Behind His Eyes - Consequences (15 page)

This POV was originally written at the request of my amazing readers and appeared in the Goodreads Group: The Consequences Series Group Reads, Therapy, and Hugs. That version has been tweaked and edited for BHE- Consequences. The “Accident” scene in
Consequences
was tragic, difficult to read, difficult to write, and often resulted in my being asked,
“What was Tony thinking?”
I decided to share. This POV was in no way intended to condone abuse or physical violence, but was meant as insight into the troubled mind of a man who experienced pain and betrayal for the first time in his life.

Thank you for joining me on this dark and insightful journey.

~Aleatha

There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed.

—
Napoleon Bonaparte

The whole damn deal hung by a thread. How many hours and millions of dollars had been wasted researching and reviewing this investment and securities firm to have it fall apart over some stupid disagreement about benefit buyouts? Sitting at the head of the long conference table, Tony listened to the debate until he couldn’t take it any longer. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke above the fray, “you have my offer. Your company won’t stand as it is another six months. You can either take the deal or file Chapter 11. With my offer your employees will receive appropriate compensation in exchange for their loss of benefits.”

“Mr. Rawlings, with all due respect, you’re offering pennies on the dollar.”

Standing, Tony adjusted his jacket and ignored the vibration of his private cell phone as he replied, “Yes, Mr. Collins, I am. I’ve also spent over a year learning the ins and outs of your company. You have no other prospects. I suggest you take the offer. The federal bankruptcy courts won’t be as generous.”

While the murmuring at the conference table intensified, Tony placed the documents and his laptop into his leather briefcase and nodded to his team. Addressing the assembly, he announced, “I expect an answer by tomorrow at noon, or I’ll assume that you’re taking your chances with the courts. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”

The room fell into a stunned hush as Anthony Rawlings and his protégés gathered their belongings and walked away from the bargaining table. Once they stepped beyond the glass doors and neared the elevator, Tony heard Tom exhale. The team that accompanied him consisted of Tom Miller, his associate, Sharon Michaels, and David Field, one of Tony’s negotiators. Only their private assembly entered the small elevator. When the doors shut, Tom leaned toward Tony and spoke in a hushed tone. “I know you know how much it’ll cost if this falls through. We’re talking about—”

Remaining professional, Tony’s eyes met Tom’s, interrupting his words. Tony hissed. “I am well aware. We can discuss this further in the office.” The conversation was officially stalled. Tony didn’t care that it was still early in the afternoon and that their meeting was scheduled to last until much later. He could only present the same information in so many different ways. He had neither the patience nor the inclination to entertain the assholes in that conference room upstairs another minute. They wanted what he wasn’t willing to give. He knew that their company needed him more than he needed it. At this point, he needed a few minutes to decompress. If he didn’t, he’d be willing to take the whole damn thing as a tax write-off.

The silence continued as they entered the waiting car. They weren’t scheduled to return to Iowa until the morning, and they all knew that they’d spend the rest of the day and possibly the night dissecting every last document in their arsenal. Despite Tony’s comments, too much had been invested; somewhere there was a definitive piece of information that would insure this deal’s success. By all estimations, they had a long night ahead of them.

Just as Tony’s nerves began to calm, he again felt his pocket vibrate and reached for his iPhone. Touching the screen, he saw:
TWO TEXT MESSAGES

Further investigation told him that they both were from his press secretary, Shelly. He read the first:

MR. RAWLINGS PLEASE READ THE ATTACHED PRESS RELEASE THAT JUST CAME ACROSS MY FEED. IT WILL NOT APPEAR FOR A FEW DAYS. IT HAS BEEN PURCHASED BY ROLLING STONE AND PEOPLE. I DON’T THINK I CAN STOP IT.

The car moved in jerky bursts. Tony hated New York City traffic. That was one of the reasons he chose to live in Iowa. Of course, there was traffic there too, but it wasn’t this stand-still shit. Instead of reading the attachment, he read the second text, also from his press secretary:

MR. RAWLINGS I’VE CONFIRMED THE SALE OF THE RELEASE TO BOTH MAGAZINES. IF I ATTEMPT TO STOP PUBLICATION IT MAY BACKFIRE. PLEASE ADVISE IMMEDIATELY.

“They’re bluffing.” Tom’s voice broke the silence within the car.

“I don’t bluff,” Tony replied. “I’d rather lose the preliminary costs than deal with those assholes. I won’t be at their mercy. We’ll find something that’ll make them beg for my offer, and we’ll find it tonight.”

Tom didn’t respond, nor did anyone else. Tony didn’t expect responses. After all, he wasn’t asking. There was a mission and it would be carried out. When the car stopped in front of the tall office building, Tony and his associates silently entered the building. It was another quiet elevator ride as they made their way to the sixty-second floor and the New York satellite offices of
Rawlings Industries
.

The pretty brunette receptionist immediately stopped her work as Tony and his entourage entered the lobby to the executive offices.

Before she could speak, Tony said, “Kelli, we’re planning a long night. Call for food. We’ll need sandwiches and coffee delivered.”

“I’ll get right on that, Mr. Rawlings.” Kelli handed him a small stack of papers. “Sir, Shelly has called multiple times. She’s very anxious for you to read a press release. I took the liberty of printing it for you.”

Taking the printed pages, Tony thanked her and walked into his private office; only Tom followed. He started to sit behind his desk when the title on the page caught his attention. Suddenly, his body ceased to move and the air left his lungs.

“Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’ Life Agrees to a One-on-One Interview.”

His cheeks paled as the blood drained from his face.

“What’s the matter?”

Tony heard the concern in Tom’s voice. Although their relationship wasn’t just that of business, Tony didn’t feel like sharing. Prying his eyes away from the article in his tightening grip, Tony forced himself to make eye contact with his longtime friend. “I …” he hesitated. “I-I need a minute. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get started.”

“Are you sure? Is there something I can—”

“A minute—now,” Tony cut him off. It wasn’t the volume of his voice that demanded action; it was the authority.

Tom nodded and headed for the door. Within seconds, Tony was alone with the press release that Shelly had tried so desperately to share.

He scanned the pages. Words and phrases jumped out from each paragraph:
Since May of 2010—Anthony’s special woman—she agreed to sit down—freelance writer—Meredith Banks—Claire Nichols—
Tony’s blood boiled. The tips of his fingers blanched and lost feeling as his grip upon the helpless pages intensified.

More scanning:
long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.

Slowly his knees buckled and Tony’s tall, muscular body perched on the edge of his large leather chair. He continued reading:
Anthony Rawlings has long been seen as a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. He dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens. However, none of his previous relationships lasted long. That is until now, now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. And since that time, they have been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well as taking on two of the nation’s biggest cities, New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).

Intermittently, he flipped back and forth between the pages and the photos of Claire with him. With each word and each picture his vision blurred. Red seeped from every direction, threatening to cover everything in its wake. The pages, his office—hell, his life were all dripping in red.

Such basic rules—
how could Claire have been so stupid as to break the most basic of his rules?
It wasn’t like he demanded that much from her.

There was still more article to read, but Tony’s eyes couldn’t focus. He envisioned Claire the other night at dinner in Chicago. He remembered the dress—it was tan and had sequins, even her jacket had sequins. They caught his attention because of the way they reflected the lights as they walked along the street from Trump Tower to the Cadillac Palace Theater.

Refocusing on the story, he saw the dress—it was in a picture of her with him—on the page before him, prepared for the world to see.
Privacy! Why was that so fuck’n hard to ask?
It wasn’t just the damn reporters taking their picture. No, that happened all the time. This was betrayal.
This was disloyalty—insubordination!

Tony tried to reason. The other day at the barbeque, he’d jumped to conclusions.
Could this be another misunderstanding?
He looked at his watch—2:37 PM, East Coast time. He could be home before 6:00 PM.

He quickly folded the pages and placed them in the inside pocket of his jacket. Next, he dialed the phone on his desk. “Tom, I have to fly immediately back to Iowa.”

Tom was understandably shocked. They hadn’t reached any resolution on their deal, and they had hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. Tony wouldn’t give Tom specifics—only that something had happened back in Iowa, and he needed to be there. Tom assured his boss and his friend that he’d work diligently to keep the deal afloat.

Less than forty minutes later, Tony was airborne and headed west. The three-hour flight gave him ample opportunity to read and reread the article. Each time something new latched onto his consciousness:

Why Claire? What makes her the woman for a man like Anthony Rawlings?—She didn’t deny living in the Iowa City area—Claire and Anthony enjoyed the performance of “Wicked.”—Ms. Nichols spent the better part of the day enjoying all the comforts money could buy at one of the most exclusive day spas in Chicago—shopping at such stores as Saks Fifth Avenue, Anne Fontaine, Cartier, Giorgio Armani, and Louis Vuitton—Ms. Claire Nichols was ushered to the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower, the private city dwelling belonging to none other than Mr. Anthony Rawlings.

By the time the plane touched down in Iowa City, Tony knew he’d need to print another copy of the press release for Claire. The one in his hand was nearly shredded by the fervor of his grasp. He hadn’t been willing to let it leave his hand the entire flight.

Each time he told himself to be reasonable, Tony remembered Claire sitting at the dining room table a month ago, pledging her loyalty. He hadn’t asked for it. First, because he rarely
asked,
but more importantly, he never assumed he’d get it; nevertheless, on that evening after he’d returned from Europe, she’d offered it.

At the time, he questioned her motivation. After all, they’d just been through an
episode,
a
glitch
of sorts, and Claire had emerged stronger and more compliant than ever—a very appealing combination. He remembered thinking that perhaps
glitches
were an advantageous element in producing the woman he was creating.

That night in the dining room she’d volunteered, “Your absence was advantageous on many counts.” He remembered staring at her, stunned by her candor and unsure of where she was going. Finally, she broke the looming silence. “I believe it helped me recognize I owe you much, not just the money to repay my debt, but the confidence you’ve shown in me.”

He watched for signs of manipulation, yet she never faltered.

She had continued, “The confidence to trust me with your intimate beliefs …” She added, “I will not betray that confidence.”

Tony remembered allowing the silence to prevail as food came and the staff went. Once they were again alone, he replied, “Claire, if you’re sincere, then you never cease to amaze me. If, however, you’re playing me, you will regret it.” Anthony Rawlings wouldn’t be a successful businessman if he couldn’t read people, yet as much as he tried to see Claire’s deception—he couldn’t.

As Tony entered the front door of his estate, he realized his own mistake. It wasn’t that he
couldn’t
see Claire’s deception. It was that he
wouldn’t.
He wanted to trust her—hell, for the last month or more, he’d wanted to do more than that. He’d wanted to—dare he admit—have feelings. Now it was clear; Catherine was right: Claire had fuck’n played him!!!

Tony’s body trembled with the revelation as he walked toward his office. He needed to print a readable copy of the press release before he confronted Claire. He was done being a push-over. Forget her resolve and bravado. Screw her green eyes, soft skin, and sexy smile.