Truth
Page 135
“I think I can handle it, as long as there’s no bacon,” she said with a smile.
They walked back to Tony’s car and drove to a small diner with outside seating. When the waiter brought the menus, Claire perfunctorily left hers lying on the table. She couldn’t contain her surprise when Tony glanced her way and said, “Since you haven’t been feeling well, you’d better look and see what sounds appetizing.” It was the first time she’d ever ordered her own meal while with him. Maybe things do change?
By the time he took her back to her car, they’d made some compromises and found some common ground. In two weeks she would join him in Chicago for meetings and dinners with investors.
Standing next to Claire’s car, Tony asked, “May I kiss you good-bye?”
“Is it a requirement of the news release and mandatory to keep my friends safe?”
“No,” he leaned nearer, “it is because I would really like to kiss you.”
She found herself on the precipice of a very slippery slope. Her figurative footing was difficult to maintain. While her mind debated, her body leaned into his chest, and her face tipped upward. His strong arms encased her, his hands found their way to the nape of her neck, and his fingers entangled her hair. They may have been in a parking lot, or perhaps the moon. At that moment, neither one knew. The rest of the world disappeared.
Driving toward Palo Alto, she couldn’t remember who finally pulled away from the embrace. Whoever it was, the other conceded. She did remember the sensual allure emanating from his eyes. Even in the car, the image reddened her cheeks.
Oh shit! What have I done? Claire asked herself as she contemplated her next assignment.
Perseverance is not a long race;
it is many short races one after another.
- Walter Elliott Chapter 39
Text message sent: May 25: 4:41PM – To: Anthony Rawlings
MS NICHOLS RETURNED SAFTLY TO HER PARKING GARAGE. MS MCCOY NOT HOME. NO SIGN OF ANYONE ELSE
Phil waited for a response. Either he would spend the evening monitoring Claire Nichols, watching the front door and parking garage, or he’d be done for the night. After the late night, last night, watching Harrison Baldwin drive the 101 toward San Francisco and turn around and go back to Palo Alto, he hoped this night was done. After so much time on Mr. Rawlings’ payroll, could Phillip Roach be getting soft?
*****
After her afternoon with Tony, Claire returned to a quiet condominium. She wandered from room to room looking for Amber; instead she found a note on the kitchen counter:
I’m running errands – will be back soon.
I’m having dinner with Keaton. Maybe we can talk
tomorrow? Hope you’re feeling better. There is a
message on the house voice mail for you – Amber It gave Claire hope. Optimistically they would all work this out. She still didn’t know what to think about Harry. While out with Tony, Claire checked her phone a couple of times -- not one call or text message from Harry. Of course, he knew where she was and who she was with.
Thinking about Amber on a date with Keaton made Claire happy. Amber may argue the term date, but Claire recently listened to the Rawlings Dictionary. According to that very reliable source, a date was the term used to define the act of two people going out into public together. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. It was so ridiculous. Somehow she would need to modify his definition.
Claire picked up the telephone receiver in the kitchen. With cellphones, they rarely used this telephone. Yet, Amber maintained SiJo needed a way to reach her, if something happened to her cellphone. Pushing the appropriate buttons Claire waited for the message. Who would call me on this number? Claire wondered.
The voice came through the receiver: “You have one saved message -- saved message.”
“Claire Nichols. Do I have the right number? I remembered something else. Call me back: 442-555-7732.”
Claire listened to the message a second time. The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she wasn’t sure who or why? It was probably a reporter. Heaven knows she’d been making the news lately. Whoever it was would call back, if whatever he remembered was truly that important.
It was only a little after five, but with her stomach full of what she ordered (Claire smiled while adding that last part to her thought), she was tired. These past had two days worn her out and down. The idea of a warm bath and an early night sounded heavenly. Honestly, she thought about calling, texting, or going over to Harry’s, but she didn’t have the strength for another confrontation.
Walking toward her room, Claire thought about her afternoon with Tony. She was incredibly thankful it didn’t include overt arguing. Her emotions have been working overtime and despite their blackmailing topic of conversation, the calm afternoon was surprisingly therapeutic.
As she opened the door and tapped the switch illuminating her bedroom, Claire stared in shock. The sweet aroma permeated her senses. On her dresser, desk, and bedside stand were large bouquets of long stemmed red roses. Tears fill her eyes as she made her way to a card propped against one of the glittering vases with Claire penned on the outside of the small envelope.
Gingerly opening the flap, Claire removed the small rectangle piece of card stock. Relief filled her consciousness and her tired muscles relaxed as she read the words:
If you’re reading this, you didn’t move away... and I’m a jerk.
Now you know why I don’t drink—much.
It makes me an ass! I hope we can talk again – soon...
They walked back to Tony’s car and drove to a small diner with outside seating. When the waiter brought the menus, Claire perfunctorily left hers lying on the table. She couldn’t contain her surprise when Tony glanced her way and said, “Since you haven’t been feeling well, you’d better look and see what sounds appetizing.” It was the first time she’d ever ordered her own meal while with him. Maybe things do change?
By the time he took her back to her car, they’d made some compromises and found some common ground. In two weeks she would join him in Chicago for meetings and dinners with investors.
Standing next to Claire’s car, Tony asked, “May I kiss you good-bye?”
“Is it a requirement of the news release and mandatory to keep my friends safe?”
“No,” he leaned nearer, “it is because I would really like to kiss you.”
She found herself on the precipice of a very slippery slope. Her figurative footing was difficult to maintain. While her mind debated, her body leaned into his chest, and her face tipped upward. His strong arms encased her, his hands found their way to the nape of her neck, and his fingers entangled her hair. They may have been in a parking lot, or perhaps the moon. At that moment, neither one knew. The rest of the world disappeared.
Driving toward Palo Alto, she couldn’t remember who finally pulled away from the embrace. Whoever it was, the other conceded. She did remember the sensual allure emanating from his eyes. Even in the car, the image reddened her cheeks.
Oh shit! What have I done? Claire asked herself as she contemplated her next assignment.
Perseverance is not a long race;
it is many short races one after another.
- Walter Elliott Chapter 39
Text message sent: May 25: 4:41PM – To: Anthony Rawlings
MS NICHOLS RETURNED SAFTLY TO HER PARKING GARAGE. MS MCCOY NOT HOME. NO SIGN OF ANYONE ELSE
Phil waited for a response. Either he would spend the evening monitoring Claire Nichols, watching the front door and parking garage, or he’d be done for the night. After the late night, last night, watching Harrison Baldwin drive the 101 toward San Francisco and turn around and go back to Palo Alto, he hoped this night was done. After so much time on Mr. Rawlings’ payroll, could Phillip Roach be getting soft?
*****
After her afternoon with Tony, Claire returned to a quiet condominium. She wandered from room to room looking for Amber; instead she found a note on the kitchen counter:
I’m running errands – will be back soon.
I’m having dinner with Keaton. Maybe we can talk
tomorrow? Hope you’re feeling better. There is a
message on the house voice mail for you – Amber It gave Claire hope. Optimistically they would all work this out. She still didn’t know what to think about Harry. While out with Tony, Claire checked her phone a couple of times -- not one call or text message from Harry. Of course, he knew where she was and who she was with.
Thinking about Amber on a date with Keaton made Claire happy. Amber may argue the term date, but Claire recently listened to the Rawlings Dictionary. According to that very reliable source, a date was the term used to define the act of two people going out into public together. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. It was so ridiculous. Somehow she would need to modify his definition.
Claire picked up the telephone receiver in the kitchen. With cellphones, they rarely used this telephone. Yet, Amber maintained SiJo needed a way to reach her, if something happened to her cellphone. Pushing the appropriate buttons Claire waited for the message. Who would call me on this number? Claire wondered.
The voice came through the receiver: “You have one saved message -- saved message.”
“Claire Nichols. Do I have the right number? I remembered something else. Call me back: 442-555-7732.”
Claire listened to the message a second time. The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she wasn’t sure who or why? It was probably a reporter. Heaven knows she’d been making the news lately. Whoever it was would call back, if whatever he remembered was truly that important.
It was only a little after five, but with her stomach full of what she ordered (Claire smiled while adding that last part to her thought), she was tired. These past had two days worn her out and down. The idea of a warm bath and an early night sounded heavenly. Honestly, she thought about calling, texting, or going over to Harry’s, but she didn’t have the strength for another confrontation.
Walking toward her room, Claire thought about her afternoon with Tony. She was incredibly thankful it didn’t include overt arguing. Her emotions have been working overtime and despite their blackmailing topic of conversation, the calm afternoon was surprisingly therapeutic.
As she opened the door and tapped the switch illuminating her bedroom, Claire stared in shock. The sweet aroma permeated her senses. On her dresser, desk, and bedside stand were large bouquets of long stemmed red roses. Tears fill her eyes as she made her way to a card propped against one of the glittering vases with Claire penned on the outside of the small envelope.
Gingerly opening the flap, Claire removed the small rectangle piece of card stock. Relief filled her consciousness and her tired muscles relaxed as she read the words:
If you’re reading this, you didn’t move away... and I’m a jerk.
Now you know why I don’t drink—much.
It makes me an ass! I hope we can talk again – soon...
