“The entire town is going to be talking about us now,” Faith announces, drawing my attention back to her.
“Hopefully they mention my shirt.”
She laughs. “I’m sure they will. You can’t hiccup and not have it be part of the story.”
“But you want to live here?”
“If I gave you that impression, it’s wrong. I love my house, because it was an escape, and my home outside of the winery. But I went to school in L.A. and stayed in L.A. for a reason, beyond my aspirations in art. I never wanted to live here.”
“And you do want to live in San Francisco?”
“I do,” she says. “You’re there.”
“But do you like it? Because if you don’t—”
“I do,” she repeats. “Ireallylove it there, and I always have. The art. The food. The way it’s a small city but you can still get lost in a crowd. The views. The art.”
“Always the art. San Fran is a great hub for your craft. Why L.A.?”
“L.A. had wider opportunities for school, work, and a connection to agents and industry professionals.”
Our plates arrive and once we’ve tasted our food, and I’ve given the burger the thumbs up Faith is looking for and that it deserves, I focus on what she’s just told me. “You don’t want to be here. That means we need to make sure the winery is self-reliant.”
“I feel like I should offer Kasey stock.”
“I suggest you start with a large bonus plan. Make sure he really does handle things when you, or your father, aren’t looking over his shoulder.”
“I’m sure he will. Of course, he will. But what kind of bonus?”
“I have several plans I’ve helped clients set up over the years in my briefcase. You can look them over, but I’d suggest feeling him out tonight. We can send him whatever you decide on Monday. But, that said, I would like him to work with Rita on the accounts payable and have our CFO audit the books once a month.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I’ve seen people get screwed, Faith. And it’s always by people they trust. Additionally, you need someone to play your role.”
“That’ll be expensive.”
“The right person will grow revenues and more than pay for themselves. And since you don’t want to sell and you don’t want to work at the winery, the idea is to make it an investment. It pays you profit monthly. And when your art starts generating million-dollar payouts, you spend more money on the winery, and end up with tax write-offs.”
“I’d love to have that problem,” she says, despite the fact that her inability to see her own success and skill is a product of a past she hasn’t quite escaped.
But she will.
“Eighty thousand in a week,” I remind her. “Success isn’t an option. And I get to call you my crazy talented woman.”
“And I get to call you my arrogant bastard?”
I laugh. “I told you. Anything but Mr. Rogers. And you forgot that when you were drinking.”
“I didn’t forget. I saw opportunity.”
I laugh and our waitress chooses that moment to re-appear and present us with the check, and damn, I want her to go away. Or maybe I just want to take Faith away from this place, and this intrusive little town. I reach for the ticket, and as I hand the waitress my card, I have that same sense of being watched all over again.
We stand up to leave and my gaze travels toward the sensation, and the man in the corner, sitting at a table, flirting with our waitress, when he’d started out flirting with the hostess. Faith and I start walking and my eyes catch on the tat on his hand: A flag, like the money clip. It’s a long shot, but it could be a connection, and I don’t let long shots go just because they’re hard. I pause and turn back to the table, looking for something I haven’t lost. Faith turns to help me, and my hand settles on Faith’s shoulder, lips near her ear. “Be discreet,” I murmur, and trying not to scare her, I say, “the guy talking to our waitress is familiar, but I can’t place him. Glance over as we exit.”
She nods, and we start walking, passing through the restaurant and stepping outside. “I’ve never seen him,” she says. “He must be a tourist. Maybe from San Francisco?”
“Maybe,” I say, opening her door for her, and pulling out my phone.