“Because in your mind you know your top three picks,” he says, as we reach the doorway, “and you’re about to find out, if the judges agree.” He halts us and turns me to face him. “Name your top three.”
“You. An Eye for An Eye. An older piece I called Sonoma Sky. What do you think?”
“My picks as well.”
“Do you know Sonoma Sky?”
“I studied, and admired it when we packaged it up. Let’s go look.” He starts to turn and I catch his arm.
“I want you to be there.”
“Why, Faith?”
“Because that painting was the first one I painted for me in a very long time. And you’re the first thing I’ve done for me in a very long time.”
He reaches up and drags his knuckles down my cheek. “I’ll show you how much that means to me later,alone.”He motions to the door. “Let’s go look.”
I nod and we enter the room, people milling about displays, and of course, Macom’s is the centerpiece. And maybe it’s my nerves, but heads turn as we walk the crowd, seeming to land on Nick and then me. Which is quite possible since my heart is racing so fast that I can barely breathe. Finally, we reach my display and I step inside to find exactly what I’d hoped for: Nick, An Eye for an Eye, and Sonoma Sky. Nick’s hand settles at my back. “How do you feel?”
I glance up at him. “Validated.”
“Good. You need that. You lack confidence you need to find. I should buy the one of me.”
“If you buy it, then it looks like I can’t sell it. I’m still inspired. I’ll be painting you again.”
“Is that right?” he asks, heat in his eyes.
“Oh yes. And I’ll know every piece of your story, before you tell me your story.”
Something flickers in his expression that I can’t name, there and then gone, but before I can ask him about it, Josh suddenly appears, standing beside us, and cursing under his breath. “Holy hell. Who painted these?”
I face him. “You hate them.”
“I fucking love them. They aren’t you.”
“They are me. The real me.”
“Interesting.” He glances over my head at Nick and then back to me. “Come. Let’s go meet important people. Alone.”
I turn to Nick and his hand settles at my hip. “I’m fine, sweetheart. This is about you, not me.”
“I know, but—”
“Go. Meet people.”
“What are you doing to do?”
“Drink insanely expensive whiskey, watch people, and find us a spot in the ceremony room.”
Josh steps to my side. “Time is ticking.”
I push to my toes and kiss Nick. He cups my head and kisses me again, this time with a sexy slide of tongue. We share a smile and I join Josh, who looks more than a little irritated, but any thought that he might voice that irritation is quickly sidetracked. Almost instantly, within a few steps, we’re intercepted by one of the show’s sponsors who wants me to meet another sponsor out on the party floor. It snowballs from there, though not many of the meetings feel important. I search for Nick, and occasionally find him in the crowd, sharing a small smile with him.
This continues for a full hour before Josh points at a small standing table that is now free. “Let’s talk,” he says, as we claim our spots across from each other, his fingers thrumming on the wooden table. “I hate to do this here, but it’s important, since the rest of the weekend will be open to the public. And it’s clearly a challenge to get you away from Nick ‘fucking’ Rogers.”
“Nick ‘fucking’ Rogers is supportive of me and you. He rented the bungalow in the hotel with the thought that you could invite clients for a private party this weekend.”
He ignores the offer. “You paintedhim.”