“Your father and I made peace before he died.”
“No you didn’t,” I say, rejecting what would add another irrational personal decision to my father’s track record.
“We did, but regardless,” he says. “I owe him. And that means protecting you. The bank called me. I understand there are financial issues. Let me help.”
I am appalled and shocked that the bank went to Bill. “I don’t want or need your help and if I did, my father would roll over in his grave if I took it.”
“I told you. We came to terms before he died.”
“I don’t believe you, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
Nick steps to my side, his hand settling possessively at my back, his presence drawing Bill’s immediate attention. “Bill Winter.” My uncle introduces himself. “And you are?”
“Faith’s loyal servant,” Nick assures him. “And everyone else’s nightmare. The name is Nick Rogers.” He doesn’t extend his hand, nor does Bill extend his own.
Bill’s eyes narrow at the name. “I’ve heard you’re a real bastard.”
“And here I thought I got rid of my nice guy reputation. I understand you’re leaving. We’ll walk you out.”
Bill gives a smirk that almost borders on amused, and then looks at me. “I’m staying at the cottage. I’ll be close if you need me.” He turns and walks away.
Nick flags Sheila. “Make sure he leaves and if he doesn’t, call Faith.”
I nod my approval to Sheila and Nick turns to me. “Where can we talk?”
“This way,” I say, motioning us into the hallway that leads nowhere but an exit door and the minute we’re there, Nick’s hands are on my hips.
“What cottage?”
“He owns a property up the road, but he’s rarely here, and when he is, I don’t see him. He says the bank called him about the default. Can they do that?”
“Context is everything and he holds the family name. Does he want the winery?”
“He’s a billionaire, Nick. He doesn’t want or need this place.”
“Then why was he here?”
“To help, he said. Basically, to repent for his sins.”
Nick’s energy sharpens. “What sins, Faith?”
“He’s the reason I stayed in L.A. after my graduation. He’s also one of the reasons I don’t believe in happily ever after and therefore make such a good fuck buddy. He slept with my mother. She got mad at him and to get back at him, told my father, who predictably forgave her, but not his brother. And that was it for me. I was out of here.”
I blink and Nick’s hands are on my face, his big body pinning me against the wall. “Don’t do that,” he says for the second time since we arrived. “Don’t decide what we are or are not based on that man or anyone else. We decide otherwise, or they win and we’re weak. We are not weak.”
Emotions I swore I wanted to feel, but don’t, well in my chest. “Nick, you—”
“I am not my father and you are not your mother. We decide who we are, Faith. Not them. Say it.”
“We decide,” I whisper.
“We decide,” he repeats, stroking my cheek a moment before his lips brush mine. “I fucking hate that I have to leave you right now. Come with me.”
“You know I can’t. You have to see that.”
He looks skyward, seeming to struggle not to push me, before he says, “Let’s make sure uncle dearest has left before I leave.”
A full hour later, I finally convince Nick he has to leave. My uncle is gone. His number is in my phone. He has a deposition he has to prep for. I walk him to his car, and despite the many people most likely watching, he pulls me to him and kisses me soundly on the lips. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you and I don’t even know what to do with that.” A moment later, he’s in his car, as if he fears he won’t leave. Another few moments, and I’m standing on the steps of the mansion, watching him drive away, a storm brewing inside me, while I replay his words: I am not my father and you are not your mother.
The problem is, I have a whole lot more of my mother in me than Nick Rogers knows.
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS woman doing to me?
That’s one of many thoughts I have as I leave behind Reid Winter Winery, and Faith with it. Leaving her kills me, and I have never in all the many fucks I’ve shared with a woman, given two fucks about the morning after, or the second morning after as it may be, and what do I do? I choose Faith, a woman I went looking for to destroy. She’s not the killer I thought she was, but she might be when she finds out who my father is, and why I sought her out. And she’ll have to know there’s no way around it. Really, this is poetic justice. I told Faith I’m not like my father, but running through women, and not giving two fucks, is something he did well, and I do better. How profound that the one I give a shit about is going to hate me like she’s never hated before.
I pull onto the main highway and tail lights greet me. “Fuck,” I growl, forced to halt behind a line of cars, while debating the pros and cons of turning around, throwing Faith over my shoulder, and taking her home with me. Something feels off with her uncle. Something feels wrong in general and it’s not her.
Looking for answers and action, I fish my phone from my pocket and use Siri to find the shop that has Faith’s car, making arrangements to pay for it and have it delivered to her over the weekend when I plan to be with her. By the time I end the call, the traffic still hasn’t moved, and I dial Beck. “Nicholas,” he greets.
“The uncle,” I say.
“Filthy rich snake of a bastard,” he says, clearly aware of who I’m talking about.
“He fucked Faith’s mom.”
“Who didn’t?” He laughs. “That woman saw more action than ten Taco Bells on Friday night at two am.”
“The uncle,” I repeat.
“He had random contact with Meredith Winter over the years, but nothing notable after the obvious falling out between him and her husband. And I’m sure you know that he’s married to one of the billionaire Warren Hotel heiresses now.”
“I knew,” I say, having done plenty of my own research. “That’s how he got the money for his start-up. Any contact between him and Faith?”
“Aside from him attending both her mother’s and father’s funerals, none.”
“Find out if he, or anyone for that matter, has an interest in the property the winery is sitting on,” I say, before moving on. “Josh—”
“The agent,” he says. “What about him?”
“Could Macom have used him to connect to Faith’s mother or my father?”
“Interesting premise when I thought of it as well,” Beck says, “but I cross referenced phone numbers and emails. There’s nothing.”