Pay back Nick a chunk of the money he paid the bank, I think, but that’s none of his business, so I settle on a generic, “Pay bills,” I reply.
“Huh. A new car or even shoes would be a sexy celebration. Bills. Not so sexy.”
“Sexy has never been on the top of my priority list,” I say. “And paying bills is much sexier than not paying bills.”
“That’s true,” he says. “And I’m sure Nick will help you celebrate anyway.”
“He did that by being with me at the gallery last night.”
He arches. “And gave you a gift, I assume? The man is rolling in money, which I’m sure you know.”
A fizzle of unease slides through me. “I know he has money.”
“A lot of money,” Abel pushes. “You know that, right?”
“He told me,” I say, my discomfort growing exponentially, as does my regret over the whiskey that still has me feeling less than sharp.
“Did he?” Abel asks, in what feels like feigned surprise. “Huh. He usually doesn’t share details because, you know, everyone wants something from him.” He stares me down, all signs of humor gone now, his green eyes cold, hard, as he adds, “Do you?”
CHAPTER NINE
Faith
I blanch at Abel’s question, and obvious accusation, but recover quickly. “That’s direct,” I say, realizing what should have been obvious. He’s sizing me up, looking for the vulture in a butterfly’s clothing.
“Do you have a problem with direct?”
“Actually, I prefer it,” I say. “Namely because I dislike secrets. So, to answer your question: Yes. I wantmanythings from Nick, but none of those things include his money.” I think of my fake friends back in L.A. that turned out to be all about Macom and his fame, which spurs me to add, “And for the record, I find the idea of a friend who wants to protect him, enviable.”
Surprise flickers in his eyes and when I believe he’s about to reply, Nick reappears. “What’s enviable?” he asks, claiming the stool next to me again.
“My hot body,” Abel says, holding out his hands to his sides. “Which is why I stay single. I need to spread the wealth.” The doorbell rings and he is on his feet in an instant. “I’ll get that,” he announces, already walking toward the door.
“He’s a piece of work,” Nick says, and we face each other as he adds, “But I’m sure you figured that out.”
“I did,” I say. “But I think I might like him.”
“Think?”
“I’ll decide after I have more food than whiskey in me,” I reply, appreciating Abel’s loyalty to Nick, but not necessarily his approach in showing it. “Do you two work together?” I ask.
“No,” he says, “but we run cases by each other with surprisingly good results, considering our fields of expertise.”
“You trust him,” I observe.
“I call no one a friend that I can’t trust.”
A comment that brings my little chat with Abel full circle. “Because everyone must want something from you.”
His hand settles on my leg. “Where did that just come from, Faith?”
“The number that represents your bank account,” I say. “It’s rather sobering, quite literally.”
“Most people would find it intriguing.”
“I’m not most people, Nick.”
“Of that,” he says. “I would agree.”