***
I send Rita home at six. Faith sends me a text at six-thirty on her way to pick up the food. At seven, I toss down my pen, pressing fingers to my eyes, finally done with a brief I need by morning. The elevator dings and Faith appears in the doorway, giving me a shy smile, her pink lipstick the same pale shade as her Allure Gallery t-shirt, which she’s paired with faded torn jeans.
“Hungry?” she asks.
“Starving,” I say, standing up and closing the space between us to take the bags. “For you, but I’ll settle for what’s in the bags until we get home.”
“Home,” she says, biting her lip. “I can’t get used to that.”
“You will,” I promise, motioning with my head and leading her to the small round conference table to the left of my desk. Once we’ve settled into our seats, takeout containers in front of us, I reach into my jacket and set a small sheet of paper on the table. “That’s the names and numbers of the top realtors and remodelers in town. I want you to pick the ones you want to work with.”
“You really want to do this, don’t you?”
“I do. Don’t you?”
She hesitates, but a smile hints at her lips. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to look.”
Baby steps, I think, but I don’t heed that warning. I reach into my pocket again and set a bank card on the table. She stiffens instantly. “What is that?”
“You’re with me now, sweetheart. All the way. No half way. I had your social from the legal filings I did. I had you added to my account and ordered you your own card. I keep two hundred in that account so you can get pretty much whatever you want when you want it.”
I blanch. “Two hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Nick—”
“I know you’re going to fight me on this.”
“I still owe you money.”
“You don’t owe me money, but we won’t beat that up. Humor me. Put it in your purse. Have it with you in case you need it.” I pause. “Please.”
“Please? Nick fucking Rogers just said please?”
“I have very good manners, remember?”
She scowls. “No. You have horrible manners.” Her voice and expression soften. “I’ll keep it, but I’m—”
I lean in and kiss her. “Going to fight me on this. I know. Put it in your purse.” She nods and unzips her purse where it rests at her hip, and sticks it inside a zipper pocket.
“Now,” I say. “Tell me about the L.A. show. Did you hear anything more about your work?”
“What the fuck, Nick?”
At the sound of Abel’s voice, alarm bells go off in my head, I’m on my feet in an instant. “Abel—”
He appears in the center of the office. “You sold the fucking club and didn’t give me a chance to buy it? Nick? Where the hell—”
“Abel,” I bite out, and holy fuck I’m going to murder him.
Faith stands up at the same moment that Abel rotates to look at us, his eyes going wide. “Oh shit. Nick, man—”
“Get out,” I all but growl at him, stalking toward him as he turns to leave, shutting the door behind him.
I face forward and Faith is in front of me, hugging herself. “What club, Nick? What was that and why do you, who is always cool and calm, look like you want to throw up right now? Is it the club you used to—”
“Yes.”
“You own it?”
“Owned. I sold it. And I only owned it for a year. I bought it from a client to save him—”
“You didn’t tell me. You know what that world did to me and you didn’t tell me you owned a club.”
“I planned to tell you tonight.”
“Of course you did. Tonight. The night Abel spills the secret.”
“Abel burst in here because he heard I sold it today. Today, Faith. Actually, I gave it away. I took a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar hit because I just wanted it gone.”
“You didn’t tell me,” she repeats, rotating to face the opposite direction and starting to walk toward the window.
I move toward her, intending to pull her in my arms and she seems to know. She stops dead in her tracks. “Do not even think about touching me right now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nick
I ignore Faith’s order not to touch her, snagging her wrist. When she tries to pull away from me, I step into her, catching her hips and guiding her to me. “You are what matters to me. You, Faith. Not some damn sex club.”
Her chin lifts in challenge, her eyes meeting mine. “Take me there.”
My rejection is instant. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Take me there or I will go there on my own.”
“You’re not a member. You won’t even find it.”
“I’ve been in that world, Nick. Your world. Because I’m not naturally a bull like you does not mean I can’t be one if I need to be. And if you think I can’t make a few phone calls and find out where that club is, you underestimate me.”
“I have never underestimated you a day that I’ve known you, but you won’t get in the door.”
“Then I’ll stand there until they call you and you can let me in.”
She will. I see it in her eyes. “Why do you need to do this?”
“I need to know who you really are.”
“You know me, Faith.”
“I don’t want any more surprises.”
Those words grind through me and make my decision. Because there are more surprises to come. I have to let her resolve this one from start to finish before we get there. I take her hand and lace our fingers together. “Come with me,” I say, and I start walking, opening the office door and leading her into the lobby. I don’t stop until we’re at the elevator, and I don’t give her a chance to withdraw any more than she has already.
I punch the call button and pull her in front of me, and when the doors open, I say, “There are cameras inside.”
“Which won’t matter if I’m alone. I need space.”
“Too bad,” I say as I walk us inside, holding onto her every step of the way. In a matter of seconds, I’m holding her in front of me again, nice and close, my hand on her belly, and we’re riding toward the garage. “You don’t have to do this,” I say near her ear, as if me saying this will miraculously make her believe it.
“I do,” she says, her hand coming down on mine, fingers closing tightly around it, barely contained anger in the death grip. “And on some level, I know you know I do.”
I didn’t know this would be her reaction, but in hindsight, I should have. I know Faith. When she spins out of control, she rebels against the free-spirited artist that she is at her core, and tries to force control. The car halts and the doors open and I take her hand again, leading her into the garage. She digs in her heels. “I’ll follow you. I’m parked—”
“Negative,” I say. “You ride with me. You stay with me. Or you don’t go. And before you even think about arguing, this is non-negotiable, Faith.”