Behind His Eyes: Truth
Page 27
Initially, Tony had hoped that he could stop her impending rule-breaking with a call. Claire didn’t answer; however, she did return his call, barely under the time limit he’d proposed. That was what propelled his spontaneous flight west. When he first called, she was on a damn plane. He knew that Claire was in San Diego for one purpose, and Tony intended to put a stop to it, once and for all. His phone buzzed.
“NO CHANGE”
It was the exact same as the last eight messages. The confines of the car were closing in all around him. Stretching his weary legs, Tony got out of the car and slammed the door. Of course, Claire couldn’t have booked a room at an out-of-the-way, secluded resort. No, she was staying in the center of San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter, a location filled with tourists. Although he wasn’t wearing his customary Armani suit, he was Anthony Rawlings, and as such, was potentially recognizable. It was a part of his life that Tony detested. More often than not, he longed for anonymity—the ability to enter a restaurant or bar without the potential of seeing it as a news piece. He imagined tomorrow’s headline: ANTHONY RAWLINGS FOLLOWS EX-WIFE ACROSS THE COUNTRY. Hell, that plus Claire’s little exposé unfolding floors above in the historic structure could ruin everything he’d taken a lifetime to accomplish. Shelly would do her best to spin it the right way, but Tony needed to stop it before it went any further.
He considered going to Claire’s suite, interrupting the interview, and putting an end to the foolishness, but better judgment told him to stay clear. Meredith was a reporter. She’d plaster that shit all over the media in seconds.
A walk up Broadway and back loosened his overly tense muscles. Tony settled back into the plush leather driver’s seat and continued to wait: One hour. Two hours. Three hours. Finally, the text arrived:
“MS. BANKS JUST EXITED MS. NICHOLS’ SUITE.”
Again, Tony responded with a call. “You’re done for the day. I’ve got it from here.”
“If there’s anything you—”
“I said you’re done!” Tony growled into the phone before hitting DISCONNECT. No one approached him as he entered the stunning lobby and made his way across the tile floor. Each step was more determined than the last. His reasoning for calm dissipated with each floor as the elevator went up and up. By the time the doors opened, memories of Claire’s accident were muted by the displeasure of her current blatant disobedience. He knocked once upon her door. Within seconds she opened it wide. He glared as her stance morphed before him. Seconds earlier she’d worn a smile; now he saw a woman who knew damn well she’d made a disastrous mistake. Through clenched teeth, he managed, “Let me in. We need to talk.”
“I don’t think we have anything to discuss. You made an unnecessary trip. Please go.”
He blinked as Claire’s words registered. Had she just refused him? Tony took a step in her direction; his eyes narrowed. “We are not having this discussion in the hallway. I’m coming in.”
Her lips pressed together in protest, but as he stepped across the threshold, Claire silently backed away, allowing him to enter. Tony immediately closed the door. This would be private; he didn’t want their confrontation on tomorrow’s news. Briefly he took in her accommodations and the stunning view of San Diego through the large windows. She sure as hell was reaping the benefits of selling her rings—his rings, the rings he’d bought—twice.
Claire’s strengthening voice refocused him. “We’re not married, and I’m not your prisoner. You can’t just bully your way in here.”
Dumbfounded, he stared. Didn’t she understand that her behavior was unacceptable—that there would be consequences? Hadn’t she learned anything during their time together?
She continued, “I want you to leave.”
Tony circled the living room, his mind a tornado of thoughts. He came for one reason—flew across the country for it—and he wasn’t leaving without reassurance that this farce was done. Tony turned around and made eye contact. “What are you doing with her?”
Claire shrugged—she fuck’n shrugged!—and casually replied, “I’m having an overdue reunion with an old college friend. Besides,” she added flippantly, “it’s really none of your business. You shouldn’t even be here.”
For a moment he stared at the woman who’d been his wife. He was teetering on the edge of sanity, and she was spurring him on, pushing him, when she knew damn well what he was capable of doing. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. He decided to learn which. In a microsecond, he was before her, seizing her shoulders, and invading her space. Their faces nearly touched when he growled, “Do you think I’m stupid? You’re talking to her about me, and I won’t have it.”
Claire stared, fire burning in her damn green eyes. He’d asked a question. Common sense would tell her to answer, but no. Instead her glare burned his soul, daring him to push her further.
“Damn it, Claire, you infuriate me!” He released her shoulders and stomped toward the windows. With his back towards her, he closed his eyes and exhaled. Exhaustion overpowered his anger as he tried to explain. “I flew across the damn country and have been sitting in a damn car, waiting for your little reunion to conclude.”
“Tony,” her voice was still strong, “you need help. I can’t believe you’re watching me that closely. Get over it!”
“NO CHANGE”
It was the exact same as the last eight messages. The confines of the car were closing in all around him. Stretching his weary legs, Tony got out of the car and slammed the door. Of course, Claire couldn’t have booked a room at an out-of-the-way, secluded resort. No, she was staying in the center of San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter, a location filled with tourists. Although he wasn’t wearing his customary Armani suit, he was Anthony Rawlings, and as such, was potentially recognizable. It was a part of his life that Tony detested. More often than not, he longed for anonymity—the ability to enter a restaurant or bar without the potential of seeing it as a news piece. He imagined tomorrow’s headline: ANTHONY RAWLINGS FOLLOWS EX-WIFE ACROSS THE COUNTRY. Hell, that plus Claire’s little exposé unfolding floors above in the historic structure could ruin everything he’d taken a lifetime to accomplish. Shelly would do her best to spin it the right way, but Tony needed to stop it before it went any further.
He considered going to Claire’s suite, interrupting the interview, and putting an end to the foolishness, but better judgment told him to stay clear. Meredith was a reporter. She’d plaster that shit all over the media in seconds.
A walk up Broadway and back loosened his overly tense muscles. Tony settled back into the plush leather driver’s seat and continued to wait: One hour. Two hours. Three hours. Finally, the text arrived:
“MS. BANKS JUST EXITED MS. NICHOLS’ SUITE.”
Again, Tony responded with a call. “You’re done for the day. I’ve got it from here.”
“If there’s anything you—”
“I said you’re done!” Tony growled into the phone before hitting DISCONNECT. No one approached him as he entered the stunning lobby and made his way across the tile floor. Each step was more determined than the last. His reasoning for calm dissipated with each floor as the elevator went up and up. By the time the doors opened, memories of Claire’s accident were muted by the displeasure of her current blatant disobedience. He knocked once upon her door. Within seconds she opened it wide. He glared as her stance morphed before him. Seconds earlier she’d worn a smile; now he saw a woman who knew damn well she’d made a disastrous mistake. Through clenched teeth, he managed, “Let me in. We need to talk.”
“I don’t think we have anything to discuss. You made an unnecessary trip. Please go.”
He blinked as Claire’s words registered. Had she just refused him? Tony took a step in her direction; his eyes narrowed. “We are not having this discussion in the hallway. I’m coming in.”
Her lips pressed together in protest, but as he stepped across the threshold, Claire silently backed away, allowing him to enter. Tony immediately closed the door. This would be private; he didn’t want their confrontation on tomorrow’s news. Briefly he took in her accommodations and the stunning view of San Diego through the large windows. She sure as hell was reaping the benefits of selling her rings—his rings, the rings he’d bought—twice.
Claire’s strengthening voice refocused him. “We’re not married, and I’m not your prisoner. You can’t just bully your way in here.”
Dumbfounded, he stared. Didn’t she understand that her behavior was unacceptable—that there would be consequences? Hadn’t she learned anything during their time together?
She continued, “I want you to leave.”
Tony circled the living room, his mind a tornado of thoughts. He came for one reason—flew across the country for it—and he wasn’t leaving without reassurance that this farce was done. Tony turned around and made eye contact. “What are you doing with her?”
Claire shrugged—she fuck’n shrugged!—and casually replied, “I’m having an overdue reunion with an old college friend. Besides,” she added flippantly, “it’s really none of your business. You shouldn’t even be here.”
For a moment he stared at the woman who’d been his wife. He was teetering on the edge of sanity, and she was spurring him on, pushing him, when she knew damn well what he was capable of doing. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. He decided to learn which. In a microsecond, he was before her, seizing her shoulders, and invading her space. Their faces nearly touched when he growled, “Do you think I’m stupid? You’re talking to her about me, and I won’t have it.”
Claire stared, fire burning in her damn green eyes. He’d asked a question. Common sense would tell her to answer, but no. Instead her glare burned his soul, daring him to push her further.
“Damn it, Claire, you infuriate me!” He released her shoulders and stomped toward the windows. With his back towards her, he closed his eyes and exhaled. Exhaustion overpowered his anger as he tried to explain. “I flew across the damn country and have been sitting in a damn car, waiting for your little reunion to conclude.”
“Tony,” her voice was still strong, “you need help. I can’t believe you’re watching me that closely. Get over it!”
