Page 149 of Losing Faith

“No, tell me about it.” He steps beside me as I marvel at the piece and ramble on about the artist.

“Jones.”

We turn and Rome flashes a smile at us before he gives me a once-over.

“You brought the nanny.” His smile grows.

“She’s not—” Jackson shakes his head and I bite back a laugh. “Thank you for being on time,” Jackson says accusingly.

Rome’s brows furrow. “Iwason time,” he argues, and for some reason, I believe him.

“You’re the one who was late,Dad,” Rome teases and a laugh escapes me.

“I like you.” I nod in approval and a smirk touches his lips.

“Well, thank you, honey.” He takes a step towards me and Jackson swiftly stands in front of me.

“She’s off limits,” he nearly warns. “Go socialize and buy at least two paintings.”

Rome’s brows pull together again. “I don’t want any of this?”

“I didn’t ask you,” Jackson argues, his voice hushed.

“So why would I pay”—Rome looks over at the painting behind me and his eyes widen before his mouth hangs—“Twenty-fivethousandfor”—He turns his head to the side as he tries to study the abstract piece—“What the fuck even is that?”

I break into a laugh but quickly quiet down when Jackson turns his glare to me.

I clear my throat, trying to be more serious. “Art is subjective. It can be what you want it to be.” I try to keep a straight face, but I feel Jackson’s glare still on me. When my smile breaks through, he rolls his eyes.

“The money is going to kids who can’t afford to play baseball. I don’t care what you buy or if you want it. Just buy something.”

Rome rolls his eyes and Jackson doesn’t look any happier. “Can’t I just donate the money without taking the ugly art?”

Jackson walks away, pulling me with him and I break into another laugh.

“Stop encouraging him,” he mumbles and I tease him with a pout.

“Aww, is Dad upset because his rich brat doesn’t listen?”

He rolls his eyes again and I stifle a laugh.

“If he has enough money to afford these paintings, why is he trying to play baseball?”

Jackson turns his full attention to me. “Would you stop painting if you were rich?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, same for him. Baseball is his passion. He’s not going to stop trying to achieve his goal to make it to the major league because he simply doesn’t need the money.”

“Touché.” I nod in thought. When I feel my phone buzz in my dress pocket, I pull it out. My eyes scan the screen before I feel my jaw drop.

“What happened?” Jackson steps closer.

I turn my phone to him. “That guy who offered me ten grand for the suicide painting justtripledhis offer,” I whisper.

I watch Jackson carefully as his brows raise. “Wow.” He nods like he’s impressed as he reads the rest of the message.

I quietly squeal before hugging him. “My life is goinggreat. I can’t believe I wanted to die last week.”

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