Behind His Eyes - Truth (7 page)

With a busy day ahead of him, the
pièce de résistance
were his plans for dinner. It had to be perfect. In the event of paparazzi, Tony had sent Claire a stunning outfit from Neiman Marcus. It was delivered prior to her trip to Texas and included his dinner invitation. Tony waited to hear from her, some acknowledgement of their reunion. When he didn’t, he decided that the absence of a refusal was the equivalent to an acceptance.

He had the entire evening planned from the wine to the dessert. On
The Embarcadero
, in San Francisco, was a restaurant with a sweeping view of San Francisco Bay and the Bay Bridge. It was consistently busy with both locals and tourists. Patricia booked the private upstairs dining room. Although the facility’s private area sat sixty, tonight it would seat two. There was a car scheduled to pick Claire up at her condominium and bring her to him. Even Phillip Roach had been given the night off. Tony had thought of everything and didn’t want their reunion interrupted.

The last time he saw Claire, in person, was at the Iowa jail. To say he was upset at that meeting would be an understatement. She’d asked him to take her home, and instead, he’d offered an alternative to her impending prison sentence. That
alternative
had been the perfect option. It covered all bases—Tony’s fulfillment of his obligation to Nathaniel, as well as his promise to love and keep Claire. As a psychiatric patient at a private facility, Tony would have been able to facilitate her release. When he first mentioned divorce to Brent, it was a gut reaction to Claire’s failure to pass his test. If she’d accepted his offer, taken the insanity plea, Tony wouldn’t have divorced her. Their legal bond would have allowed him to control the length of her treatment.

Refusing his offer, pleading no contest, and continuing her disappointing behavior further fueled his rage. For appearances alone, Tony distanced himself from
Ms. Nichols
and her reputation. It worked. The world pitied the lonely, wealthy man who was deceived by the gold-digging, treacherous woman.

Tonight, Tony would explain that he wanted that distance to end; he was ready to forgive her for the past and move on. It was quite a gift. After all, Anthony Rawlings didn’t easily forgive, but he would. She’d failed a test and paid the price. It was time to go on with their lives—together. Claire was his. She had been his since she was eighteen years old. He wouldn’t tell her that, even though it was true. Together they would rebuild the trust that she’d severed.

As the web conference neared its end, and the table of directors listened to Anthony Rawlings’ every word, the cell phone that he’d laid on the table before him began to vibrate. Glancing down, intending to turn it off, he saw the screen flash with an unexpected name—
CLAIRE
.

Tony stopped mid-sentence and reached for the phone. Addressing the directors, he apologized, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is rude and highly unusual behavior; however, I’m sure that you understand that I have many fires burning. I need to take this call and will be back to you in just a moment.” Not waiting for acknowledgement, Tony stepped from the room and hit the green button. “Hello, Claire. I hope you’re not calling to cancel our plans.”

She responded immediately, “I wouldn’t do that, Tony.” At the sound of her voice, blood rushed through his veins quickening the beat of his heart. “That would be rude, to cancel something at the last minute.”

“I must admit, I’m surprised to receive your call… on my private cell, no less.”

“I presume you are. I wanted to contact you about tonight.”

“Yes?” He mused.

“You see, I’ve been living in this area for a while. There’s a lovely French restaurant that I believe you’ll enjoy.” Before he could comment, she continued, “I realize you made reservations, but so have I. I’d be glad to meet you at
Bon Vivant
on Bryant, at 7:00 PM.”

Hearing her spirit made his cheeks rise; nevertheless, he’d made plans. “Well, there’s a car coming to pick you up—”

She interrupted, “I appreciate that. It’s very kind of you; however, I have my own car and am more than willing to drive.”

He chuckled. Fine, Palo Alto it would be. Tony would let her win this battle, as long as he won the war. “If that’s what you prefer.”

She exhaled. “I do.”

He couldn’t remember a time that he’d wished he could forget his work and talk on a telephone. What propelled him was the promise of speaking in person. “Very well, I must return to this table of directors and web conference. Until tonight.”

“Yes, good-bye.” The phone went silent. Before reentering the conference, Tony shook his head, tried to suppress his grin, and sent a hasty text.

“CANCEL TONIGHT’S RESERVATIONS. CONTACT BON VIVANT IN PALO ALTO AND SECURE PRIVATE DINING.”

Hitting
SEND
, he reentered his meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s carry on…”

Bon Vivant
didn’t offer private dining; therefore, not wanting to disappoint her boss, Patricia did the next best thing. She explained that
Mr. Anthony Rawlings
wanted to enjoy the delicious cuisine and not be disturbed. If
Bon Vivant
could accommodate his wishes, Mr. Rawlings would compensate the restaurant as well as the employees generously for any potential loss of revenue. In an effort to avoid any backlash against
Bon Vivant
, Mr. Rawlings would also compensate any customers with reservations by purchasing their meal on another date. After a few minutes of discussion, Tony and Claire once again would be dining in private.

As Tony parked his rental car and approached the Civic Center Art Studio in Palo Alto, he noticed the quaint businesses all nestled on tree-lined streets. This was where Claire lived, and he hated its welcoming appeal. He’d left her alone for too long.

His earlier meeting with Roger Cunningham had proved informative. Derek Burke was an asset to Shedis-tics. They were very happy with the recommendation. Without a plausible reason to suggest Burke’s dismissal, that left Tony with Plan B.

Once inside the studio, Tony studied the works of art. To him, art was an investment, and that was his goal for this meeting. He wanted to make an investment—perhaps not so much in art or an art studio, as in an artist.

A short man with ruddy cheeks came from the back of the store. “Hello, I’m Mr. George, the curator of this studio. May I help you?”

Tony extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. George, I’m Anthony Rawlings, and I believe that we can help one another.”

On Tony’s drive back to his hotel in San Francisco, his thoughts volleyed between his meeting and impending date. It was true that everyone had a price. Mr. George was no exception. What separated the world into two distinct groups were the people who strived for more and those who were willing to settle for less. Tony had been willing to spend more than he offered to elicit the curator’s help; however, the strange little man had jumped at the first offer without as much as a hesitation. No matter. Soon, Mr. George would lure Sophia Burke into his studio. From there the plan would proceed. Although Tony would need to talk with Mr. George again, he had no intention of ever meeting again face-to-face. As a matter of fact, today’s meeting never occurred.

Bon Vivant
, too, was nestled into the Palo Alto landscape. The bright red sign with black letters was unassuming, yet Tony’s heartbeat quickened as he parked the car. He was almost an hour early for Claire’s reservations. Slipping into the lobby, he confidently approached the
maître d’
. Within moments, Tony had confirmation of his plans. Many customers had been notified by phone; those who couldn’t be reached would be addressed at the door. Earlier customers had been accommodated; however, the
maître d’
promised the dining area, as well as the lounge, would be empty by 7:00 PM.

With time the only hurdle keeping him from his ex-wife, Tony took a seat at the bar, listened to the piano music, and ordered a drink. As time passed, couple after couple were led away. At twenty-five before seven, a waitress approached. “Mr. Rawlings, your companion has just arrived. Would you like her to join you?”

“No. I’d like to wait elsewhere until the restaurant is empty.”

“Very well, I was told to invite you to the back offices. You’re welcome to bring your drink, and we can get you another if you’d like…”

He followed the woman through a doorway and down a hall. After a few minutes, Tony made his way back down the corridor and peered through the small window in the door to the lounge. Time stood still as his peripheral vision muted; through the frosted glass he saw
her
.

His ex-wife,
his Claire,
sat alone near the middle of the lounge. The back of her dress dipped low, revealing her tanned skin. Although he couldn’t hear, she appeared radiant as she spoke confidently to a waiter. Until her call, earlier in the day, Tony had wondered if she’d truly come—if she’d follow his instructions. Seeing her, with her hair piled high and ringlets grazing her long, proud neck, he swelled with pride. She was so strong, so proud, and still so obedient.

Tony was so enthralled in the vision that it took some time before he realized she wasn’t wearing the dress he’d sent. His buyer had sent him pictures. She wasn’t wearing any of the outfit. Pushing away his irritation, he softly chuckled. Damn, she was the challenge he needed in his life.

Just before 7:00 PM, Tony took a back hall to the front of the restaurant. Squaring his shoulders, he entered the lounge. The blue lighting that accentuated the chic ambience and the piano music both faded as he focused on the only remaining customer. If there had been others, he wouldn’t have noticed. It was only Claire. As Tony approached, he watched her expression. Though she wore a mask of calm, in her emerald eyes he saw the fire he’d so desperately craved. With each step, he relished the warmth, like a frozen man in the wilderness coming upon lifesaving flames. Her heat radiated throughout the empty room pulling him closer. When he stood before her, her neck straightened. With a nod he said, “Good evening, Claire.”

“Good evening, Tony. Won’t you please have a seat?”

Refusing to lose sight of her eyes, he maintained their gaze and replied, “Thank you.”

As he sat opposite her, he tried to read her thoughts. Before he could evaluate, she said, “It was nice of you to accommodate my change in plans.” Gesturing toward a bottle of wine, she continued, “I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of wine.”

Lifting the bottle, he assessed the label. “Excellent choice.”

Before their conversation could continue, a waiter appeared at their side. “
Monsieur
and
Mademoiselle
, your table is not yet ready. May I open your wine?”

Tony knew that there was one remaining couple in the dining room. As he was about to reply, Claire spoke, “
Oui, merci
.” Her French was Americanized, but French nonetheless.

Once the waiter departed, Tony said, “My, Claire, you continue to amaze me. I see you’re trying to show me the new, independent Claire Nichols.” When she didn’t speak, he continued, “You don’t need to work so hard. I’ve been observing you from afar and am already impressed.”