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)
“The winery isn’t a distraction,” I say, though those words might be a bit half-hearted. “Additionally,” I add, “I moved to San Francisco, and I’m working at the Allure Gallery with Chris and Sara Merit. The pay and the opportunity are both great.”
“Why am I just now finding this out?”
“You knew I was part of the gallery opening.”
“Why am I just now finding this out?” he repeats.
“I don’t want Chris used to move my career ahead,” I say, only now admitting that very real concern. “Chris and Sara are my friends. Promise me.”
“I’ll talk to Chris—”
“No. No, you will not. Promise me.”
His lips tighten. “I promise.” He is silent for several beats before he says, “We’re friends. I care about your success. Come to L.A. in a couple of weeks. Alone. Let’s do some career planning.”
Nick’s warnings ring in my head, driven home by the way he’s kept me far away from him tonight. “Are we too personal, Josh?”
“I care. Most people want an agent that cares.”
“But are you too personally involved with me?”
“We’re friends.”
“Macom is your friend.”
“You are, too, Faith. And I’m the best damn agent out there. You need me. I deserve you. I’ve ridden the highs and lows with you. You don’t get to leave when you have some success or when I push too hard. We’re a team. Agreed?”
He’s right. He has stuck it out with me. “Yes. But you need to know that I have moved in with Nick. He’s not going away, so please treat him accordingly.”
“You moved in with him,” he states flatly.
“Yes. Please treat him—”
“Understood,” he says, glancing at his watch. “We need to get into the ceremony.”
“I am going to go freshen up,” I say, not about to let him come up with a reason to separate me from Nick for the ceremony. “I’ll see you inside.”
He studies me several beats. “Are we okay?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He gives a short incline of his head. “You need to be seated in ten minutes.” He leaves then, and I turn to find a bathroom and run smack into a hard body, big hands catching my waist. The musky scent of familiar cologne washes over me even before my gaze lifts, and I find myself looking into Macom’s gray eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Faith
I push away from Macom, but he tightens his grip on my waist. “We need to talk. Let’s set a time and place.”
“Let go of me, Macom, or I will make you let go of me.”
“When the ceremony is over. I’m in room—”
“You need to be on stage,” Josh says, suddenly by my side. “They’re looking for you.”
Macom’s eyes meet Josh’s, anger crackling in their depths. “Now?”
“Now,” Josh states firmly.
Macom’s jaw tenses, and he looks down at me. “Ten ten. After the show.” He releases me and fades into the crowd.
I turn to Josh. “Thank you.”
“I told him not to pull this shit, but look, Faith. For what it’s worth, he talked to me last night. He was torn up. He has regrets. He feels like shit. He seems to just need to apologize in person, and if you don’t want him, he’ll accept it.”
“He doesn’t want to apologize. He wants to make me another conquest.”
“All I can tell you is my take, and I don’t see it that way. But moving on. I’ll see you inside.” He steps away from me, and there is a ceremony announcement. The crowd immediately starts moving, and I end up in the crunch of bodies, a sardine in a can, as we slowly ease toward the door. Impatient, I slip my purse across my chest, then try to find a hole to break free.
More aggressive actions work, and I push through the bustle of people with a good amount of speed. The bodies bottleneck near the door, though, and I’m stuck, unable to proceed. That’s when a hand comes down on my arm, and suddenly I’m folded into Nick’s arms. “Hey there, sweetheart.”
I smile with the realization we’re just inside the ceremony room, against the wall and out of the rush. “You saved me again.”
“I’ll always save you, but I think you know that by now.”
“I had a Macom encounter.”
“And?”
“I ran into him, literally. He took that opportunity to corner me. Josh intervened, and Macom backed off. But I don’t think me avoiding him is going to work. I need to just handle him, once and for all.”
“How?”
“I need to get through this ceremony and then figure it out. Let’s sit at the back so we can escape when it’s over.”
“You sure you want to do that?”
“Oh yes. I’ve met everyone and anyone, and that’s an entirely different story.”
There’s another announcement. “Please take your seats now,” someone says over the intercom.
Nick drapes his arm around my shoulder, and we quickly scan the rows of seats facing the stage before locating and claiming back-row seats. Not more than a minute later, one of the event founders that I’d met earlier steps to center stage and begins to speak without wasting time on fluff. She gets right to the point of the event: the artists. A big screen is lowered, and it starts rotating with images of this year’s artistic participants, as well as the top three picks for each that were on display tonight. The name “Winter” places me at the end of that lineup, and when they read out An Eye for an Eye, I cringe with the certainty that it will garner Macom’s attention. Nick knows, too. His fingers flex on my leg where his hand rests. But soon, the moment is muted as the speaker launches into an anecdote about the first event held by the organization fifteen years ago.