Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“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 drily. “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 who 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 midmorning, 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 the 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.
I pick up my cellphone and, assuming that my enemy is my uncle, dial his number. Unsurprisingly, he answers on the first ring. “Faith,” he greets. “I’m shocked you called. Happy but shocked.”
“Yes, well, I keep thinking about those photos. I really miss my father, and I’d like to see them.”
“I’ll bring them to you. I’m in New York on business, but I can head that way this weekend.”
“I actually moved to San Francisco, and I have craziness going on getting ready for the L.A. Art Forum in two weeks. And… I’d rather start with the pictures.”
He’s silent a beat. “Understood. What’s your email? I’ll shoot you over a few of them and bring you the box when we meet after your show.”
He’s teasing me with the photos and setting me up for the meeting. It irritates me, but it also buys me that time. I rattle off my email and continue with, “Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing the photos.”