The muscles in Tony's neck flinched. "Catherine, I think we both know that reporters like to sensationalize things."
"So you believe that she's living with Simon Johnson's fiancee?"
"That's what I said."
"Maybe they're all one big, happy family living under one roof."
"No," he responded adamantly. "Roach said that Baldwin's apartment is on the same floor as his sister's. Claire is living with the sister."
After a prolonged silence, Catherine asked, "Why?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Tony admitted he didn't know. He couldn't figure it out. "But," he added, "I guess that we should be happy she has a place to live."
"We should?"
"Do you want her living on the street?"
"That's not what I mean. She has a sister."
"I'm not defending her choice."
"I would hope not," Catherine quipped. "We both know that choices aren't her strong suit."
"Then perhaps she needs guidance."
"And I suppose you know a willing teacher?"
"I have work in California next week."
She lifted a brow. "Work?"
"Yes, I have subsidiaries on the West Coast that need my attention."
Catherine nodded. "I'm surprised it took you so long."
"I'd go now, after these latest pictures, but Claire's going out of town tomorrow-to Texas."
"Texas? By herself?"
"That's what Roach said, but of course, he'll be there, too. So we'll find out exactly what she's doing."
"And when you're in California...?" Catherine probed.
Tony straightened his shoulders. "Do you want me to say it? Do you want to hear it?"
"Anton, I want you to admit it to yourself."
"Fine! I want to put her on my plane, bring her back here, and convince her that this is where she belongs." He sighed. "I want her to want to be here, to admit that she's miserable in California. I want..." His words trailed away as he maximized the pictures on his screen.
As he gazed at Claire's expression in picture after picture, Catherine's voice infiltrated his thoughts. "She's all over the Internet. If she suddenly went missing, it would be noticed."
He ran his hand over his cheeks, rubbing his stubbly growth. "I know. I know that I can't do that again. She needs to realize it on her own, and I don't know..." He couldn't complete the sentence. Anthony Rawlings rarely admitted lack of knowledge, but he honestly didn't know. He didn't know what to do to make her understand. He looked up at Catherine's gray eyes and knew that she saw through him. The two of them had been through too much together.
"She knows you." Catherine's voice softened. "Perhaps better than you know yourself. You need to help her understand what she knows."
Tony nodded. "What if... if she doesn't want to know?"
"She does. She wants to know more about you and why things happened the way they did."
His brows lifted. "How do you know that?"
"I know you don't see me as one, but Anton, I'm a woman."
"I know you're a woman. What does that have to do-"
"I know what it's like to be an outsider in this household. She lived here for almost two years, and yet never knew the family secrets. She never knew the why."
"She'll hate us forever if she knows. I can't-"
Catherine's head shook from side to side. "You underestimated her ability to survive. You underestimated her ability to get to you. Don't underestimate her ability to understand." She started walking toward the door.
"Marie."
She turned toward him with an unspoken question.
"I want her back." His voice was barely audible as he choked back unwanted emotion.
"I know."
"She's mine."
Catherine smiled. "Remind her."
He looked back at the screen. Baldwin's hand was on Claire's lower back. If she weren't leaving for Texas in the morning, Tony would fly to Palo Alto immediately; instead, he emailed his personal shopper and instructed her to order Claire a new outfit. He'd have it delivered with a note informing her of their impending date. He'd given up trying to reach her by phone-she refused to answer the number Roach had given him. That was fine. He'd sent flowers to let her know that he knew her address. Now, he'd send this. Tony would get through to her one way or the other.
The best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing.
-Theodore Roosevelt Finding a plausible excuse to visit the West Coast wasn't difficult. Rawlings Industries had subsidiaries all over the world. Tony was aware of these companies, followed them, and contacted them regularly, mostly from a distance. No doubt, some of the directors sitting around the conference table in San Francisco were less than comfortable with the parent company's CEO's sudden personal interest. It didn't matter. Anthony Rawlings could conduct the web conference from Rawlings headquarters, his estate, or a conference room in California. He could do whatever he damn well wanted.
He'd made that clear to Shelly, his publicist, during an earlier telephone conversation.
"Mr. Rawlings, you-we-have worked diligently to distance you from Ms. Nichols. In case you forgot, she was incarcerated for your attempted murder. Besides, you've moved on. I mean, just a little over a week ago you were photographed with Dr. Newman's daughter, Angela. The acceptance numbers in Iowa were through the roof. The people of your home state were abuzz with the idea of Anthony Rawlings with Angela Newman. The two of you are both considered Iowa royalty."
"Shelly, while I appreciate your hard work, and I pay you extremely well to do your job, my personal life is my business."
"Sir, you know that's not true. Everything you do is watched. Right now, everything Ms. Nichols does is watched. I've been following the reports and even have a continual search running. Mr. Rawlings, her Klout score is through the roof. Everyone is talking about her. She was even mentioned on one of the late night-"
"Perhaps you misunderstood my call. I didn't call to seek your permission to see my ex-wife. I called to inform you that I will be seeing my ex-wife. I'm taking her to dinner tomorrow night."
"Please, if I may be so direct, be discreet."
"Didn't you just say that we're both watched people? How discreet do you expect me to be?"
Shelly sighed. "Mr. Rawlings, I believe that if you set your mind to something-even the seemingly impossible-you will accomplish that goal."
"I wanted you informed, and I'll do what I can on my end. You do your job and spin it however it needs to be spun."
"Thank you for the advance notice. I'll do my best."
"I'm sure you will, Shelly. You never disappoint."
Tony didn't appreciate Shelly, Catherine, or anyone else telling him what he should or shouldn't do with his private life. Granted, it was Shelly's job, and that's why he called her in the first place. Catherine, on the other hand, was family-dysfunctional and totally messed up-but as close to family as either one had.
Truthfully, Catherine did have family, even if she wasn't ready to admit it. Another goal of Tony's trip to California was to do his part to bring Catherine's daughter into the art fold of Northern California. If Catherine was family, then so was Sophia. Tony had made a promise to Nathaniel to watch over Sophia and help her. He'd tried, but too often Tony's personal life had gotten in the way. Now he intended to help her focus on her talent and career. After the web conference concluded, Tony had a scheduled meeting with Roger Cunningham of Shedis-tics to discuss one of his newest employees, Derek Burke. Perhaps Sophia believed that she needed to follow Derek to California because of his new income. Today, Tony would decide if Burke would be allowed to continue that new position. Surely, enticing Derek Burke to California just to take it all away would be difficult on their marriage. Maybe that would be the way to rid her of the man who didn't deserve her.
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 piece de resistance 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 maitre 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 maitre 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?"