“We both like trouble,” he says. “Maybe there isn’t trouble to be found. Until we get the autopsy report, we don’t know, and unless you want to wait on that report, this is where we’re at.”
“Are the cameras in place at her house and the wintery?” I ask, concerned about Faith’s safety.
“Yes, and we’re watching her so closely that I can practically tell you what color Faith’s panties are.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask if I’m curious. I’m curious. What color—”
“Get the fuck out.”
He laughs and heads for the door. The minute he’s out of my office, Rita is inside. “Seems a good bribe works wonders. We have the winery’s new evaluation.”
“How much?” I ask.
“Forty million,” she says. “Five million more than Faith’s note with the bank.”
“Fuck me in a good way. Get Charles—”
“He’s on his way over now. Look over the filing and I’ll get it done myself. North and the trashcan are now one.”
I reach for the documents she needs, do a quick review of the key points, then hand them to her. “File it at four o’clock. I don’t want the bank to have time to get someone to the winery before we end up in court.”
“Can you get an emergency hearing tomorrow? Because the Nichols family is coming in at ten and you know—”
“How they are. Yes. I do. Plan on Thursday.”
“Got it,” she says. “Is Faith prepared for court? She’ll need something to wear.”
“Fuck. Yes, she will, and no she isn’t.”
“I can order her some clothes, but I have no idea on shoe size.”
“Negative. If I just order her a wardrobe, she’s going to be pissed.”
She arches a brow, her hands settling at the waist of her navy dress. “Really? Most women would love for a man to buy them clothes. Interesting. I like her already. Did you say, or did I overhear, that she’s working at a gallery here locally?”
“Allure Gallery.”
“I’ll put your black card on file at several boutiques nearby.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and tabs to the Gallery. “Chanel and Dolce & Gabbana are two blocks away. I’ll get it done right away.” She glances at me. “When do I meet her?”
“Go file the paperwork and eat a damn donut,” I say.
She smiles and walks toward the door.
She’s barely had time to get there, before I’ve sent a text to Beck with the details. Next up, I dial Faith. “Forty million, Faith.”
She breathes out. “Oh, thank God. It’s lower than I expected but still good and I can’t believe the bank really thought that I’d come in under that.”
“I suspect they would have come in with a much different number than our person came in with. Whatever the case, it’s done. We beat them to the punch.”
“So now what?”
“I work my magic and you’re not only out of probate, my bank owns your note by the time we return to Sonoma. But I need a complete ledger of all your vendors and outstanding accounts payable.”
“You’re going to pay off the bills, aren’t you?”
“We talked about this, sweetheart.”
“Yes. I know.”
“And?”
“And I’ll have Kasey and Rita connect. Does that work?”
“Yes. It does. This is good, Faith. If all goes as planned, we’ll be going to court Thursday.” I decide a conversation about money and shopping is better saved for in person, but she goes there on her own.
“I need to be in court?”
“Yes.” I say. “You do.”
“I have nothing to wear here. I have to go buy something.”
“About that—”
“No. You’re paying off my debt. I will not use your money to go shopping. End of subject.”
“Faith—”
“No.”
“Rita is putting my card on file for you at Chanel and—”
“No. Move on, Nick.”
I move on. For now. “I’ll have a plane on standby for either Thursday night or Friday morning, whichever we decide we prefer. Any thoughts?”
“Friday,” she says. “I don’t want to put that pressure on us Thursday.”
“Friday it is,” I say, pleased that she so easily chose to stay here, instead of go there.
She’s silent several beats and then, “Nick.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Thank you. For everything. Even trying to spoil me with clothes.”
“The only thank you I need is you naked in my bed tonight. I’m going to be late but I’ll update you soon.” I end the call and push away from my desk and stand up, walking to the window. Maybe there were no murders. Maybe this is over the minute I get that autopsy report but every day that passes, I feel the betrayal of my lies, as much as I dread telling Faith the truth. How the hell do I tell a woman who has become everything to me, who I’ve asked over and over to trust me that I thought she was a killer? I press my hands to my desk. I have to make her love me more than she can possibly hate me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nick
The “stupid” disease erupts not long after the evaluation comes in on Reid Winery. Every client I personally handle needs me personally, and why? Because they’ve done something stupid and the only pill that will fix them is me. It’s nearly six pm by the time the eruption calms down, but I’ve still managed to secure my Thursday court date, coordinate action with Beck, and pound on Abel until he confirms that the autopsy on my father has become one big fuck up. We are weeks from answering the murder question, and therefore weeks before I can risk telling Faith the truth.
Rita appears in my doorway. “Your broker has called four times,” she says, walking to my desk, an envelope in her hands. “I suspect that means he’s called your cellphone at least that many times.”
“I’ll call him back.”
“I know,” she says. “You’ve told me that four times. And I know, Nick Rogers, that you’re this mega-superstar attorney, but apparently, I’m older and wiser. So here is some sound advice. When someone controls as much of your money as that man does, and he calls that many times, call him back.”
I scrub the back of my neck. “Right. I will.”
“When?”
“Before I leave.”
She gives me a keen inspection. “You haven’t even started prepping for the Nichols meeting tomorrow, have you?”
“No. I have not.”
“What do I need to do?”
“Go home. I’ve got this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“A few updates first. Number one: Kasey sent me the accounts payable for Reid Winery. All the bills are now paid in full and I have it set up for him to send me the bills once a week.”
“Excellent.”
“Number two.” She sets an envelope on my desk. “This came for you. It’s from Faith. And if it includes further accounts payable, I haven’t paid them. I didn’t know if that’s what it was and I didn’t want to risk invading your privacy.”
I arch a brow. “And you’ve cared about my privacy since when?”
“Since your privacy became Faith’s as well. Do you want me to arrange dinner delivery?”
“No. I’ll wait.”
She gives me a knowing look. “To eat with Faith.”
“Yes, my nosy-ass assistant. To eat with Faith.”
“Good,” she approves. “You’ve been alone too long. And on that note. I’m going home and leaving you alone.”