Claire knew her unconscious, carnal yearning had once again forsaken her. It wasn’t the first time. Last time, she gave in to its perfidious pleas. Last time, the object of her desire was close, too close to fight. She hadn’t had the strength, not to fight him and her rebellious longings.
Allowing her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, she concentrated on the stucco ceiling illuminated only by the light of the clock. The stupid, red numbers refused to change, giving her more time to do nothing but think. Claire focused on her breathing, willing her pulse to slow and her skin to cool. She argued with her traitorous body. Surely with enough reasoning, she could make it cooperate.
Claire reminded herself that her memory banks held a litany of scenes involving Anthony Rawlings. She had plenty to supersede the erotic episodes she was currently viewing -- no, reliving. She knew the other memories existed. It’s just she’d worked to compartmentalize them away. So when her eyes closed and she remembered sharing a table with him, only hours before, the lock on the negative part of their past remained secure.
Then again, during that dinner she had plans. And once again, he thwarted her plans, utilizing his unlimited resources and cunning psyche to conquer her desired consequence. Appearing suave and debonair he’d managed to reduce her well laid idea to rubble, while maintaining the perfect smile.
That wasn’t completely true. His veneer definitely cracked when she referred to him as Anton. That bombshell unquestionably permeated his facade. Claire still couldn’t wrap her mind around this new revelation. Of course, she’d assumed the box was from him. She was certain of the writing, although the note wasn’t signed. Claire wished she still had the note. But, she had the pictures. The writing on the back of those, she was certain was his.
Again, thankful Amber wasn’t home, Claire chose to forgo another all-consuming dream and get-up. She wanted to review and work on their research.
With a warm cup of coffee in tow, Claire made her way to one of the spare bedrooms. Turning on the light she marveled at the magnitude of papers. Slowly, she was taking over more and more of Amber’s space. Although she mentioned finding a place of her own, she admittedly liked the company. And thus far, Amber had been more than accommodating. It was Claire who suggested moving the mountains of findings to the small bedroom. She felt bad burying the dining room table with her stacks of research.
The queen-sized bed created the perfect palate for Claire’s unique filing system. There were piles from one end to the other. In a paperless world, she’d managed to personally decimate a tree or two. The information was also saved on her laptop. Nonetheless, holding the pages in her hands, gave Claire a sense of reality. She knew from experience the internet could contain false truths. However, when she held a story, a blurb from an article, dates from public record, and pictures, in her hand – it gave them validity. The small desk contained her laptop while a dresser held the printer.
Claire moved toward the bed and stacks of information. She wondered, could there be something in their accumulated data she’d missed? She wasn’t the only one gathering information. Harry pulled strings to get police information containing invaluable reports unavailable to the general public. Amber willingly spent hours surfing the net, back-dooring company websites. She understood the business side of their research much more than Claire.
That being said, the depth of Claire’s business knowledge surprised them all. Apparently, the days she’d spent in Tony’s office weren’t wasted. She remembered sitting hour after hour while Tony worked, required to be at the ready, in case her services were demanded. At the time she saw it as his display of power and control over her time and body. Today, she grinned at the new perspective: those wasted days were actually educational.
How many people receive the opportunity, to watch and listen to one of the country’s most successful entrepreneurs at work? Although she usually spent those days reading, she subconsciously listened. Perhaps, he felt she didn’t care, or couldn’t understand. Claire opted for the answer: he didn’t even consider eavesdropping. He was busy displaying his power over her schedule, the rest of the world be damned.
She shuttered at the estimation of hours spent in that office during the nearly two years on his estate. After they were married, most of the time was voluntary. Nevertheless, she’d listened to web-conferences, webinars, and unnumbered telephone conversations. Hell, she listened to those in cars and even on his plane. Her presence never inhibited his words. Actually, she got good at recognizing the subtle changes in body language as his words remained amicable.
When in his office and perturbed, he had a habit of rolling an old key ring in his hand. It was some old trinket he kept in the upper right hand drawer of his large desk. If Claire looked up from her book or magazine and saw the stupid ring running laps on his right hand, she knew he was upset. Yet, the person on the other end of the discussion would never know. His features and voice never wavered. They couldn’t see the tarnished silver charm or strangely shaped key being passed from one finger to the next. Claire came to know the speed at which the ring ran a lap in his large hand, was proportional to his state of agitation.
Contemplating those memories, Claire’s stomach twisted. His unease was directly proportional to the downturn of her day. Not only did he control her comings and goings, he was the barometer for the tone of her life. If he were happy, the day could be manageable, maybe even good. If he weren’t...well, she really hated that stupid key ring.