“You realize if your assistant accompanies you to any more events the papers will start to speculate.”
What? He hadn’t even thought about taking Patricia. Yes, she’d accompanied him to a few events, but it was totally platonic and, at the time, an outing of convenience. “I can assure you that speculating would be all they could do. She’s only accompanied me a few times, and they were all business-related. There’s nothing to speculate about. I’ll be taking someone else.”
“Would you like to ask this lady, or would you like me to call her?”
He had to stifle the chuckle that rumbled in the back of his throat. Ask? He had no intentions of asking this person. This person didn’t have a choice in the matter—or any matter. After the first few glitches, she seemed to have come to terms with this reality. This outing would be another duty she could fulfill. Anthony was growing tired of the parade of women on his arm. He had a lot of deals in the works, and listening to some woman prattle small talk didn’t sound appealing. If he took Claire, he could avoid the whole wine-and-dine thing. They would simply attend the symphony and come home. It was much simpler.
“No, I don’t need you to call.”
“Mr. Rawlings, I’ll need a name.”
Of course she would. “Her name is Claire Nichols. She’s from Atlanta.”
Shelly didn’t speak.
“Did you get that?”
“I did, sir. Is there more?”
“No. That’s all that needs to be released.”
“Perhaps you’d like me to do some research and verify that there isn’t a history that could negatively affect you?”
“No.” He sat taller. “There’s no history. If that’s all, I have work to do.”
“Mr. Rawlings, can you please spell Nichols for me?”
Anthony gripped the receiver. “N-I-C-H-O-L-S.” He tried to soften his tone. After all, Shelly was paid very well to maintain his reputation. He’d never before turned down her help in assuring its untarnished veneer. He explained, “I’ve already had her investigated.” Sighing. “You know me, Shelly. I wouldn’t take that risk; however, she’s not the type of woman I normally see. The whole public thing is new to her. I don’t want her getting unwanted publicity.”
Shelly exhaled. “Yes, I can imagine that would be difficult. Very well, her name and hometown will be all the information that I release. Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. That’s all I have at the moment.”
“Very well.” He hung up the receiver. Shit! Was that the right call? Rolling his mouse over the mouse pad, Anthony Rawlings’ spreadsheets came back to life. A committee had worked days—perhaps weeks—compiling all the data; yet he wasn’t seeing the numbers. No, he was seeing the woman back at the estate.
In the beginning, Anthony worked to make her a faceless person—perhaps like an employee at a business he was about to close. He told himself that she was nothing to him. Allowing Claire to pay her family’s debt was not Nathaniel’s original plan; however, Anthony reasoned, that some fates were worse than death. Catherine disagreed—at first—but she came around, and although he valued her opinion, Anthony’s money propelled their plan. He’d do whatever he damn well wanted. He saw by the way Catherine pursed her lips and stared, that she wasn’t pleased with his decision, but when it came to this matter Anthony wouldn’t budge—Claire was different.
Truly, it was ironic that he’d made his case—his basis for his decision—based on the fact that she was unique, when he continually told himself she wasn’t special. That was why he wanted to take her to the symphony—because she wasn’t special. He wouldn’t need to listen to her small talk, although he knew for a fact that Claire liked to talk! He wouldn’t need to do anything that was expected on a date. Anthony could do whatever he wanted—this wasn’t a date!
This outing would be a test. He squared his shoulders and dialed Catherine’s cell number on his private cell phone. She answered after only a few rings. “Yes, Anton?” Obviously, she was alone. In the company of others, she maintained a more formal appearance.
“Have Claire ready by 6:00 PM. She’s accompanying me to the symphony in Davenport.”
“Excuse me?”
Anthony slowed his words. “Did I stutter?”
“I just think I misunderstood you. I’m not sure she’s ready for this. Do you realize what could happen if—”
“Then make sure she’s ready and that nothing happens. I’m not in this alone.”
“I was not in favor—”
“But,” he paused, “you’ve supported my decision. I believe the word is accomplice.”
Catherine’s tone hardened. “I’ll have her ready.”
“Six PM, there’s a cocktail reception at 7:00 PM, and the symphony begins at 8:00 PM. Eric will be driving us in the limousine.”
“Anton, I’ll prepare her, but you must be sure she—”
“Do you doubt my control?”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Her tone changed. “Mr. Rawlings, she’ll be ready.”
He placed his cell phone back in his pocket and once again concentrated on the report before him.
Anthony looked at his watch—5:52 PM—as he stood near the front door and replied to the text message that had just come across the screen of his iPhone. Eric was in front of the house with the limousine. Just as Anthony was about to hit SEND, he heard a cough from the top of the stairs. Looking up, he saw Catherine whisper something into Claire’s ear, just before Claire began to descend. He scanned her figure from head to toe. Anthony liked her hair style. It was up, with curls hanging down, accentuating her slender neck. The dress she wore looked like it had been made especially for her petite frame. He also saw her heels peeking out from the bottom of her skirt with each step. She definitely looked the part—a far cry from the woman in jeans and tennis shoes at the Red Wing, the one he’d seen a few months ago.
He had a fleeting thought about Claire’s public behavior; however, as he watched his acquisition gracefully approach, his concern evaporated into an aura that had enveloped the foyer. It felt nothing like the women who usually accompanied him. They had a confidence—no, arrogance—that surrounded them like a cloud of perfume. Claire’s semblance was different. She had to know how beautiful she looked, yet he saw the question in her eyes. He’d seen it before. Claire wasn’t contemplating her escape; she was seeking his approval.
A split second before his words of approval left his lips, he saw Catherine. After their discussion earlier, he questioned whether she would do her part to make this happen. Anthony turned from Claire and with a satisfied grin, bowed toward Catherine. “My dear Catherine, you’ve outdone yourself. You’re an artist.”
He saw the smirk in her eyes. Oh, if they were alone, he was sure Catherine would let him know exactly what she’d done to prepare Claire, not to mention what she thought of this outing; instead, she replied, “Mr. Rawlings, an artist is only as good as her canvas. You’re accompanying a beautiful canvas.”
“Or, should we say,” he smirked, “she’s accompanying me?” Turning back to Claire, he said, “We must go; Eric’s waiting.”