“I was inspired to paint.”
I lean back in the chair, shutting my eyes, imagining her standing at her canvas, beautiful, gifted, focused. “Are you painting me, Faith?”
“Yes,” she says. “Actually I am. I’m still trying to understand you. Now that you’re gone…”
“Now that I’m gone, what?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
“Something,” I repeat, opening my eyes and standing up, facing the window, the glow of the lights on the Golden Gate bridge before me. “There is something, Faith,” I add, wanting her to tell me what I sense. “What is it?”
She’s silent for several beats. “Are we talking about you or me, now?”
“You,” I say. “I’m your attorney and the man in your bed and life. What haven’t you told me?”
“We’re new, Nick. There’s a lot I haven’t told you.”
I feel those words like another claw in my heart and every warning that’s been thrown at me the past few hours digs it deeper. I have never been a fool who thinks with his dick. I’m not starting now. “I want you to tell me, but you know I’ll find out.”
“Of course you will. You enjoy a challenge. Goodnight, Nick.”
She hangs up.
THAT CONVERSATION WITH FAITH HAUNTS me most of the night, and by seven in the morning, I’m at work behind my desk on the fifth floor of the second tallest building in San Francisco. By eight, I’ve woken up three clients, and drafted a contract. All while wearing a black suit with a royal-fucking-blue tie that reminds me of Faith’s dress. Her ripped dress, and that moment in the car when I’d leaned in and tasted her. The pencil in my hand snaps.
It’s at that moment that North pops his head in the door. “Can we—”
“No,” I say. “If you aren’t ready now, you won’t be. You have three hours before they arrive and you need a set of balls. Go find them.”
He shoves his glasses up his nose. “I actually know the location of my balls. The use of said—”
“I’m not going to teach you how to hold your balls,” I bite out. “Go play with them alone.”
He has the good sense to leave. Unfortunately, my assistant appears in the spot he’s just left. “I have coffee,” she says.
“You never bring me coffee,” I say, but nevertheless, in a rush of bouncing brown curls and sweet smelling perfume, a cup is in front of me. I glance at it and her. “When I ask for coffee, you say ‘fuck you.’ What the hell is going on?”
“It’s my twentieth wedding anniversary,” she says waving fingers at me. “I woke up to a sapphire this morning. I guess at fifty I’ve still got the goods.”
And at fifty, she’s beautiful and devoted to one man, where Meredith Winter was devoted to many. “Happy fucking anniversary. Use my card and go to a ridiculously expensive dinner, and I need two things from you.”
“Item one,” she prods.
“I need a dress.”
She arches a brow. “Is there something you need to tell me, boss?”
“Royal blue. A slit in the front. Expensive.”
“I need more than that, starting with size?”
“Petite.”
She grimaces. “I’m good or I wouldn’t be working for you, but that isn’t good enough.”
“Look up artist Faith Winter. It’s for her. Make your best guess.”
“Am I shipping it to her?”
“Reid Winter Winery in Sonoma,” I say, and hand her a sealed note. “Include this and have it delivered by tomorrow. And I need a gift to celebrate an artist’s success that says art. A necklace. A paintbrush. Both. I need options. Lots of options. I’ll know when I see it.”
Her eyes go wide. “Do I dare believe a woman finally has your attention?”
“I hope like hell the one standing in front of me.” I push to my feet. “I need to know where Montgomery Williams of SA National Bank is by the time I get to my car.”
“You have a deposition here in two hours.”
“Good thing this won’t take three hours.” I round the desk and head for the door, on a mission to see a man I despise and try not to think about the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
Considering I work in the financial district a few blocks from SA National, Montgomery Williams isn’t hard to find. He’s at a coffee shop a block from my office, and considering he’s short, fat, bald and has a twenty-something girl sitting next to him with her hand on his plump thigh, I have no issue interrupting.
I walk to their booth and sit down across from them. “How’s the wife?” I ask. Montgomery turns red-faced. The girl straightens and looks awkward. I simply arch a brow.
She purses her ridiculously red lips. “I’ll see you tonight, honey.” She slides out of the booth.
“Was she talking to me or you?” I ask.
“What do you want, Rogers?”
“Faith Winter,” I say, and while I mean it in the literal sense, he simply registers the name.
“Why do you care about Faith Winter?”
Aside from the best blow job of my life, she’s as talented and intelligent as she is good in bed, but I leave out the details. “I’m representing her.”
“You work for some of the biggest companies on planet Earth. You don’t do probate.”
“I’ll supply a cashier’s check for a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, which covers her back payments and six additional months. In exchange, I want you to stop holding up the execution of the probate, and drop all claims aside from the promissory note to the winery.”
“We want a re-evaluation of the property before we agree to anything.”
“With what end game?”
“We’ll decide when we have the re-evaluation.”
“And you ask why I’m involved,” I say. “I’m involved because we both know this isn’t just probate.” I lean closer. “And we both know you’re shitting your pants that I not only know you’re fucking around on your wife but that I’m now involved.”
I stand up and head for the door, my gut telling me that the winery is connected to murder. And the murder is connected to Faith. I step outside and dial Beck, who answers on the first ring. “The bank wants the winery, which means someone powerful wants that winery. You need to find out who and now. And get someone watching Faith around the clock,” I say, doing what I should have done before now. “Today.”
“I assume we don’t want Faith to know she’s being watched?”
“No,” I say. “We do not.”
“Then you don’t trust her.”
I inhale deeply, cool air blasting me right along with his words that he’s using to bait me. He wants me to argue my reasoning, outside of her guilt. But I don’t give people ammunition to analyze me, and his paycheck is all the justification he deserves. “Just do it,” I say. “I’m headed into depositions. Text me when it’s done.” I end the call.