Shameless

by Lisa Renee Jones

  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 that 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 mid-morning, 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 my 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, I 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. “FWinter@gmail.com. Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing the photos.”

  “Of course. Shoot me back an email and let me know what you think of them.”

  “I will. Goodbye.” I end the call knowing the twig I’ve given him is enough to buy some time for Nick and Beck to figure out what’s really going on. Assuming of course that my enemy is my uncle.

  It might not be him. In which case, I’ve bought no time at all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Faith

  Two weeks later…

  “Good luck tonight and tomorrow.”

  I look up from my desk to find Sara in the doorway. “Thank you. I was nervous two weeks ago when I shipped my work and then I just put it aside. I didn’t think about it. But right now, my stomach is at my feet, and I think it’s pretty clear that I saved all the nerves for now.”

  “Nerves are good,” she says, walking to my visitor’s chair and perching on the arm. “They mean you’re experiencing life, not just going through the motions. And I went through the motions for too many years myself. I wish I could be there for you. Chris and I both wish we could be there, but it’s just too close to the grand opening here. When are you leaving?”

  “Now, actually,” I say, standing up, still in jeans, boots, and a royal blue silk blouse, that I will trade in for something fancier tonight in L.A for the Forum launch party. “Nick had a meeting this morning or I wouldn’t have come in at all. He’s picking me up in a few and we’re actually looking at a house on the way to the airport that the realtor swears we have to see and could lose if we wait.”

  “Oh really? Where is it?”

  “It’s a penthouse in some new high rise, which I wasn’t keen on being in a building, but the views are supposed to be stunning. Nick really wants to look.”

  “We’re in a high rise and it’s pretty lovely to have the service and security as well as the views. We love it.” She motions to the wall behind me. “It’s beautiful, Faith.”

  “Thank you. I’m so happy you like it.”

  “Our opening day guests are going to love it, too. We’re going to allow only those who attend opening night to visit your room and Chris’s. And we’ll display a collection of your art on the walls here as well as in your display area. If you think you can spare a few more pieces? I know it’s short notice, but—”

  “Yes. Yes of course, I can. Thank you. So much, Sara.”

  “Thank you, Faith, for all you’ve done. And I know it’s a pipe dream, but I’d love for you to take the job I offered you and stay here full time. And since I really just threw it at you without explanation, let me share a little backstory. When Mark owned this place, it was a normal, public gallery. We had full time hours and full time staff. He was going to close it. He shuttered it for a while but was going to re-open it with us.”

  “Shuttered because it wasn’t making a profit?”

  “No. Aside from Rebecca’s situation, which affected Mark deeply, his family owns the Riptide Auction house in New York. He took over the management of that operation sooner than he’d expected. Chris and I didn’t want to take this place on as a full time job so we paid the staff big bonuses and considered closing it down.”

  “What changed?”

  “We started talking and got excited in a new way. We’re going to develop new talent and do so mostly with special events, with a healthy portion of the profits going to charity. And because I still travel with Chris, we need someone who understands art and can become passionate with us, while also running the place in my absence. My point here is that if the money is an issue—”

  “Yes. Yes, I want to stay, this sounds wonderful and the charity focus is inspiring. I’m really not worried about the money.”

  “Holy fuck,” Nick says, stepping into the doorway, looking delicious in a navy suit that matches his eyes almost perfectly. “What am I going to do with you, woman? Of course, you care about the money.”

  Sara laughs and stands up, placing us both in profile. “Should I negotiate the salary with you?”

  “No,” I say. “Nick does not get to negotiate my salary.” I look at him. “You do not get to negotiate my salary.”

  “Technically you’re my client and—”

  “Stop while you’re ahead, Tiger,” I warn, “because you won’t like the hotel sofa.”

  His lips curve ever so slightly but he manages a stern look at Sara. “Do right by her.”

  “Yes sir, Tiger,” she laughs, and then glances at me. “We shouldn’t let our two men spend too much time together without some rules. Their shared tendencies to control everything around them will have them feeding off each other, and we’ll be forced to check them.”

  “Check me, sweetheart,” Nick says. “Just make sure it hurts.”

  “On that note,” Sara says. “I’ll leave. Text me pictures from the show. An
d I’m talking to both of you.”

  She darts past Nick and she’s barely left the office when he’s crossed the room to stand next to me, but facing my wall. “The gardens,” he says, studying my work before looking at me. “You painted your mother’s gardens and you did it in color.”

  “It felt like a way to make peace with the past.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It helped,” I say. “And I think it opened me up to variations of color in my art.”

  “With good reason,” he says. “The details alone are exceptional but the way you used color to create that detail is astounding.”

  “Thank you, Nick. You are always so supportive.”

  “Sweetheart, this isn’t me being supportive. That sounds like you have a hobby, not a career I admire.” He snags my fingers and pulls me to him. “We’re going to have an amazing weekend, starting with tonight’s welcome party.” He kisses me. “Correction. Starting with this penthouse we’re about to look at.” He glances at his watch. “We better get moving. It’s noon now. I want to be in the air by three thirty, so you have plenty of time to relax and dress for tonight. I’m parked out front.”

  “High places make me nervous,” I say as we walk through the gallery toward the front door.

  “Since when do high places make you nervous?”

  “Since I considered living in the penthouse of a high rise.”

  “If you don’t like it,” he says, opening the door and holding it for me. “We’ll keep looking but I saw pictures. I think you’re going to love it.” He motions to the Audi, sitting a few spaces down at the curb. We hurry in that direction and right as I’ve settled into my seat, and Nick’s shut me inside, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s one of the many random photos of my parents my uncle has been sending me the past two weeks.

  “Why are you scowling?” Nick asks, when he joins me.

  “Bill sent me another photo.”

  “And?”

  “They’re about thirty years old and standing in front of a Welcome to Las Vegas sign, both laughing.” I show him the photo. “His caption: They were happy. I know there are a lot of things you feel and think about them, but I really think once we chat, you may change your mind.”

  Nick studies it for several beats and looks at me. “How do you feel about what he said?”

  “Part of me really craves whatever information he has to give me.”

  “I assumed you would, but you started down this path to hold him at bay while Beck did his thing. And since nothing else has gone wrong, we can speculate that if he’s our enemy, your plan is working. The timing of that particular photo and message, considering you told him you’d meet him after this show is suspect.”

  “It does seem rather curious.”

  “In other words,” he says, “you’re playing him, sweetheart.” He starts the car. “Make sure he doesn’t start playing you.”

  “What do you think about the Vegas photo?” I ask as he pulls us onto the road.

  “I think he’s going to tell you she had a gambling problem. And I’ll be interested in where that goes, considering he supposedly didn’t talk to her or your father for almost a decade.”

  “And Beck has nothing for us?”

  “Beck makes me want to return to my childhood and play pin the tail on the donkey again where he’s the damn ass. He’s dry. And I pay him way too fucking well for him to be dry.”

  “Could it just be over, Nick? I mean, maybe it really was just the bank trying to take advantage of me?”

  “It could be.”

  “But you don’t think so,” I say reading into his tone. “If Bill was up to something you’d think Beck would find something on him.”

  He turns the corner. “I hate that he sent you that picture tonight of all nights, and got your brain wrapping around this again. Set it aside.” He pulls us into the parking lot of a shiny glass high rise. “We’re here and only a few blocks from your job, because we both know you’re going to take that job at Allure.”

  I smile. “Yes. I am.”

  He stops at the front of the building, and two valets are instantly at our sides. A few seconds later, he palms both of the men money, and joins me at the sliding glass doors. “The key,” he says, holding it up. “I told the realtor we didn’t have time for conversation.”

  We enter the lobby, a beautiful pale gray wood covering the floors, with thick cream and gray curtains on the walls, and gray furnishings. The elevator is all glass and as it starts to move, I face Nick. “What do people do if they forget stuff in the car in one of these buildings?”

  “The staff will get it for you, or you get it yourself.”

  “The staff will do that?”

  “It’s a full-service building and if you tip enough, the staff will know you and be happy to help.”

  “That sounds expensive.”

  “Most people living in the penthouse aren’t worried about money.”

  The elevator dings, and we exit, turning left to be greeted by two massive arched wooden doors. Nick opens the doors and I enter, finding myself skipping quickly past the dark wooden floors and balcony to the curved room, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the ocean everywhere I look. “The ceilings are eighteen feet high,” Nick says, shutting us inside. “And there’s electronic shading for the windows.”

  “It’s incredible.” I look over at him as he steps to my side. “What do you think?”

  “The same. Incredible.”

  “Do I even want to know how much?”

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Fifteen million.” I gasp and he snags my hand, walking me to him. “It’s just a number.”

  “A huge number.”

  “Forget the number,” he says. “We’ve been instructed to go upstairs for your possible studio but let’s walk the rest of the place first.”

  “Nick, that price—”

  He cups my face and kisses me. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you in your office. You do know the place we have now is almost as expensive, right? And that I’ll sell it?”

  “Yes but-”

  “Money doesn’t matter,” Faith.. A place we love does.” He strokes my hair. “Okay?”

  “I can’t say okay.”

  “I will then. I’ve worked my ass off to be in a position to pick a home with the woman I love, and not worry about how much it costs.” He kisses my forehead and then joins our hands again. “Let’s explore.”

  A few minutes later, we’ve seen five bedrooms, a den, an indoor pool, and an incredible kitchen with a white marbled island with black finished cabinets. And finally, an outdoor space that stretches far and wide, with ivy covered walls and brick steps. We finally head upstairs and I step into a room with arched stained-glass windows at each end, and the same floor-to-ceiling windows lining the entire front wall. And above me is a skylight, a view certain to be moon and stars at night.

  Nick steps behind me, his hand on my belly, lips at my ear. “What do you think?” he asks. “Could this be your studio?”

  “Oh yes. I love this place. I love it so much. There’s inspiration everywhere. The sky and the ocean.”

  “And an office already built in. I can work while you paint.”

  I rotate to look at him. “Have I told you that I can’t paint when I’m being watched?”

  “I watch you all the time.”

  “You’re the only one that I can let watch me, Nick.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re you. It’s the only answer I have.”

  “Do you want to live here with me, Faith?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I do, but the impact of this is hitting me. This is big. Buying a new place to be with me is big. Are you—”

  “In love with you? Yes. Obsessed with you? Yes. I am. Shamelessly.”

  “Obsession is—”

  “Dangerous. Yeah. I know. Sign me up for more.” He kisses me. “Let’s go d
rink champagne on the plane and celebrate our new home and your show.”

  “We don’t have a new home yet, and I’m feeling really nervous about my show. Let’s celebrate after it’s done.”

  “You’re going to shine sweetheart. And we’ll have a home by the time we get to the airport. I’m pulling this place off the market.”

  He drapes his arm around my shoulder, and we start walking, but I twist around to look at the space one more time. “I really love it.”

  His hand settles at my back. “We could get that cat you’ve wanted.”

  I turn to face him. “Do you like cats?”

  “I had a cat growing up.”

  I blanch, surprised at this news. “Really? What was his name?”

  “Asshole most of the time. Jerry the rest of the time. He hated my father. I loved him.”

  I laugh but sober quickly with a thought that seems important, considering the steps we’re taking. “Do you want kids, Nick?”

  His eyes meet mine, sharp, dark edges in his. “Kids break,” he says. “Parents break them. I decided a long time ago I wasn’t going to break any of my own.”

  Relief washes over me. “You know my family history. I feel the same.”

  He strokes a lock of hair behind my ear, those blue eyes of his softening, warming. “Possibilities, sweetheart. We’ll start with a cat. We’ll see where it, and life, lead us.”

  Thirty minutes later, we’re in the lounge area of the plane, champagne-filled flutes in our hands, when the realtor finally calls Nick back. I listen as Nick negotiates, his hand on my leg, touching me—he’s always touching me, as if he is truly obsessed. And I like it.

  Five minutes later, he ends the connection and leans over to kiss me. “I made sure it’s ours. We just need to line up a remodeling expert and decide what we want to do with it before we move in.”

  “How long will that take, do you think?”

  “If I push them, I’d say we can be in the place in eight weeks.”

  My cellphone rings, and I grab it from the table built into the floor in front of us, glancing at the caller ID. “Josh,” I greet, answering the line.