“Good. But I do think that, if I’m honest with you, I’m not without hesitation. I keep thinking that you will break me or me you.”
“We’ve already determined that we’re both broken. But we’re better together than we are apart.”
“Anything too good to be true, is too good to be true.”
“Sometimes it’s just good, sweetheart.”
“But you’re not a good guy, Nick, remember?”
“I’m not good,” he says, “but I’m a hell-of-a lot better with you than without you.”
“Then you need to confess your sins, Nick.”
He goes completely, utterly still. “What sins, Faith?”
“The ones you haven’t told me. The ones you don’t want to tell me. Trust me that much. Because it’s not about what you haven’t told me that feeds distrust. It’s about your unwillingness to tell me.”
He snags my hips and pulls me to him. “When I’m ready, remember?”
“Yes. Agreed. But I’m already exposed and on the line with you, more so than ever by moving to the city with you. So, when do you think you’ll be ready?”
“When I’ve made it impossible for you to live without me.”
“Because you think I’ll want to leave when you expose yourself?”
“Yes,” he says, solemnly. “I do. But you need to know that I’ll fight for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nick
Tonight, I tell Faith about the club.
After a hell of a good weekend with Faith, I arrive to work early Monday with that vow in my mind, and a sense of relief. Not only will she know that I owned the club, she’ll know that I sold it, and that she was far more important to me than it ever was.
By eight, I’ve already drafted Kasey’s documents, contacted Faith, and sent them to her to review. Rita shows up about the time I’ve hit send, dressed in a red dress, with the red headed attitude. “Oh look,” she says, waving her hands over her voluptuous figure. “We match. Your tie and my dress. Aren’t we adorable?”
I give her a deadpan look. “Sometimes I think you forget it’s me you work for.”
“Sometimes, I think you forget it’s me that works for you. And moving on. Landmark properties. It comes with regulations on property improvement, but the potential to create a tax-exempt organization.”
“Yeah. No. That would be tricky and potentially illegal.”
“Everyone doesn’t care as you know.” She sets a document on my desk. “That is the detailed breakdown, but from what I can tell, it might push up revenues, but not much. And I still cannot find any documentation that indicates a development, highway or otherwise, that would affect Reid Winter Winery. As for oil or minerals, there’s certainly been gold and various other findings in the state, but nothing specifically in Sonoma or on that property. At least, not that is properly documented.”
The same answers Beck gave me yesterday, but I’m still not satisfied. North walks into my office, still just as Clark Kent, super geeky, but extra damn skinny. “Did you almost die or what?”
“Yes,” he says, shoving his thick glasses up his nose. “I did.”
“You’re fine now?”
“Yes.”
I eye Rita. “Have him do everything you already did on Reid Winter Winery. See if he finds anything else.”
“Typical Nick Rogers,” she says, not even the slightest bit offended. She sets a stack of documents on my desk and spreads them out. “Sign. Sign. Review. Review. Sign. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” She heads for the door and motions to North. “Follow.”
They exit my office and my cellphone rings and a glance tells me it’s Beck. “Tell me something I fucking want to hear for once,” I say.