Behind His Eyes - Consequences Read online

  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.

  He brought Claire Nichols to Iowa for one reason—she had a debt to pay. Not the goddamn money. Tony didn’t give a rat’s ass about $215,000. No, Claire Nichols was the proverbial sacrificial lamb for the entire line of Nichols descendants—a child of a child. The vendetta rang in Tony’s head. He’d heard it over and over for twenty years. So what if he’d extracted some pleasure from her consequence? That was acceptable; however, her blatant disregard for his rules, her insubordination and disloyalty, were intolerable.

  The ridiculous idea running through his mind these past few weeks, that there was anything more between them than business, would end today. Tony would stay strong and deliver the consequences Claire deserved.

  When Tony initially entered Claire’s suite, he knew his mission: confront her about the interview, entertain the idea of a misconception—at least superficially, and deliver the appropriate punishment. It was a solid plan; however, that was a long time ago. As he sat in the chair near Claire’s sofa and minutes turned to hours and hours passed like days, Tony’s restraint evaporated. With each tick of the clock, his body stiffened and the red colored his vision.

  Three hours! He’d been waiting in her suite for three fuck’n hours!

  Catherine told him that Claire had gone to her lake for the day. Tony glanced toward the windows, as darkness fell over the land and enveloped her suite. He told himself, the damn day is done!

  During the entire three hours that he’d been there, Tony hadn’t moved or turned on a light. Truly, he thought it was interesting how well his eyes adjusted. Never before could he remember experiencing each moment of diminishing illumination. As the darkness prevailed, the crimson hue grew.

  He worked to contain the fury in his chest and soul. It had been years since he’d experienced this depth of rage. Honestly, he hadn’t moved because he feared if he did, he’d break something or some things. That’s what used to happen when he was younger. He would break an object or punch a wall. There was one time at Blaire Academy when he punched another kid. The kid deserved it. He had said something about Tony’s grandmother. The damn teachers broke it up and no one was seriously hurt; nevertheless, his grandfather didn’t care about the why. He warned Anton to never let it happen again, and he hadn’t. It was surprisingly easy—remain detached. That was how he could buy companies and fire a roomful of people. They weren’t people: they were marks on a ledger.

  Initially, this technique worked with Claire, but with each day she’d become more than that. Now, in the quiet suite, with time standing still, his thoughts ran together: He’d allowed her to become more than that—more than just a Nichols! He’d trusted her—hell, he sent her to the spa, allowed her to shop, and even allowed her to remain in Chicago without him. For what? So that she could spit in his face? So that she could publicly discuss their relationship? What else had she told Meredith Banks? Maybe she had the whole thing planned. Of course, it was her plan to get away from him.

  That was probably it … she arranged it from the spa—hell, he never thought about her using a phone from the spa, or maybe she used a pay phone? He’d supplied her with enough cash. What if she bought one of those disposable phones? The release said Claire and Meredith were sorority sisters. Claire probably contacted her for this purpose!

  There were so many possibilities of how she’d betrayed him. It was true—he didn’t know the exact mode, but he knew the final result. The papers were lying on her table—the black and white evidence of her deceit! She’d never meant a word of what she said that day in the dining room. The whole damn speech about trust was a sham, and he was a goddamn fool for falling for it.

  Tony’s train of thought came to a screeching halt as the sound of the opening door filled the otherwise silent suite. While the moonlight pooled in rectangles on the soft carpet, Tony stepped into the dark shadows and neared the woman who’d consumed his thoughts for the last eight hours—no, for years!

  Before she could turn on the light, he stepped behind her. With the redness nearly beyond penetration, her presence and her scent fueled the fury and pain within him. He wrapped his arm around her throat while pulling her ponytail with his other hand. Nearing his lips to her ear, he attempted speech through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Tony heard the desperation in his voice as it filled the dark room. That desperation poured more crimson onto the fire of his rage. No damn woman, especially a Nichols, would have this much control over him!

  She didn’t speak!

  He spun her around—he wanted to see her face, see her lying eyes. Gripping her shoulders, he questioned her again. “I asked you a question. Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Tony,” she gasped. “I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.”

  His patience expired hours ago. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He slapped her cheek. Damn her, why wasn’t she apologizing for her disloyalty? Why wasn’t she answering his fuck’n question? “I have asked you a question twice. I will not ask again.”

  His palm stung as it once again connected with her cheek and temple. The red behind his eyes obscured the growing physical evidence of his more forceful contact. Truly, he didn’t even see the tears as they began to fall from her pleading eyes.

  “Tony, please stop. I was hiking in the woods.”

  Letting go of her shoulders, he shoved her onto the sofa and followed. Leaning over her petite body, his words sounded too desperate for his own ears. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”

  “I was in the woods”—lies— “The sun was setting”—bullshit –“It was so beautiful.”

  He couldn’t take it
anymore! He wanted the truth! “Shut the fuck up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home, and you didn’t want to face me after what you did!”

  “I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home on Saturday—this is still Friday. I haven’t done anything.”

  She was lying. He struck out again. Claire reached for her cheek as she tried to hide her face. He pulled her chin toward him; she wasn’t looking away! His breath bathed her tear-drenched face. “Liar!”

  He searched her eyes. Why weren’t they contrite or smug? She’d successfully humiliated him, broken his rules—why wasn’t she assuming credit for her deceit?

  Tony stepped away. He couldn’t look at her expression another minute. Inhaling deeply, he pushed the sound of her sobs from his ears and stepped toward the light switch. While the light filled the suite, Tony concentrated on inhaling and exhaling as he walked toward the table. Maybe if she read the release she’d accept responsibility.

  The sound of her whimpering on the sofa tempered the red, causing it to wane, but when the tips of his fingers touched the pages of the news release, the crimson violently resurged through his veins. He didn’t want the red to be so intense—if he didn’t keep it down, he knew it had the ability to control him. Tony didn’t want to give in to it, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving that control to Claire. His neck stiffened. He refused to proceed lightly; it was his choice. Claire’s damn emotions weren’t going to deter his quest for truth. Stepping toward her, he held out the pages and steadied his voice. “Then tell me—tell me how this is a misunderstanding.” The pages in his hand shook. Despite his best effort, his words came out too close together. “I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I’m doing that now.”