Consequences(12)

“You know, your destiny could be as simple as an offer and a signature away.” He channeled every deal he ever made, which were more than he could count or recall. Placing a napkin on the table, he drew her attention to the center design. “Just imagine, instead of the swirly lettering saying Red Wing it was blocked and read, Weather Channel.”

The bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon was almost empty. Claire closed her eyes and did as Anthony instructed—she imagined. Exhaling audibly, she said, “That would be wonderful. It would be the offer of a meteorologist’s dreams.”

Closing in on the deal, he said, “Well, Claire, if this napkin were that contract”—he reached for a pen in his breast pocket and wrote at the top of the napkin Job Contract—“would you be willing to sign? Would you really give this all up for a job offer?”

She didn’t blink. “In a heartbeat!” Removing the pen from Anthony’s hand, she signed, Claire Nichols next to the bar’s insignia.

About midnight, Claire thanked Anthony for the lovely company and explained that she was very tired from her long day and needed to get home.

“I’ll be in town for a few more days. Perhaps I could call you for dinner? It isn’t proper to offer a lady alcohol without food.”

“Thank you, I’m honored, but I believe I’ll chuck this up to my brush with an amazing gentleman and go on with my glamorous existence. I fear that the Weather Channel will not be contacting me anytime soon.”

Although her refusal surprised him, he didn’t let it show. In the long run, it wouldn’t matter, but he would play into her chastity. “I truly understand; dangerous man from out of town tries to learn your secrets and offers to help you with your aspirations. You’re wise to keep your distance.” Although his grin had sinister written all over it, he assumed she would detect the facade.

“A girl can’t be too careful. Truly, I’m honored, and I don’t think you seem that dangerous.” She began to scoot out of the booth, but he caught her hand. Their eyes met, he bowed his head, and kissed the back of her hand.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Claire Nichols.” With a smile, she retrieved her hand and slowly slid from the booth.

The next minute, he was alone. He took the pen, signed his name, and wrote the date on the same napkin. He carefully folded it and placed it in the pocket of his suit jacket. Then he pulled out his phone and texted his driver:

“PICK ME UP NOW.”

He always used full words. Text language was a joke. Closing his eyes, he thought, yes—my acquisition is going quite well. Thank you for asking.





To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking—forward.



—Margaret Fairless Barber, The Roadmender





Chapter Three


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Claire contemplated her situation as she ate. She hadn’t taken the napkin discussion seriously. Anthony probably expected that. She didn’t prepare to move from her Atlanta apartment or even consider the possibility. His recollection of a document that legally bound them was a complete shock. Claire’s gut told her it wasn’t legal, but what recourse did she have to fight from this room? She’d searched high and low for a telephone, computer, or some form of communication—nothing.

She actually thought she would walk out of this twisted nightmare; however, it wasn’t a nightmare, twisted or otherwise. It was her reality. Her mind searched for a way to survive and escape.