Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“A million one,” I say loudly, lifting my paddle.
The woman scowls, and the room fills with murmurs before the auctioneer says, “Do I have a million two?”
My competition purses her pre-puckered lips and lowers her paddle, then sits. The auctioneer delivers final warnings, and it’s done. I’ve won my painting. Faith steps in front of me, gripping my lapels as she had in the bathroom. “You just bid a million dollars on one painting.”
A million one, I think, but I don’t point that out. “It’s a charitable donation,” I say instead.
Josh appears beside us and goes on the attack. “How the hell does an attorney have the money to pay that kind of bid?”
“Josh,” Faith snaps. “Stop.”
“I’ve invested well and inherited well,” I tell him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“I want to invest where you invest,” he snaps.
“I’ll give you my guy’s name,” I say drily, “but I have to warn you. I make most of my own picks.”
“Of course you do,” he says, repeating the exact words Faith had used about me knowing Chris Merit earlier. I arch a brow, and he smirks. “Bottom line. You have money to throw around, and you thought you’d use it to impress Faith.”
He’s trying to take us back to our bathroom argument, and I’d shut him down, but Faith steps in first. “Josh,” Faith chides and looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” I say. “I do want to impress you, but not with my money.” I glance at Josh. “Because what your agent here fails to understand is that smart people do not surround themselves with those chasing their money, or with any misplaced agendas.”
His eyes sharpen with hate before he spouts back with, “My agenda is to protect and support Faith.”
“I wasn’t aware we were talking about your agenda at all,” I say, making his misstep obvious.
It’s in that moment that Katie chooses to join us, smiling at us all, her greeting first directed at Josh and Faith before she focuses fully on me. “Nick Rogers,” she says, offering me her hand. “Thank you for being so very generous.”
“It’s a special painting,” I say, shaking her hand. “It caught me off guard, but in a good way. I had to have it.”
“Chris told me when he called about your ticket that you’d understand the painting in ways others would not.”
“Rebecca not only means something to me,” I say in confirmation. “But I was on the beach the night that painting depicts.”
“You knew the woman who inspired the painting?” Faith asks.
“I knew her,” I say, thinking of the many times I saw Rebecca with my client in what is now my sex club. She was his. He just didn’t know how much he wanted her to be his. But that isn’t information for Faith or anyone else. “I was involved in the investigation into her disappearance and represented someone close to her.”
Josh jumps on that. “Someone suspected of murdering her?”
“Rebecca was killed by a woman who was jealous of my client’s love for her,” I say.
“Thrown in the sea,” Katie supplies. “Chris’s wife found her journals, and ultimately she was a key to solving the crime.”
“Really?” Faith says. “That’s…incredible. How must she feel being a part of such a tragedy?”
“She feels like she knows her,” Katie says. “Chris did know Rebecca, and it guts them both that she’s gone. Though, I admit, I keep hoping she’ll show up one day, and we’ll find out she’s been on some island somewhere, living life well.”
“We all do,” I agree, “including everyone on that beach that night who didn’t know her but knew her story.”
“Indeed,” Katie agrees. “Indeed.” She inhales. “Onto brighter topics.” She turns to Faith while Josh slips away, hopefully shamed into staying away. “Faith,” Katie says, taking her hand and patting it. “You are so very talented. We’re honored to have your work here.”
“Thank you,” Faith says. “I’m honored to have it here.”
“Your father would be proud,” she says. “Reid was proud of you.”
I watch Faith’s delicate little brow furrow. “You knew my father?”
“I did,” she says. “And your mother. Our neighbors are like family. We loved hearing your father tell stories about the many Reid Winters before him. We actually used to get together with them when you were a young girl.”
I watch confusion slide over Faith’s face. “But I thought you were competitors. My mother said—”
“We were competitors? I mean, technically yes, but variety is the spice of life. It’s not us or you.”
“I’m very confused right now. My father—”
“Loved your mother very much, and we had a falling-out with your mother before you even hit your teen years. But Reid and Mike spoke quite frequently. And just so you know, my husband wanted to be here tonight, but we had a private party at the winery that got a little rowdy. Perhaps you can come by for dinner one night.” She glances at me. “With you, of course.”