Shameless (White Lies Duet #2)

I laugh. “That sounds like you.” I inhale and let it out, dreading the nagging concern that sparks my next question. “Did you ask Beck to confirm my art was bought by legitimate buyers?”

And as if waiting for his answer isn’t torture enough, a woman appears at the drive-thru window to take our money. Seeming to sense my nerves though, Nick ignores her and looks at me, and says, “Your sales are one hundred percent legitimate,” before he turns to her and offers her his credit card. A minute later, he hands me my white mocha and sets his double shot espresso in the drink holder, rolling the window back up, which is my cue to press for more information.

“Did Beck check out my sales then? Or rather, the buyers?”

He places the car into gear and glances over at me. “This is going to make you doubt yourself, isn’t it? You do remember you got into the L.A. show for a reason, right?”

“I do,” I say, as he pulls us onto the road. “But I’d like a firm grip on how well I’m doing. And the bottom line here is that if those sales weren’t real sales, they might track back to my uncle. That could be the link we need between him and this hell we’ve been through with the winery. If he was behind those broken water pipes, Nick, I want him to pay.”

“And he will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“We need to buy some time for you and Beck to make those connections. I’d say we could place the winery up for sale, just for show of course, but it would freak out Kasey and the staff. But it might bring our enemy out of hiding.”

“And perhaps not in a good way,” he says. “Whoever is behind this could see that as my negative reaction as a new investor to the vineyard water damage. They’ll also see me as someone who will try to push the price upward, despite that loss. In which case, they might try to further drive the price down by creating another problem.”

“But they had to suspect that could be your reaction to the financial blow,” I say, as he pulls us into the parking garage and parks next to the BMW. “Maybe that’s what they wanted.”

“I’m leaning more toward them thinking I’d bow out, and leave it to you, while you would end up just wanting out.”

“Which brings me back to my recent sales. To someone trying to give me motivation to get out.”

“Your sales are legitimate, Faith, and as for the rest, we can speculate all day, but I’m not ready to take calculated risks just yet. Let’s give Beck a little more room to do his job. And the reality here is that now that we’ve bought out your note, this might fizzle out.”

“The water damage says it won’t.”

“Or it was unrelated, or one last blow delivered by a bad loser.” He reaches for his door. “I’ll come around to get you.”

I don’t give him time to help me out of the car. I slip my tan purse, which I’ve paired with my favorite faded jeans and a matching pair of brown ankle boots, over my shoulder, and open my door. By the time I’m standing, Nick has arrived, and is now towering over me, his navy blue eyes a perfect match for his suit and the dots in his black tie. And really truly, I could stand here and take a deep blue swim in those eyes for a few minutes, or even hours, and be perfectly happy.

“Let’s talk cars,” he says.

My deep blue spell is broken. “What about cars?”

“Let’s buy you something you want and love and not because I care if you drive the BMW or the Audi. Because you need to pick what you love.”

“I like the BMW.”

“Then we’ll custom order you one with the specs you like.”

“I can just drive this one.”

“What color do you want?”

“Blue like your eyes.”

“Interior?”

“Black like my uncle’s soul.”

“Black like your uncle’s soul,” he repeats dryly. “There’s no question what’s still on your mind. You, my beautiful woman, need to let go of the stress. Get your butt to Allure and paint that wall you’re supposed to start painting today. And pick a remodeler, if you aren’t going to pick a realtor. Let’s get your studio up to standard.”

“The studio you made me is fine.”

“It’s not fine. In fact, it’s well known that the male population, at least the smart ones, realize that when a woman says ‘fine’ it’s never fine.”

I’d answer that claim, but a shout from the distance interrupts. “You have a meeting in ten minutes!”

At the sound of the female voice delivering that message, I turn to find a redhead rushing in our direction, her black high heels, which she’s paired with a black dress, clicking on the pavement. “That would be Rita,” Nick says, leaning in to kiss me. “I’ll call you in a few hours.” He takes off, but calls over his shoulder, “Call the realtor. Any realtor.”

Rita steps in front of me. “Faith. I’ve been dying to meet you and I can’t even chat. I have to go deal with a million things. Let’s have lunch soon.”

“I’d love that.”

She starts to turn away and I stop her. “Wait. He has a meeting?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Chinese food on his conference table.”

“Oh my God. It’s the CEO of a bank. It’s going to smell to high heaven up there.”

She takes off for the elevator and I laugh, walking to the BMW and climbing inside. Happy. I feel happy. Nick and I moved mountains last night and I feel that success between us. But I also feel the heavy weight of knowing that I have an enemy that has now become Nick’s. And I really need a paintbrush in my hand before I start thinking about all the ways that enemy might strike next.

***

By mid-morning, Sara and I have made our final artist picks for opening week and I’ve been sketching ideas for the wall, which isn’t my normal method of working, but this isn’t my normal canvas. It’s also a really big canvas to mess up. I’m on what must be sketch number one hundred when Chris appears in my doorway, looking his normal, jean-clad, tattooed, cool artist self. “Nick called me.”

I set my pencil down. “About?”

“Every customer that bought your work has bought from the gallery on numerous occasions. And every painting was purchased by an individual. He didn’t give me details on why you wanted to know this information, but I’ll use my imagination. No one bought your success. You made it.” He motions behind me. “You going to paint that thing or think about it?”

“Paint it,” I say, and that seems to satisfy him, because he disappears into the hallway.

I smile on a sigh with the realization that despite his meeting, Nick made me a priority again. He gave away that club because he made me a priority. He reaches for me constantly in so many ways. It’s time for me to reach for him. I need to show how committed I am to him and I open my drawer where I stashed the piece of paper with the realtor choices listed. I’m reaching for it when I pause with a thought. Nick is reaching for me. Helping me. Protecting me. I need to protect him. I need to make sure that my enemy doesn’t turn on him, and hurt him in some way. I need to buy him and Beck some time to investigate further.