Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Check me, sweetheart,” Nick says. “Just make sure it hurts.”
“On that note,” Sara says. “I’ll leave. Text me pictures from the show. And I’m talking to both of you.”
She darts past Nick, and she’s barely left the office before he’s crossed the room to stand next to me, facing my wall. “The gardens,” he says, studying my work before looking at me. “You painted your mother’s gardens, and you did it in color.”
“It felt like a way to make peace with the past.”
“Did it work?”
“It helped,” I say. “And I think it opened me up to variations of color in my art.”
“With good reason,” he says. “The details alone are exceptional, but the way you used color to create that detail is astounding.”
“Thank you, Nick. You are always so supportive.”
“Sweetheart, this isn’t me being supportive. That sounds like you have a hobby, not a career I admire.” He snags my fingers and pulls me to him. “We’re going to have an amazing weekend, starting with tonight’s welcome party.” He kisses me. “Correction. Starting with this penthouse we’re about to look at.” He glances at his watch. “We better get moving. It’s noon now. I want to be in the air by three thirty, so you have plenty of time to relax and dress for tonight. I’m parked out front.”
“High places make me nervous,” I say as we walk through the gallery toward the front door.
“Since when do high places make you nervous?”
“Since I considered living in the penthouse of a high-rise.”
“If you don’t like it,” he says, opening the door and holding it for me, “we’ll keep looking, but I saw pictures. I think you’re going to love it.” He motions to the Audi sitting a few spaces down at the curb. We hurry in that direction, and right as I’ve settled into my seat and Nick’s shut me inside, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s one of the many random photos of my parents my uncle has been sending me the past two weeks.
“Why are you scowling?” Nick asks when he joins me.
“Bill sent me another photo.”
“And?”
“They’re about thirty years old and standing in front of a ‘Welcome to Las Vegas’ sign, both laughing.” I show him the photo. “His caption: They were happy. I know there are a lot of things you feel and think about them, but I really think once we chat, you may change your mind.”
Nick studies it for several beats and looks at me. “How do you feel about what he said?”
“Part of me really craves whatever information he has to give me.”
“I assumed you would, but you started down this path to hold him at bay while Beck did his thing. And since nothing else has gone wrong, we can speculate that if he’s our enemy, your plan is working. The timing of that particular photo and message, considering you told him you’d meet him after this show, is suspect.”
“It does seem rather curious.”
“In other words,” he says, “you’re playing him, sweetheart.” He starts the car. “Make sure he doesn’t start playing you.”
“What do you think about the Vegas photo?” I ask as he pulls us onto the road.
“I think he’s going to tell you she had a gambling problem. And I’ll be interested in where that goes, considering he supposedly didn’t talk to her or your father for almost a decade.”
“And Beck has nothing for us?”
“Beck makes me want to return to my childhood and play pin the tail on the donkey again with him as the damn ass. He’s dry. And I pay him way too fucking well for him to be dry.”
“Could it just be over, Nick? I mean, maybe it really was just the bank trying to take advantage of me?”
“It could be.”
“But you don’t think so,” I say, reading into his tone. “If Bill was up to something, you’d think Beck would find something on him.”
He turns the corner. “I hate that he sent you that picture tonight of all nights, and got your brain wrapping around this again. Set it aside.” He pulls us into the parking lot of a shiny glass high-rise. “We’re here, and only a few blocks from your job, because we both know you’re going to take that job at Allure.”
I smile. “Yes. I am.”
He stops at the front of the building, and two valets are instantly at our sides. A few seconds later, he palms both of the men money and joins me at the sliding glass doors. “The key,” he says, holding it up. “I told the realtor we didn’t have time for conversation.”
We enter the lobby, a beautiful pale gray wood covering the floors, with gray furnishings and thick cream-and-gray curtains on the walls. The elevator is all glass, and as it starts to move, I face Nick. “What do people do if they forget stuff in the car in one of these buildings?”