Dammit. He wanted this woman. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything ever, and not just physically. That was the real problem; he didn’t just want a two-week fuck-a-thon before she took off. He wanted her to stay.
He had hurt her. She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her. Not intentionally, but intentions didn’t matter in a case like this. She hurt as much as if he’d done it on purpose, and he was completely helpless to do anything more about it. The ball was in her court now.
Jacob cleared his throat a bit louder this time. “Are you okay, sir?”
Will took a deep breath. Letting her go was the right thing to do. He’d stay away from her and let her heal. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m ready to go home.”
Jacob opened his the limo passenger door. “Not to the office, Mr. Anderson?”
Yeah, that was the original plan and where he’d intended to stay until Michael got back, but he was done now. She didn’t need to worry about him lurking when she came in to clear her office, and he didn’t need to be hiding, either. It was better for both if he stayed away for a day or so. Even if it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
“No. I’m going home.”
Less than an hour later, Will wandered from room to room like a zombie. Hell, he pretty much was one. He ran his hand over the polished wood of the kitchen table and fought the urge to slam his fist into something.
Beth had wanted to live in the city and this house had been his compromise. It was a restored historic home in an upscale Long Island neighborhood that backed up to a small lake and gave him the nature and open space he sought with the proximity to Beth’s social scene she had demanded.
Like a sentimental fool, he bought this place before his first deployment and had imagined raising kids here. During that first tour of duty, he had it restored by an old college buddy who owned a remodeling company and then worked side by side with the contractor when he returned in order to complete the job before he was deployed the second time.
Beth had hated it. When he brought her here as a surprise, she made no effort to hide the fact that she would not live here. Her ugly words echoed in his head as if it had happened yesterday, instead of three years ago. For his remaining two and a half weeks in the country, she made him tour every overpriced, sleek, modern apartment in the city. Thank God he hadn’t put money down on one.
“Kung Fu Fighting” chimed from his phone. He pulled it from his back pocket and hit ignore. He didn’t need to talk to Chance right now. For a moment, his finger hovered over Claire’s contact in his recent calls list.
“Dammit!” he shouted. He needed to leave her alone. She’d trusted him. She’d been open and genuine with no artifice and he’d unwittingly hurt her.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket.
That was the key to the attraction, he realized. Beth was always worried about what people would think based on how she looked or what she had, so she cloaked herself in the trappings of success and status. Claire was never anyone but who she was. Genuine and giving.
And now she was gone.
He opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out the unopened bottle of scotch his now-ex future father-in-law had given him at the engagement party. Will hadn’t gotten shitfaced since he had returned to the States eight months ago and read in the paper that his fiancée had jilted him. After that, he had promised his brothers that he would never drink alone again. His promises used to mean something. But then, so did the words, “I love you,” until Beth had twisted them.
Will pulled the cap off the bottle. Eight months was long enough.
…
Claire rolled over and switched on her bedside lamp. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep, and that really pissed her off. She needed to escape from the jumble of mixed thoughts and feelings duking it out for dominance in her brain. At the moment, her desire to be with Will pummeled her common sense.
She stepped into her slippers, shuffled to her desk, and flicked the mouse to wake her computer. Maybe working on her itinerary would put her to sleep.
After a few minutes of staring blankly at the calendar while images of Will filled her head, she decided if she were going to agonize and obsesses over the guy, she might as well go all the way.
Pages of links to articles from local news sources, as well as tabloids, loaded simply from searching his name and city. Seeing his picture made her heart race faster. So tall and handsome, whether in a tux at an opera debut or in his fatigues for a military shot, William Anderson took her breath away.
And it made her ache all over. She had totally fallen for him and he’d only been using her. Her breath caught in her throat. She was so confused. Deep down, below the layers and layers of hurt and anger, she still believed they really had something special—that he cared for her.
The facts as she knew them and his explanation on the ride home had parried back and forth in her brain ever since he had dropped her off. And honestly, it was a dead heat. She got why she would be a suspect, for sure.
But Will had said he believed her innocent, even in the face of all the strange coincidences and circumstantial evidence.
She scrolled down and read the name she’d seen in several articles and photo captions out loud. “Bethanne Carmichael.”
Then she clicked on the next article. Local Socialite to Marry War Hero. Will and Beth made a fantastic couple. Both perfect as they smiled at her from her screen.
Skimming through the articles, it seemed like they were everywhere all the time: premieres, restaurants, parties, charity events, even a dedication at the zoo. She flicked through the entries, but stopped short at the bottom of the third page of links. Carmichael-Anderson Wedding Canceled.
Claire expected to find a dry article announcing the end of the engagement, but instead found a horror story. The press had had a field day. By the end of the first paragraph, she’d covered her mouth; by the third, she was holding her breath; and by the end of the article, she was fighting back tears. “That bitch!” Claire stammered in disbelief. It was a wonder the guy didn’t hate every female on the planet. She’d dumped him in the tabloids, and they’d covered his return by posting a photo of him on crutches and wearing a cast fielding questions about the breakup, rather than what he’d accomplished in service to his country. Beth had totally stolen his spotlight. “Give ’em what they want,” Claire whispered. Obviously, a celebrity breakup would sell better than a simple “hero returns” story. Best of both worlds.
It was the next article, though, the one about what had happened to his unit in Afghanistan, that ripped out her heart out and stomped it flat. Will and two other men on his mission had been injured in a roadside ambush. Even with a broken leg, he’d managed to drag the two to safety. God, to go through that, and then return to find out he’d been jilted.
Claire wiped away a tear and picked up her cell phone on her nightstand. He was only a phone call away. One simple push of the button. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not until she sorted out what had really happened between them.
After brewing some chamomile tea, she shuffled back to bed. Sleep or not, she couldn’t torture herself with looking at pictures of Will anymore. It was troubling how much she felt his absence after only this short while, and what she’d just read made her stomach churn. Bethanne Carmichael had better hope she didn’t meet up with her in a dark alley someday.
Chapter Ten
When Claire turned in her notice the next morning, Beverly asked her to finish the catalog she was working on before she left because she was the best editor they’d ever had and it was imperative it be finished in time. She had reluctantly agreed, for Heather’s agency’s reputation more than anything. It would only take the day to finish it, though honestly, she found it impossible to focus and at the rate she was going it could take her remaining week and a half.
Through her open door, she watched Chance go in and out of Michael’s office several times, but there was no sign of W
ill. Not that she’d expected him to show up today. Still, her heart stuttered every time someone entered the lobby, and sank every time she realized it wasn’t him.
After lunch, a crew delivered and set up rental chairs and a platform in the lobby, turning it into a makeshift stage for the private auction scheduled that night. While a woman affixed a skirt to the platform, Chance paced the lobby like a caged animal. Several times, he glanced over at the elevators as if waiting for someone.
When it appeared he was heading for her office, Claire snapped her attention back to her screen, adrenaline screaming through her body in a tingly blast. What on earth could he possibly want with her?
He stood right outside the door. “May I speak with you, Miss Maddox?”
Claire placed her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting. “Sure.” He was smaller than Will, with brown hair that touched his shoulders. Piercing blue eyes like his brother’s studied her face as he got closer. He had the same whatever-it-was that all three brothers had, but he didn’t appeal to her in any way like Will did. Nobody had ever appealed to Claire like that.
“I hate to ask you this, but have you spoken with Will today?”
Prickles rolled over her skin. “No.”
He shifted uncomfortably and looked over his shoulder into the lobby. “Neither have I. He hasn’t answered his phone since he spoke with Michael last night. I was hoping you might have—”
“I haven’t.” She tried to focus on her screen, but she couldn’t, and he didn’t leave. “Maybe you should talk to Jacob.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
She leaned back in her chair and waited. His manner was nothing like Will’s assertive, direct approach.
He glanced over his shoulder out the door to the lobby, where the crew was still setting up chairs. “As you can see, we are prepping for an event tonight, and I really hate to ask it, but we could sure use some help.”
“I gave notice today and removed my name from the list to work tonight. I only agreed to stay until this catalog is edited, and I’m almost finished.”
“I know.” He twisted a ring on his right hand. “Beverly told me. I’m asking you to reconsider. We will only need help with check-in.”
“Why are you asking me rather than Hig…Mrs. Higgins?”
“Because it was an excuse to ask you if you’d heard from Will.”
Well, at least he was honest. She took a deep breath and met his steady gaze. Did he think she was a spy, too? His brother Michael did for sure. But Will didn’t. That much she was certain of. Maybe working this auction would demonstrate she had nothing to hide. Maybe not. Maybe the real reason was that deep down inside, she really wanted to see Will again and clear the air. He’d appeared crushed outside her apartment last night. After what she’d learned about him online, she knew she should at least let him know she understood why she would be suspect.
Chance leaned forward. “We really could use the help. Please reconsider. We’ll pay double for the event.”
Like that mattered. As Will pointed out so eloquently last night, she had five-fucking-million dollars in her bank account. The only reason she was even finishing up the work in front of her was because Elite Placement had a good working relationship with this company and she didn’t want to make Heather look bad. Be responsible, Claire. “Okay. I’ll help out.”
The trademark Anderson dimples made an appearance as he smiled at her across the desk.
…
“Open the fucking door!” Chance shouted from the front porch of Will’s house. “I know you’re in there.”
Will rolled over and landed on the floor in front of the sofa with a thud he could hardly hear or feel over the pounding inside his skull. He could, however, hear his little brother banging on his leaded glass front door.
“You break that glass, and I’ll make you eat every last shard of it,” he tried to shout back, but could only manage a croaking sound as he struggled to his feet. When he opened the door, his little brother strode into the living room without a word. Will didn’t even have to look at his face to know what he was thinking. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” Chance picked up the almost-empty bottle and strode to the kitchen, dropping it in the trash can with a bang that bordered on a sonic boom as it rattled around in Will’s brain.
“Well, you would be an expert.” It was a low blow, and he knew it.
His brother’s voice remained level. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, Will.”
He slumped into his favorite chair and pressed the heels of his palms to his temples. “Why are you here?”
“When you didn’t respond to Michael’s calls and texts, he sent me over to see if you were okay. If I found you dead, I was supposed to leave you here to rot and stink the place up.” He wrinkled his nose. “You’ve already started that process, obviously. But since you’re alive, I’m going to sober you up and haul your ass into the office before the auction.”
Will started to shake his head, but stopped when it felt like it would cause brain damage. “No way am I going into the office today, or tomorrow, or ever again for that matter.”
“Something has come up. You have to come in.”
“No.”
“I’m going to tell you about the new information, then you’re going to haul your sorry drunk ass to the shower, and then come with me to the office.”
Will dropped his hands and looked up at his brother’s face. Chance was standing over him with his arms crossed over his chest. On a good day, he might be able to hold his own with Chance, even with all his martial arts training. This was not a good day. “What came up?”
“Last night, Polly Guidry told me that she was visited by an attractive, petite blond woman who suggested she not sign over her items with us, but to sell them instead to a private buyer who was interested in the entire collection. Polly could sell it all at once with less hassle and immediate results in cash. Of course she didn’t accept and we are still handling her account.”
Shit. “When did this happen?”
“Two days after Polly met with Michael. That was week before last.”
Will scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to clear his partially fermented brain. Claire had been working in the office at that time.
Chance moved to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel. “I showed her a picture of Claire I captured from surveillance video. She didn’t recognize her, but I thought if they met—”
“This is completely unnecessary. I already know she’s not involved.”
“You’ve spent time with her, and I’m sure you’re right, but this will prove it once and for all and clear the issue for Claire as well. She’s agreed to work the auction tonight.”
“The fact that she even agreed to be at the auction of a client who’d been approached indicates her innocence.”
“So it would seem, but we need something concrete for Michael—something more than only your instinct ruling her out. This should do it.” Chance shoved his hands in his pockets. “Someone needs to casually get the two of them together to see how Claire reacts and see if Polly recognizes her in person—her voice or whatnot. I thought you were the best candidate.”
Will covered his face. “You got that wrong by a mile. It can’t be me. She’d bolt.”
“Well, I can’t do it. I’m on monitor because our night guard’s baby was born yesterday, and since no one could reach you”—Chance gave him a pointed glare—“I acted in your place and gave him the week off. The stand-in doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
His brother had every right to be angry. Hell, he’d even slipped up in his job, which was way out of character. It was time to get his shit back together. Will stood and stretched, trying to wake up his sluggish body and mind. “I’ll take over surveillance and you deal with Claire. I can’t do it. I’m not shitting you.” Though he’d love nothing more than to talk to her, she’d made
it clear that was not an option.
Chance grinned. “Deal.”
After a long shower and two glasses of ice water, Will had evolved from hideous creature to something just shy of human.
“You look like shit,” Chance said from the seat across the limo.
Will didn’t bother to meet his brother’s eyes and continued to stare out the window. “I feel like shit.” On every possible level.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Chance shrugged and finally looked away. “I’m here if you need somebody.”
“I’m fine.” God, he sounded like a dick. His brother was concerned and had every right to be. “Well, I will be.” They pulled up in front of the Anderson Building. “Thanks for coming by my place. I probably needed the rescue.”
His brother met his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
…
It was almost closing time when Claire spotted Will following Chance into Michael’s office. He didn’t even cast a look in her direction. Ever since he’d dropped her off, she’d thought about him and had actually started softening to his side of things, but his deliberate avoidance was irritating.
Her phone buzzed from her desk drawer. She pulled it out and slammed the drawer shut. She thought he would have at least acknowledged her presence.
“Hey, Mr. Sinclair,” she answered. “I hope you have good news for me.”
“Indeed, I do,” the familiar voice responded. “The hold has been lifted, and the money wired into your account is now available for use.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Claire would have screamed and danced around in a circle. She was rich—really rich. Something she’d never been before. For some reason, this amazing news didn’t make her feel like dancing. All she could think was that it was one more step toward leaving New York City behind. Her gaze moved to the closed doors across the lobby. She’d be leaving Will behind, too. “Thanks. You’ve been amazing.”
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