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“We’re making money. I just need you to buy that time.”
“What if you have another surprise you don’t expect?” He slides the card closer. “Call him. Talk about a payment plan.”
I reach for the card and stick it in my purse. “I’ll call.” My mind goes to my newest surprise. “Do you know Nick Rogers?”
He arches a brow. “The attorney?”
“Yes. Him.”
“Why?”
“A couple of bank goons showed up last night, and he was at the winery. He stepped in and scared them off.”
“He’s a good friend and a bad enemy.”
“There’s no chance that was a setup and he’s already an enemy?”
“Nick Rogers doesn’t need to play the kind of games that comment suggests. He has the prowess of—”
“—a tiger.”
“Yes,” Frank says. “A tiger. He’ll—”
“—rip your throat out if you cross him or his clients,” I supply. “I know his reputation, but what I don’t understand is how he, above others in his field, is so well-known.”
“He’s one of the top five corporate attorneys in the country, and he’s local to our region.” He narrows his eyes on me. “But back to you. Do you have any other questions about what I shared today?”
“Not now.”
“Then let’s get to what’s important. Happy birthday, Faith.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice cracking, forcing me to clear my throat and repeat, “Thank you.”
“It’s a rough time to have a birthday, I know,” he says. “You lost your father at about the same time of year.”
“I did,” I agree. “But at least every year it’s all concentrated in one window of time.”
“Your birthday.”
“Birthdays are for kids.”
“Birthdays are for celebrating life,” he says. “Something you need to do. I’m glad you didn’t cancel your appearance at the art show tonight in light of your mother’s passing. It’s time you get back to your art, to let the world see whatyoudo. And a local display with a three-month-long feature is a great way to get noticed again.”
Again.
I don’t let myself go to the place and history that word could take me to. Not today.
“Your agent did right by you on this,” he adds.
“Josh overstepped his boundaries by accepting this placement, and had he not committed in writing before I knew, I’d have declined. He was supposed to simply manage my existing placements and related sales.”
“Declined?” he asks incredulously. “This is an amazing opportunity, little girl.”
“Le Sun Gallery is owned by one of our competitors, a winery that infuriated my mother.”
“Your mother was selfish and wrong,” he says. “I know she’s gone, but I’m not saying anything we don’t both know. And Le Sun is owned by a rock star in the art world and the godparents of said rock-star artist. Every art lover who visits Sonoma wants to see Chris Merit’s work at that gallery, and when they see his, they will see yours. And you’ve put your life on hold for too long. If you decide to keep the winery—”
“I am,” I say. “It’s my family legacy.”
