“Y-yes,” she replied.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Anthony, I’ll do as you say.”
The screen of his phone brought him back to present and told him that he had two voice mails and three text messages. He looked past Claire to the clock. It was almost 7:00 PM and they hadn’t eaten. He checked the text messages first. One from his assistant, informing him of an important email she’d sent regarding an upcoming meeting. The next was a text message from Brent Simmons, head of Rawlings Industries’ legal department and Anthony’s closest friend. It, too, discussed the email.
Anthony could access the email in question from his phone, but perhaps both he and Claire could use a break. Besides, he may need to make a call or two if this truly was a big issue. Whatever was happening apparently had more than a few feathers ruffled. Looking toward the bed, he knew that calling from this room was too risky. What if Claire decided to make a noise? He walked over to the bed and leaned over her. As he neared, he watched her body grow still. Running his fingers slowly over her breasts and down her stomach, he said, “I have to make a few calls. I’m going to untie you.”
First, he untied the scarf, exposing her green eyes. Her makeup from earlier had smeared, and large black streaks covered her cheeks; nevertheless, from the moment he’d removed the blindfold, her eyes were fixed on his. She was learning the importance of eye contact. That was the first step of Anthony’s one step at a time training. He thought of the process as somewhat similar to what it must be like to break a wild horse. It took time and the correct balance of negative and positive reinforcement. Smiling, he continued, “When I untie your hands, are you going to behave?”
Her response was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
“As much as I appreciate verbal responses, I like them better if I could actually hear them, and I’d like them if they had more elaboration. Yes, what?”
Her lips trembled as she replied, “Yes, Anthony, I’ll behave.”
While he untied her wrists, he spoke, “I want you to take another shower and dress in a negligee—something black and long. I assume you remember my rules regarding attire? There’ll be nothing under that negligee.” Not waiting for an answer, he ran his thumb under her eye to smear more of the mascara. “You’ll also need to fix your makeup. Don’t take too long. I’ll be back soon.” Though she was no longer bound to the headboard, her hands were together over her chest as Anthony continued to release her wrists from the length of material. “You need to drink some water. I don’t want you to dehydrate, but do not go to sleep—I have plans. We have a long evening ahead.”
Claire didn’t speak. Once her hands were free, she rubbed her wrists, and her gaze searched for the robe she’d left lying near the bed. When she started to reach for it, Anthony corrected her. “No. I want to see you.”
He watched as she struggled with the decision to leave the robe and obey his command. Finally, she started to step away from the bed. As she did, Anthony noticed the ever so slight shake of her head and grasped her arm. She stilled where he held her. “What?” he asked. “Tell me why you shook your head.”
Claire stuttered. “I-I didn’t, or at least I don’t think I did.”
His grasp tightened. “Claire, you’ll be honest with me at all times. I saw you shake your head. What were you thinking?”
She closed her eyes and more tears cascaded down her cheeks. When she opened them, she said, “I was thinking.”
“Don’t make me ask you to elaborate—again.”
“I-I was thinking that this can’t be real. It’s some kind of nightmare. It can’t really be happening to me.”
Anthony let go of her arm and noticed the redness from his grasp. Claire’s hand immediately went to the spot and massaged. Standing, he looked down at her. “Oh, my dear, it’s real, and don’t pretend that you hate it. I can tell when someone enjoys herself and you,” he inclined his head and broadened his grin, taunting, “have enjoyed yourself more than once this evening.” When her eyes started to look away, he lifted her chin. “Haven’t you?”
“Please—I don’t want any of this.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” He intensified his grasp. “I like my questions answered the first time. Do you understand?”
Her neck straightened. The sudden determination he saw in her expression surprised him as she replied, “I understand, and despite what you think you may have sensed, NO! I have not enjoyed myself.”
Oh, there was fire yet to tame.
When he didn’t release her chin, Claire’s tone softened, “Now, may I please go take another shower?”
Amused by her candor, he replied, “First, my dear, I don’t believe you; however, I believe that you believe you. Therefore, I’ll allow this little bit of dishonesty to go unpunished. I recommend that you remember for future reference, I will not tolerate lying or deception. When it is discovered, you will be sorry. Second, expressing gratitude for positive consequences is not only appreciated, it’s expected. So, Claire, what do you say when someone does something nice for you, like for example, untying your hands?”
He savored the moment as she comprehended his words. With her neck still straight, her words issued forth, saturated with a combination of rebellion and sarcasm. “Thank you, Anthony.”
He released her chin. “Very good—do you remember my instructions?”
“Yes, I remember.” She stayed still. When he didn’t speak, she added, “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Then you may go.”
He watched appreciatively as she walked unclothed to the bathroom and closed the door. Yes, she would come around. It may be a slow and agonizing process, but he had all the time he wanted. After the bathroom door shut, he walked around the bed and pulled on his trousers. He, too, could use a shower. Momentarily, he considered joining Claire. The smile that emerged had more to do with her reaction than his actions. There would be plenty of time for that. He’d told her that he would leave and return, and he was curious to see if she’d follow his directions. If she didn’t, there would be consequences.
As he exited the suite, he called the kitchen. “Have dinner sent to Claire’s suite in an hour.”
In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences.
—Robert Green Ingersoll
From the speaker on Anthony’s desk, he listened to his assistant’s voice, “Shelly is on line three.”
Anthony’s thoughts went from the spreadsheet on his screen to his publicist. “Patricia, put her through.”
Immediately, he heard Shelly’s concern. “Mr. Rawlings, Jennifer McAdams is in Italy on a photo shoot, and it’s lasted longer than she planned.”
“And you’re telling me this because—”
“Because, sir, she’s supposed to accompany you this evening to the Quad City Symphony at the Adler Theater.”
Anthony ran his fingers through his hair. Damn—he’d forgotten all about that, and he actually enjoyed Jenny’s company, unlike many of the women he’s been seen with over the years. “Well, then I’ll cancel.”
“With all due respect, you can’t. The theater will remain open because of your donation. They’re planning on your attending, and there’s a long list of guests coming to see you …”
Shelly rambled about the importance of his presence, as Anthony thought more about the outing. Could this be an unplanned opportunity to test Claire outside the estate? His grin emerged—outside. She’d just recently earned her way outside of the house. Truthfully, she’d been doing much better than he imagined, and outside would’ve happened much sooner, if only she’d asked. He shifted slightly in his large leather chair. Even the slightest thought of his complete control over her life had an effect on his body.
Shelly’s voice brought him back to the subject at hand. The idea of a new test intrigued him. This would push her outside of her newly established comfort level. Besides, if she accompanied him and succeeded, she could earn more privileges. If she failed—wel
l, they both knew what that could bring.
Shelly’s voice quieted. Anthony waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he asked, “What was that?”
“Do you want me to call Julia?”
“No.” Although, like Jenny, Julia too was a model, she was too high-maintenance for Anthony’s liking.
“Do you plan to attend alone?”
Anthony wrestled with his thoughts. If he took Claire out in public and she failed, wouldn’t Davenport, Iowa, be a better testing ground, than say Chicago or New York? He could manage damage control much better in his own backyard, and taking her out into the world would accomplish another goal. Anthony truly wasn’t convinced Claire contemplated the magnitude of his power. Oh, she saw his wealth regarding the estate, and her behavior had steadily improved over the last two months; however, did she really comprehend his reach? Did she truly understand that any attempts at escape could be quickly thwarted? Taking her to an event where he’s the man of honor would show her firsthand the depth and breadth of his power. Anthony made his decision: it was time. “I won’t be attending alone.”
“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.”
Claire didn’t respond other than to nod. When Anthony offered his arm, she dutifully placed her small hand appropriately and walked with him to the limousine. Eric stood ready and opened their door. As they neared, Claire hesitated. What was she thinking? Many times her feelings were transparent; however, when he looked down at her, dressed, styled, and painted to perfection, he found it intriguing that he couldn’t read her thoughts. Anthony motioned toward the open door, and once again, Claire nodded and eased herself inside.
After the car began moving, Anthony asked, “Have you ever ridden in a limousine before?” He knew the truth; she’d been in a limousine in Atlanta, as well as in Iowa. Anthony doubted she remembered either of those times—just as well.
“No, I haven’t.” She turned back toward him. “Anthony?”
Before she could continue, his phone vibrated. He held up a finger and she pressed her lips together. The call was from Tom, a friend as well as one of his legal staff. Before long, Anthony was in a full-out discussion about a company in Rhode Island. Thankfully, he could access some of the documents from his iPad. It wasn’t until he sensed the car slow and turn, that he even realized how close they were or how much time had passed. If this had been a date, he never would have gotten so much accomplished. Smiling at his productivity, Anthony turned off his iPad, put his phone away, and turned toward Claire. “Has Catherine prepared your behavior for this evening as well as she has your appearance?”
Her eyes widened as she turned from the window to face him. “She’s given me her advice,” Claire answered. “But I’d feel better if I heard yours.”
He liked her respectful tone. “Very well, when we arrive there’ll probably be photographers. Don’t act surprised or shocked by the attention. Just flash a beautiful smile and radiate confidence. Stay next to me at all times. There’ll be reporters who’ll try to learn your identity. I have a publicist who’ll know the time to release any necessary information. That is not you. I’ll do most of the talking; however, common sense will need to be with you. If spoken to, you will respond, but do not share information that is privileged. Do you understand?”
Behind His Eyes - Consequences Page 4