Page 50 of The Billionaire's Wife

Before I could stop myself, I reached over and took her hands in mine, then I bowed my head. It took a moment for me to clear my thoughts enough to speak. “Heavenly Father, protect us. Help us to know what to say and when, and when to be silent. Work in this situation to free Faith, once and for all, from the mess she’s in. Amen.”

Faith sighed. “You really think God’s going to intervene when this is a mess I made myself?”

“I do.” Maybe I wasn’t a hundred percent positive, but it was better not to say that aloud. She needed reassurance. And really, I did believe that God was well able to fix the situation. It was more a matter of how much He’d do. Were there consequences Faith was going to have to bear beyond those she already did? Time would tell.

Faith just nodded.

Belatedly, I realized I was still holding her hands and released them, then I pushed open my door and climbed out of the car. She didn’t move, so I made my way around to her side and opened the door for her, then squatted down so I was at eye level. “Hey. We’re going to be all right.”

“I want to believe that. I just don’t know if I can.”

I reached in and took her hand then stood and gave a little tug.

Faith fumbled to unlatch her seat belt, then swung her legs around and stood.

I squeezed her fingers before closing the car door and reaching into my pocket with my free hand to click the lock button. The car chirped and the lights flashed.

We turned toward the restaurant. Faith didn’t pull her hand away, so I kept the contact. It was reassuring to me—I could only imagine that it was bolstering her, too.

It was a short walk from the car to the restaurant door. Manny waited for us in the lobby.

“Good. You’re not late.” He shot me a seething glare then shifted his gaze back to Faith. “This way.”

Faith trembled slightly. I gave her fingers another reassuring squeeze as we followed in Manny’s wake through the lightly crowded main dining room into the back area that was usually reserved for parties and was separated from the rest of the space by thick draperies. When we’d passed between them, Manny unhooked the ropes that held the drapes open.

The sound from the main dining room disappeared.

“Welcome, welcome.” An older man—probably nearly seventy—stood. “Please. Sit.”

I reached for a chair, beating out Manny, and pulled it out for Faith. When she was seated, I took the spot beside her.

“Such a gentleman.” The man gave a slight nod. “Manners like that are hard to come by these days. Or so it seems. But my grandchildren tell me I’m out of touch. I am Marcos Ortega.”

I couldn’t stop the lift of my eyebrows.

He smiled. “You are surprised that I take care of this myself, yes?”

“A little. Yes.” I spoke before Faith did.

She glanced at me, worry in her gaze.

Marcos simply nodded again, then he shifted his attention to Faith. “You’ve caused quite a bit of drama in my organization.”

Faith’s swallow was audible. “That was never my intention.”

“I’m sure.” Marcos’s eyes shone with humor that was quickly damped. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

Manny grunted.

Marcos glanced briefly over at him and shook his head. “Manny, of course, feels that violence is the best option. Not what I’ve always found to be the case, but we all have our preferences.”

Faith glanced over at me.

Did she expect me to know what to say to that? Because I had no clue. I could probably go off on a long-winded lecture about violence never being the answer, but it didn’t seem like the time. Maybe this was time for the lawyerly wait-and-see.

Silence stretched through the room.

Marcos chuckled. “I see you also know the value of silence. Very well. My proposal is this: come work for us.”

---