The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  Driving toward Palo Alto, Claire 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.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after another.

  —Walter Elliott

  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 Highway 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 he 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’s a message on the house voicemail for you.

  Amber

  The note 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 heard from 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 cell phones, they rarely used this telephone, yet Amber maintained SiJo needed a way to reach her if something happened to her cell phone. Pushing the appropriate buttons Claire waited for the message. Who would call me on this number?

  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: 4X2-555-7732.”

  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 5:00 PM, but with her stomach full of what she ordered. Claire smiled while adding that last part to her thought. She was tired. These past two days had 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 haven’t moved 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…

  I promise to be more open. Can you forgive me?Harry

  She immediately reached for her iPhone and sent the text:

  “THANK YOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS! EXCESSIVE, BUT I LOVE THEM. YES, I CAN FORGIVE… IF YOU CAN? WE CAN TALK TOMORROW? I’M TIRED AND GOING TO BED AFTER A BATH. SO TOMORROW?”

  Claire inhaled the jasmine from the dissolved bath salts as her shoulders submerged under the warm water. Laying her head against the incline of the tub, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. There was too much to process, too many things to think about. From the distance of her room, she heard the sound indicating a received text message. The warmth enveloped her as the salts moisturized her skin. Claire slipped away to the serenity of sleep.

  She recognized the room. With each breath, the familiar stagnant air filled her lungs. As her eyes adjusted to the pale light, she saw the dimples on the painted cinderblock walls. Claire wrapped the thin blanket tighter, trying to fend off the chill permeating deep into her soul. It wasn’t from the controlled temperature of the small cell, but from the solitude. When she stared up she saw all four corners of the small room without turning her head. Only the grid of an air vent disturbed the monotony of the dirty white ceiling. Each wall looked the same—same color, same height, and same length. Pulling her from the intolerable seclusion, the buzzer sounded. Tentatively, she moved toward the door with the small window. People could only be seen through the small glass opening if they stood directly on the other side. Her heartbeat quickened. Could it be a package or a visitor… someone to talk to? Lifting herself to her tip-toes, she peered through the pane… Her vision filled with eyes, his dark penetrating eyes…

  Claire woke with a startled jump. Her heart beat rapidly as her quick movement caused tepid water to splash about the tub onto the tile floor. She must have fallen asleep. Her eyes scanned the luxurious tile, plush towels, and dimmed sconces framing the mirror. The view blurred as tears filled her eyes. Did the tears come from her dream or her relief? She momentarily submerged her face under the now cooler water. Lifting her face above the water, the aroma of jasmine lingered, reinforcing her current location. She inhaled deeply as her muscles relaxed. She wasn’t in prison; she wasn’t alone. It was only a nightmare.

  The fog dissipated both from the Palo Alto sky and from the sleeping recesses of her mind. Sunshine facilitated the process as Claire’s eyes adjusted to the morning light. She remembered the food poisoning of the day before and evaluated her current condition. The only possible ailment she could identify was hunger. Rolling tentatively toward the clock, her eyes widened at the number before her: 9:53 AM.

  When Claire checked her phones, she found the response from Harry:

  “I’M GLAD YOU’RE HOME. GET SOME REST. WE’LL TALK TOMORROW.”

  It made her both happy and sad. She wanted them to work it out, but she dreaded telling him about her public arrangement with Tony.

  On her other phone, she had a text from Courtney. It was received at 9:17 AM and said:

  “FYI–TONY IS HERE. HE WANTS TO TALK TO US ABOUT YOU! I SLIPPED AWAY TO TELL YOU. I WILL TEXT WHEN HE’S GONE.”

  Claire closed her eyes and shook her head, poor Courtney and Brent. Caleb’s wedding is in less than a week away, and they have Tony on their doorstep. Narcissistic as ever, Claire was sure Tony believed his issues were more important than anything else in their lives. Curiosity grew as Claire contemplated the conversation occurring 2,000 miles away.

  Amber entered the kitchen as Claire finished the final stages of preparing her breakfast feast. She had two fried eggs, two pieces of toast, a banana, and a cup of yogurt. Amber’s voice sounded light as she asked, “Did you forget how to make coffee?”

  Claire grinned. It wasn’t that long ago that she didn’t know how to work the strange little machine. “No, I’m in more of an orange juice mood.”
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br />   “Harry told me about your talk the other night.”

  “Well, it wasn’t much of a talk.”

  “Do you really think Tony’s responsible for our problems?”

  Claire nodded, her mouth full of banana. Once she’d swallowed, she replied, “I do. I honestly don’t think it can be proven, unless there is someone working for him and you can torture a confession out of them.”

  Having Claire’s ravenous hunger appeased and Amber’s attitude composed, created the perfect environment for them to calmly discuss the gala and recent events. Claire told Amber about her agreement with Tony. How she needed to appear with him in public, and how she was worried about telling Harry. Amber agreed; Harry wouldn’t be pleased.

  Although upsetting, the thought didn’t deter Claire’s appetite. Amber laughed as Claire used her toast to sweep the remnants of egg from her plate.

  “I only ate lunch yesterday. I’m trying to catch up.” Claire responded with a shrug.

  Before they finished, the front door opened, and they heard Harry’s footsteps approaching the kitchen.

  “That’s my cue to sneak back to my room. You two need some privacy,” Amber whispered.

  By the time Harry entered the kitchen, his sister was gone. Claire looked up from her empty plate and sheepishly said, “Hi, thanks for the flowers.”

  Sophia watched Derek as he read the newspaper and sipped his coffee. Things were perfect after the gala, but she wasn’t ready to mention the possible tour. Then yesterday, the time never seemed right. Could it be because she didn’t want to do it? It was a fantastic offer, but why wouldn’t she want to tour the country, all expenses paid. As Sophia watched her husband, she knew the answer: she wanted to be with him!

  The ringing of her cell phone brought Sophia back to reality. The screen said: MOM. Sophia frowned. Derek looked up from the paper. “Who is it? Why do you look worried?”

  “My Mom, I just talked to her yesterday.” With that, Sophia swiped the screen. “Hi Mom, what’s up?”

  When Sophia disconnected the line, she turned to Derek’s furrowed brows and concerned expression. He’d heard Sophia’s end of the conversation, and now he wanted to know more.

  “Is it your dad again?”

  Sophia nodded. “Yes. Mom’s really worried. She said yesterday he went to the store, someplace he’d been a million times. He didn’t come home for three hours. She kept trying to reach him on his cell phone. Finally, when he came home, he didn’t have the groceries and couldn’t remember why he’d been out or where he’d been.”

  “She needs to get him some help.”

  “He’s stubborn,” Sophia said with a sigh. “I’m worried. I think part of it is financial. Dad doesn’t want to spend any money on himself.”

  “Then help them. They sure helped you.”

  “He won’t accept it, but Mom might. Maybe I should go for a visit?”

  Derek kissed Sophia’s forehead. “I need to leave for that ten day China trip next week. Maybe you could go then?”

  She took a drink of coffee. “I’ve also been thinking about the studio in Provincetown. You know, since I have the money from those paintings, I was thinking about hiring someone to keep that studio open, while we’re out here. I hate for it to sit closed during peak tourist season.”

  Derek agreed. The money changed so many things, giving Sophia the ability to do things she’d always wanted.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you about an offer I received the other night,” Sophia said.

  Derek looked up again from the newspaper. “What kind of offer?”

  “Well, that mysterious buyer, the one who never showed up…”

  Derek listened patiently as Sophia described the tour, the cities, the exposure, and the time apart. He feigned enthusiasm. “That sounds amazing. What do you plan to do about it?”

  “I agree, it’s amazing, but I’m going to tell Mr. George no.”

  Derek’s relief was visible. “Why?”

  Sophia put her arms around her husband’s neck. Their eyes met soft brown to light gray. She kissed his tender lips. “Do you think I should do it?”

  “I want you to do whatever is best for you.”

  “I want to be with you, and it’s not just me—it’s us. I’m thrilled I’ve sold these paintings. I love the idea of having studios on each coast, but my mom needs help, and I want to be with you. There are too many things going on for me to travel around the country for two years.”

  He pulled her close. “Good, I don’t want to ever stop your dreams.”

  “You and me, we are my dreams. The rest is just frosting on the cake.”

  Derek snickered. “You like frosting.”

  “I do, but too much makes me sick.”

  “Then by all means, Mrs. Burke, we don’t want you feeling ill.”

  Harry listened again as Claire explained the gala. This time, he didn’t judge. He didn’t interrupt or doubt Claire’s theories. They talked about her agreement. Finally, Harry asked, “How long is this supposed to go on?”

  “I don’t know for sure. He gave me dates reaching into July.”

  His lips started to move, but then he pressed them together.

  “The first one is in two weeks, in Chicago. I’ll have my own accommodations.”

  “Really, Claire, what’s the point?”

  “Appearances. It’s all about appearance and manipulation.”

  “Do you think it will ever end?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe if we learn something about his past. I need something to hold over him. I’m going to keep talking with Meredith. She’s been in contact with some publisher. They no longer want to do a series of articles, but a book.”

  “Why are you still meeting if this book will never get published?”

  “I still have the agreement. If anything happens to me or someone I care about then the book will be published.”

  “So, you’re both threatening each other?”

  Claire nodded and shrugged. “Yes, it’s a great basis for a relationship, don’t you think?”

  Harry placed his hand over Claire’s. “No, it seems pretty messed up to me. I just want a simple honest relationship.”

  Claire sighed. “That would be wonderful.”

  He bent down, their noses nearly touched. “I’ll accept friends with benefits, for now, but not forever.” His lips brushed hers.

  Claire’s body relaxed, and her arms found their way around his neck. “I’ll find a way out of this. I promise.”

  Amber joined them as they talked about SiJo. “I felt the tension ease; do you mind if I join you two?”

  “Well, I don’t know. It is your place,” Claire said with a grin. She felt triumphant. Tony tried to take this camaraderie away from her. He failed. It was a small victory, the saving of a pawn, but each victorious battle—no matter how small—helped win the war.

  “Oh, did you listen to that message?” Amber asked Claire.

  “Yes, twice. I have no idea who it is. Probably a reporter or something.”

  “What are you talking about?” Harry asked.

  Claire told him about the message on the house phone. He asked if it had been erased. When Claire told him no; he listened to the voicemail. Claire noticed his expression cloud as he replayed the message and wrote down the number.

  “Let me do some checking. I don’t like people calling this number. It’s unlisted.”

  After Harry left, Amber mentioned Claire’s flowers, “You were quite the popular lady yesterday.”

  “It was very nice of your brother.”

  “He brought one of the vases. The other two came in separate deliveries. Neither had a card, but I did find it strange; the delivery guy said one of the bouquets was for Claire Rawls.”

  Claire felt the blood drain from her face. “Why didn’t you say anything about that before?”

  Amber stared at Claire. “I figured it was some code between you and your ex. I didn’t want to upset Harry, more.”

 
; “I don’t think it is a code. Tony doesn’t like that I even know about his past. He isn’t going to flaunt it in a delivery. I’ll ask. Honestly, I’d feel better if they were from him. Otherwise, it creeps me out.”

  Her iPhone had two missed calls from Tony, and her work phone had a text message from Courtney, received an hour earlier:

  “HE JUST LEFT. SAID HE WANTS YOU TO BE HIS PLUS 1 AT THE WEDDING! CALL ME!”

  Chapter Forty

  If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.

  —Anne Bradstreet

  Nathaniel held Marie’s hands and looked at his beautiful young wife. Her resolve was stronger than that of a woman two or three times her age. At twenty-six, she’d experienced more heartbreak and disappointment than most endure in a lifetime.

  “I’m doing fine. Nathaniel, please don’t worry about me. You’re going to be out of this place in only nine more months. Please use your energy taking care of yourself.”

  “You shouldn’t be tied to an old man in a prison cell. You should be enjoying everything life has to offer.”

  Marie’s smile took his breath away. Her gray eyes lit up the dull visitor’s room. Concentrating on her, he could forget their surroundings. Her vitality sustained him. Nathaniel didn’t know if he could make it without her weekly visits. Mentally, he’d replay them word for word in his head for days. The way her hair glistened under the florescent lights, the scent of her perfume, and the feel of her skin ran a continual loop through his memory. Then on about Wednesday, two days before her return, his memories would give way to anticipation. Sometimes, he tried to guess what color she’d wear or how she’d fix her hair. He liked her dark blonde hair loose and long, hanging down her slender back, but then again, he liked it up exposing her neck and collar bone.