I step to her and run my hand down her hair. “Don’t do that. Don’t let this get into your head. You’re an artist. That is what you want. That is what you are.”
“I called my uncle,” she surprises me by saying.
Alarms go off in my head and I pull back and rest my elbow on the table. “When and why?”
“Yesterday. I meant to tell you sooner, but last night was good, and I didn’t want to ruin it with him.”
“Why did you call him and what happened?”
“I got this idea in my head that he might know what the value of the winery is outside the obvious, but the minute I heard his voice, I had second thoughts. I don’t trust him. I was afraid that if I alerted him to a potential payoff, that despite being a wealthy man, he might try to take it.”
Smart girl, I think. “Then what did you say to him?”
“I blurted out that my mother said that my father liked to watch my mother with other men and asked if he was one of them.”
“Holy shit, woman,” I say, scrubbing the new day stubble on my jaw. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say no. He talked around it.”
“Holy fuck.”
“I know. But what doesn’t make sense is why my father would be furious about him sleeping with my mother if they’d already been together. As in all of them. Unless their fallout wasn’t about sex at all.” She shakes her head. “But then he swears he and my father made up before my father’s death.”
“Something with him doesn’t add up, but Beck can’t connect the dots between him and the bank. Whatever the case, I’m moving forward. I’m going to get in front of a judge and get you out of probate. But from a timeline standpoint, I may have been overly ambitious with that Thursday night dinner with Kasey. Let’s make it Friday night.”
“He’ll be fine with that. I talked to him today and I’m feeling really good about him running things without me.”
“Good. You’ve come a long way in a short while, sweetheart. And on that note. Show me what you painted this morning.”
She stands up. “Not what I was supposed to be painting,” she confesses as we start walking.
“What were you supposed to be painting?”
“Something appropriate for the show,” she says. We start up the stairs and she adds, “I’m obsessed with those eyes. And I don’t even think it has anything to do with the whole ‘face the past’ motto I’d used when I picked up the brush. It’s just different and challenging. I’m enjoying it.”
“You know the saying. Do what you love and success will follow.”
“I need to move on and work on my final show piece. Oh, and that reminds me. Sara wants me to do a mural in one of the offices.”
“What kind of mural?”
“It will cover one of the walls and it can be anything I want it to be, but it’s kind of intimidating. Chris painted her office.”
“You need to stop comparing yourself to Chris.”
“Funny you say that. He said that.”
“Maybe he’ll be the mentor you need then,” I say, as we enter the studio and cross to stand in front of her canvas, which is now well developed. One of the eyes is now filled with a rainbow of colors. The other is red and black. Almost as if it’s her past and her present. And I can’t explain what it is about two eyes on a canvas, but it’s brilliant. “You have to put this in the show.”
“No,” she says. “Macom will read into it and I don’t want that drama. The entire point in this painting was to face the past and get rid of it.”
“You just said it had become about the challenge. And it shows. And if you want to stick to the original theme of facing your past, face Macom with this painting. Get rid of him in person. And if he doesn’t get the idea, I’ll handle him.”
She narrows her eyes on me. “You want trouble.”
“I love trouble.”
“You want trouble with him.”
“I want to beat the shit out him.”
“Nick. You can’t—”
“I can,” I say, pulling her to me, “but I won’t.”
“Promise.”
“I promise, unless he makes it impossible to resist.”
“Nick.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not violent, but I am brutal. Come get naked with me and I’ll show you.”
“How did you just make that sound sexy?”
“Must be love, sweetheart,” I say, “and now, I’m going to do things to you that you won’t forget for the rest of the day. And that is a promise.” I scoop her up and start walking toward my bedroom, and my bed, where she belongs. And I’m going to make sure she knows it.
***
I arrive at work with a box of donuts, which I set on Rita’s desk, earning me a smile. “You remembered.”
“I did,” I say. “Because you, Rita, are like Glinda the Good Witch, who’s a really good bitch to everyone but me, when you are well fed. I like you well fed.” I head to my office. “Whatever I’m doing today, when that property assessment arrives, get it to me.” My mind turns to my personal banker. “What time will Charles be here?”
“Four o’clock,” she says. “And North is on standby for the emergency filing the minute you say go. It’s prepped and on your desk. He, on the other hand, is sleeping in his office. He’s sick. The kind of sick that makes being sick look good.”
“Fuck. Send him home.”
“I tried. He refused.”
I walk back to her desk, pick up her phone, and dial his office. “North?”
“Yes?” He starts coughing.
“Get the fuck out of my office before you make me sick.” I hang up and Rita opens the donut box, pointing to a certain donut. “Your favorite.”
I turn away and walk into my office. About the time I reach my desk, my cellphone buzzes with a text and I have to sit down when I see it. “Holy Mother of Jesus,” I murmur at the sight of Faith’s uncle, naked, tied up, and with a woman—I think she’s a woman—but whatever the case, he or she is spanking him. Rita’s voice lifts from the lobby and suddenly Beck is walking into my office without knocking. My intercom buzzes. “I told him to wait,” Rita says. “He’s impossible.”
“Yes,” he is, I say. “But it’s fine. I’ll deal with him.”
Beck’s lips twist sardonically with my comment, and he shuts the door, his dark hair extra spiky today. His t-shirt—an image of a middle finger with a “fuck you” printed above it—somehow appropriate considering that photo he just sent me. He crosses my office and sits down on the arm of a visitor’s chair, always a rebel, even in the smallest of ways. “You got my good morning calling card, I assume?”
“I did.” I lean back in my chair. “Did he?”
“Not yet,” he says, “and here are my thoughts. We both know that you already decided you’re making your deal with your bank and hers. If her bank simply thought they could cash in on the winery, it’s over. If there’s more to it, it’s not and we have two sources of potential trouble: Someone at the bank and the naked, perversely kinky uncle.” He holds up his hands. “Married uncle. We both know you’ll use your extremely large bank account to influence her bank. I will handle the naked married uncle.”
“I didn’t hire you to fly blind and tape on Band-Aids, Beck.”