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“How,” I challenge, “can you possibly back up that thought process when you just implied that I want his money?”
“He did what?” Nick demands. “What the fuck, Abel?”
“I didn’t imply you want his money,” Abel bites out, ignoring Nick. “I was reading you, just like I do anyone who wants my representation.”
“Except I didn’t want your representation,” I counter. “And I don’t appreciate being read like a criminal using Nick for his money.”
“And if I believed that now,” Abel says, “I would have talked some sense into Nick and declined to offer you representation.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say, my temper flaring, my tone controlled but biting. “A few minutes ago I was a low-down dirty user, and now I’m worthy of your services?” I don’t give either man time to say anything else. “That’s it. I need out of here.” I slide off my barstool, but Nick catches my arms.
“This is not the time to hold on to me, Nick,” I warn, my gaze rocketing to his, the charge between us ever present, but this time the heat between us is my anger.
“This is exactly the time to hold on to you,” he argues. “It’s Sunday. We need these contracts signed by tomorrow morning.”
My gaze rockets to his. “Then you give them to me.”
“Abel’s involvement not only protects you, it lawyers us up even further with the bank.”
“You said my actions were enviable,” Abel points out. “And I’m as good an attorney as I am a friend.”
Angry all over again, I pull away from Nick and turn back to Abel. “Itwasenviable,” I say. “But so is honesty, and your behavior with me was not honest.”
“You’re right,” Abel surprises me by admitting. “And first and foremost you need to know that my actions were mine and mine alone.” He eyes Nick, who is now standing beside me. “Nick did not know what I was doing.” He looks between us now. “But that said, I won’t apologize to either of you. Considering our timeline, I had to make a decision on where I stood in my involvement now, not later. And I’m all in.” He refocuses on me. “And that’s the case for you as well, Faith, which is why I’ve prepared some guarantees for you.”
He reaches in his briefcase, pulls out a folder, and sets one sheet of paper on top of the representation letter, then creates two more stacks. “Start here,” he says, indicating his offer letter. “I contacted your estate attorney, and without disclosing details, aside from my intent to aid Nick in your protection, I asked him to endorse the protection my agreement offers you. He not only read my representation offer, he scanned it back to me with a handwritten note to you that stamps it with his approval.” He shuffles the papers and shows me the note, which reads:Faith—this agreement ensures Abel’s legal obligation to protect your interests and privacy. It’s a sound document.
“Sign the agreement,” Abel says, “and I’m now loyal to you first and Nick second.”
“Questions?” Nick asks, his hands settling back on my leg.
“Not about this,” I say, my hand waving over the rest of the paperwork. “What is the rest of this?”
Abel indicates the second stack of documents, which is actually not a stack but one form. “Before I explain what this is,” he says, “let me explain why it’s important to you. When someone gives you a lump sum of money for a business interest, they could later claim it was with the promise of something in exchange.”
“Even without a signed document?”
“Yes,” Nick states. “Because a verbal agreement is binding, and it would be my word against yours, and I have the money to fight you on it.”
“But that can’t happen with this document in place,” Abel interjects, “as it clearly states that the money he’s given you is a gift, and it cannot be treated as leverage against you for any monetary gain. In other words, he can’t claim it was a down payment on the winery, meant to kick in after you inherit. Additionally, the legal verbiage assures that this contract supersedes all others.”
“Meaning,” Nick says, “that nothing can be signed after the fact that voids its content.”
“An important factor, since this final document,” Abel says, indicating the last stack of papers, “requires one hell of a thought of trust. This is the dummy document that will be shown to the bank and in court, which gives Nick half ownership of the winery once you inherit.”
This isn’t news to me. Nick warned me this was coming, despite not warning me about Abel. I trust Nick. So why, right now, in this moment, are there warning bells going off in my head? Maybe it’s Abel. I don’t know him. Nick sideswiped me with his involvement. That has to be it, but as Nick’s hand comes down on my shoulder and he softly says my name, I still find myself back at the art show where Nick and I had first connected, replaying a conversation about secrets that I’d had with him there.
“People have secrets, Faith,” Nick says. “It’s part of being human.”
“My mother sure did,” I reply.
His hands find my waist, turning me to face him, intensity radiating off him. “What kind of secrets, Faith?”
“Her kind of secrets,” I reply, not sure why he is suddenly so very intense. “Like you have secrets,” I add, using his nickname: “Tiger.”
“My enemies call me Tiger. You call me Nick.”
“Why do I keep feeling like you’re the enemy?”
