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“And what happened?” Faith asks.
“He left the agency,” I say. “We won.”
“And we lost,” Josh says, flicking a look between Faith and myself. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“It’s business,” I say. “Like Faith is to you.” There’s a message in those words. I know he wants to fuck her, or he wouldn’t have had his hands all over her when they entered the gallery tonight.
Josh narrows his eyes on me. “Business I take seriously,” he says, an obvious warning in those words that he’d have been better off not delivering. He’ll discover that soon, but now, now he dares to give me a two-second stare before cutting his gaze to Faith. “Let’s mingle.”
“Yes, of course,” she says, looking at me, her body angled in my direction, a silent question in that action. I take her hand and draw it to my mouth. “I’ll be close,” I promise, kissing her knuckles, and I don’t miss the tiny tremble of her hand in mine.
She nods, and I release her, and the way she hesitates in her departure tells me that I’ve taken her “no” to a “yes” and done so faster and easier than expected. But then, there is a reality here neither of us can deny: we really are red-hot together. She departs, and Josh latches onto her arm, touching her yet again, but she never touches him. She doesn’t seem to know that he not only wants to fuck her but perhaps is even in love with her, which, considering how intelligent she is, amazes me. But then, women who don’t return a man’s feelings often don’t see what is there to be seen. I, however, have made my intentions clear. Her naked. Me naked. Lots of sweaty, hot, dirty fucking.
I watch her chatting with one guest and then another, remembering my conversation with the star artist of the night, who I’d met while representing a mutual friend.
“Chris Merit, artist and superstar,” I’d said. “I need tickets to the event at Le Sun Gallery tonight.”
“I didn’t know you were into art.”
“I have a Chris Merit on my wall.”
“Really? You never said a word. But, hey,man. I’m always honored to hear someone chose my work over someone else’s.”
“You’re humble as fuck, man.”
“You sure as fuck are not.”
I laugh, and so does he, but he’s not laughing when I add, “How about a ticket in exchange for a fifty-thousand-dollar donation to your charity?”
He whistles. “I’ll give you the tickets, man.”
“Happy to donate. It’s not a problem or I wouldn’t have offered.”
“All right, then. That’s generous as hell. I’ll call my godmother and arrange a ticket. Or do you need two?”
“Just one.”
“Got it. It’s business, then.”
“I wouldn’t call her business. What do you know about Faith Winter?”
“Not much personally, but my wife and I are the reason she’s in that display. I saw her work in L.A. and had a flashback to her visiting me at Le Sun a good several times a decade ago and with big dreams in her eyes. She’s talented, and it’s clear from looking at her work that she took some inspiration from mine, which I find flattering. She executed her work not only well but with her own style.”
“Most people wouldn’t like that inspiration.”
“Most people are insecure.” He’d laughed then. “Funny side note about Faith. She’d felt like she was betraying her family by visiting me at Katie and Mike’s vineyard. I told her that Katie and Mike not only knew her father well, they knew that I don’t give a damn about wine. She told me she didn’t, either.”
“She didn’t what?” I’d asked.
“She didn’t give a damn about wine,and yet I hear she’s now running her family vineyard, and that, my friend, could be where her dream dies, if she lets it. My wife reminded me how easily that could have happened to me when I inherited my mother’s cosmetic business.”
“Thus you made sure Faith was on the ticket tonight.”
“Exactly.”
“Does she know that?”
“No, and keep it that way. I offered her an opportunity. It’s up to her to decide what to do with it.”
