Behind His Eyes: Truth Page 5

  There was also another plan in the works. After the meeting with Cunningham, Tony had an appointment in Palo Alto with the curator of a small art studio, Mr. George. Sophia Rossi Burke had already received worldwide recognition for her art. Unfortunately, recognition didn’t always equate to financial freedom. With Mr. George’s assistance, Tony had a plan to help Sophia achieve both. It was an offer that Mr. George couldn’t refuse.

  Cameron Andrews had unearthed Mr. George’s dubious past. Apparently, he’d made more than a few bad business dealings. One major misstep resulted in the loss of a larger studio and his home in southern California, as well as a divorce. When it was all said and done, Mr. George was left with a small studio in Palo Alto. Currently, that business hung by a financial thread. If Mr. George didn’t receive assistance—or a savior—soon, his life’s work and passion would be gone, just like his wife and children. While Tony had no influence over Mr. George’s past, he believed he could impact his future. This afternoon, Tony would take a personal interest in learning how far Mr. George was willing to go in order to save the remaining pieces of his life.

  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 tal
k 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.”

  “Tony, my goal isn’t to impress. My goal is to show that I don’t need your observation. I’m doing quite well on my own.”

  “I believe you have surpassed my expectations, once again.”

  “And for the record, I was independent before our encounter.”

  “Yes,” he paused. “I can see how you would think that.” He sipped his wine. “Now tell me, what was the point with the change in venue?”

  “There was no point. I’ve eaten here before, and I thought you’d enjoy the cuisine.”

  “I see.” He continued to sip the wine. “That’s good. I was afraid you were trying to manipulate our visibility—”

  Before he could continue, the maître d’ approached their table. “Excusez-moi, but your table, it is ready.”

  “Merci,” Tony replied as he stood. While Claire gathered her handbag, Tony politely helped her with her chair.

  As they walked through the empty lounge, Tony nodded to the pianist and reached out to direct Claire’s movement. His fingers contacted the warmth of her exposed back, and he fought the urge to explore below the draping material. Oh, it wouldn’t be an uncharted expedition. He knew every inch of her body, but it had been too long. Leaning down, placing his lips near her ear, he inhaled her scent. With every ounce of restraint, he kept his lips from contacting her skin. Instead, he said, “I’m glad visibility wasn’t your goal for this evening. I would hate to disappoint you.”

  As they stepped from the lounge into the dining area, Claire’s neck stiffened and she gasped. Meeting him eye to eye, she boldly asked, “What have you done?”

  He smirked, “I wanted to spend time with you, without the diversion of others.”

  “Where are the other people?”

  “I believe they accepted an unbelievable offer. In essence, I rented the entire restaurant. After all, you said it was delicious, and I wanted to enjoy the food and your company.”

  “You bought out the entire place?”

  He suddenly feared she’d run. Keeping a calm façade, he answered, “Yes, Claire. Shall we sit? I believe you requested this central table.”

  Overwhelmed with relief as she settled upon the cushioned seat, he gently pushed her chair under the table. Before they could resume their conversation, the waiter was present, delivering their wine and glasses to their new location. It may only be one person, but they both knew the importance of appearances. Once he was gone, Tony lifted his glass of wine and proposed a toast. “To you, the only person in this world who can keep me on my toes.”

  Taking a sip, he watched intently as Claire waged an internal war. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed watching the battle of wills behind her eyes. As she began to take a drink, he laughed at the outcome. She’d just lost and he’d watched it all.

  “I hope you’re amused.” She placed the glass back on the table without drinking. “I believe I’m getting a headache. We’ll need to postpone this dinner for another time.”

  As she began to push herself away from the table, his heart raced. Tony wouldn’t allow her to leave, not now, not after so much time. He reached across the table and covered her hand. Summoning his most gentle touch, he explained. After all, that was what Catherine had said to do—to have faith. Let Claire decide. She couldn’t decide if she didn’t know his intent. Sheepishly, he implored, “Claire, I’d like you to stay. Your plans are to be commended. You probably know, but even without the clothes I sent, you’re stunning. Now, if we’re done with this ridiculous posturing, I’d like to talk with you for a while.”

  “This wasn’t meant as posturing!” Her tone was hushed and harsh. “I assure you, my head does hurt.”

  “I have missed you terribly.” He didn’t intend to say it so bluntly, but he had to let her know. “I have missed your voice, your strength, your smile, and mostly, your eyes. My God, Claire, you have the most amazing eyes!”

  “Stop it.”

  “Excuse me?” Had she just ordered him to stop talking? Didn’t she realize how hard this was?

  “I
said, stop it!” The emerald fire intensely burned. She continued, “The last time we spoke in person, I begged to go with you back to your home, our home in Iowa City. As I recall, you offered me a psychiatric institution, so why would I be interested in listening to your drivel today?”

  His mind spun. Explain yourself—that was what Catherine had said. He tried. “Well, first, because you accepted my invitation.”

  “I accepted your invitation for one reason, to convince you to leave me alone. We are done!”

  “My dear, it isn’t that simple.” His tone was flat, leaving no room for debate. He wasn’t going to argue the concept, no matter how ludicrous it was. She was his forever. Done wasn’t an option.

  “It is.” Yet he heard the uncertainty in her voice, until her next emphasized word smashed his world to smithereens. “Anton.”

  The floor fell from the room. Or perhaps it was the ceiling that fell. Tony wasn’t sure what just happened, but as prepared as he had been for the evening, nothing could have prepared him for that. Straightening his neck, he fought the red. Through clenched teeth, he replied, “My name is Anthony, but you may still address me as Tony.”

  “That’s very gentlemanly of you. Do you not think that, as your wife, I deserved to know your true name was Anton Rawls?”

  He fought to stay seated. It was like coming out of the effects of the poison: he clawed to reach the surface—the place where his world was intact. Those two words—Anton Rawls—spoken by Claire, ripped away the veil separating his past from his present. With a semblance of calm, he asked, “Where could you possibly have come up with such a story?”