“Good. You need to be aware of his intentions.”
My brow furrows. “You’re in a mood. Should we talk about Macom before we get there?”
“Haven’t we talked the shit out of Macom as it is?” he asks.
“Yes. And you made reference to—”
“Wanting to beat the shit out of him?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “I do, but I’m really good at fantasizing. Like right now, I’m thinking about you naked, straddling me at about thirty thousand feet, but despite how fucking hard I am just thinking about that, I’ll most likely refrain from making it happen until the ride home. And likewise, I’ll most likely refrain with Macom.”
“Nick—”
“Faith. Are we doing this again?”
My cellphone buzzes with a text this time. I glance at it in my hand to find Bill has messaged me. I read it to Nick. “From Bill:Just making sure you got the picture and my message?He’s giving me an uneasy feeling tonight. Maybe I’m just nervous that my paintings will be mocked or the man I love will punch the man I never loved, but he is. What should I say?”
“Fuck you, you lying, cheating, lowdown bastard.” He downs his champagne. “Another fantasy. Stick to reality. Keep playing him, sweetheart. Soft and sweet. It’s your magic and I love the fuck out it.”
I inhale and think a moment before I type:Yes sorry. That topic is emotional and I have my big show this weekend that I’m nervous over.I show it to Nick.
“Magic,” he says. “He’ll eat that up.”
My phone buzzes again with a new message I read to Nick again. “His reply:Yes honey. Sorry. I didn’t even think about this upsetting you. Go. Make your mark. Make the Winter family proud and I promise you, your father would have been proud.
He’s hit a nerve, and my stomach knots with the very thought of my father’s thoughts on my art. But there is more. Something nagging in the back of my mind that I just can’t put a finger on.
“You played the player,” Nick says. “Now come play me.” He cups my neck and pulls my mouth near his mouth. “Forget Bill, Josh, and Macom. They’re making you nervous. Think of me. Think of us.” His kisses me, and he makes me forget, but the minute his lips part mine, that nagging feeling returns.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Faith
We arrive at the L.A. hotel where the art show is being hosted with just enough time to shower and change. The doorman leads us into the fancy suite, that is of course, glamorous; my first view is of a large outdoor area framing a living area, with a connected dining room and a grand piano. Hallways lead to additional rooms and to my left and right are fancy, winding stairwells.
The bellman delivers our bags to the master suite, which is apparently down the right hallway. The minute he disappears into the room, I turn to Nick and softly say, “This is not a hotel room. It’s the size of a house.”
“You never know when you might want to invite a few gallery owners over or whoever else might help your career,” he says, snagging my hips and walking me to him. “And I think you should consider doing just that before we leave.”
“That’s an incredible idea, but I will be too nervous to do that this time.”
“Well keep your possibilities open,” he urges. “Bring it up with Josh. See what he thinks.”
I soften with those words. “You hate Josh, but you really are willing to support him as my agent, aren’t you?”
“As long as he keeps his hands to himself,” he says, the light catching on a hard glint in his blue eyes.
The doorman reappears and Nick tips him. I follow the path I now believe to lead to the bedroom, finding it is indeed at the end of the hallway. It has thick gray curtains, a cream colored fluffy rug, a bed so high I need a step stool, and a sitting area. Our bags are nowhere in sight and I walk to the bathroom to seek them out. It is, of course, as luxurious as the rest of the suite, with an egg-shaped tub, shiny white and gray tiles and a massive tile-encased shower.
My hunt for the bags leads me to the walk-in closet, where they sit on suitcase stands, but there is more. There is a collection of dresses, still with the tags on them. Six dresses. My heart starts to race, confusing emotions rushing through me. Nick’s footsteps sound and I turn to face him. He appears in the doorway, bigger than life, I swear, and so good looking, so damn dominant in every situation. “You’re very overwhelming,” I blurt. “Everything you do is big, bold, and extravagant.”
“Agreed.”
I smile. “That’s it? You agree?”
“Yes. Do you like the dresses?”
“I haven’t looked at them yet.”
“Why not?”