet, as she nears, and I watch the sway of her hips, my damn cock decides to stand at attention.
Where the fuck is my discipline?
“I thought you’d be on cup number two by now,” she says, stepping to the counter directly across from me.
“I took another look at your painting,” I say, deciding my focus is important. And she’s distracting the fuck out of me.
“And?” she asks, sounding almost hopeful.
“And what, Faith?”
“What do you think? If you hate it—”
“You dreamt about Macom and now you’re painting about Macom.”
She blanches. “What? No. That is not at all the case.”
“It seems pretty damn clear.”
“Then it’s you who doesn’t trust me, Nick. You who don’t trust us. Because I told you about the dream and I told you that dream was about us. And I did what I told you I was going to do. I’m getting Macom the hell out of our relationship. I’m facing the past. I’m owning it. And I own things by painting them.”
“Is that painting going in the show? Is it to get his attention?”
“Oh my God. Did you hear anything I just said to you?”
“Answer the questions,” I bite out.
“You’re being a complete asshole right now, Nick Rogers. That painting is for me. For us. It’s not meant for any other eyes.”
I stare at her several beats, and she stares right back at me, not a blink. And I believe her. “I’m an asshole,” I say.
“Yes, Nick Rogers, you are. You really are.”
“Because you make me crazy.”
“So, it’s my fault that you’re an asshole? Considering you were an asshole the night I met you, I’m pretty sure you mastered that skill long before I met you.”
“I’m apparently practicing that skill right now. How am I doing?”
“Exceptionally well.”
“I might end up in jail when I meet this guy.”
“At least you’ll have Abel to represent you.”
I laugh, never a step ahead of this woman. “Indeed. At least I do. Will you visit me in jail?”
“I’d prefer to just keep you out of jail.” Her mood shifts, darkens. “He’s not worth it.”
“But you are.”
“Is that your way of apologizing for being an asshole?”
“If I want to apologize, I’ll apologize,” I counter.
“So, you don’t want to apologize?”