Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“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, 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.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tiger
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 taillights greet me. “Fuck,” I growl, forced to halt behind a line of cars, 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.