Consequences(49)

Benefit him? Why couldn’t he just say “I want you here”? Her stomach tied in knots as she wondered what Brent Simmons knew about her. Did he know what she did? Did he think she was a companion or an employee or worse? As they rode in the backseat of the Mercedes Benz, Claire decided this was time for a mask. Finding it through all the apprehension surging through her mind was difficult, but she did, and put it on.

Claire didn’t know what to expect from a private jet. On the outside it seemed smaller than she anticipated. Once they climbed the steps, she was pleasantly surprised by the spacious interior. To her left was the door to the cockpit and to her right was an open space with a table and four chairs. Beyond was a sofa along one wall facing three reclining chairs along the other. Everything was secured and contained seat belts like you would expect on a plane. The chairs and some of the walls were luxuriously covered with white leather and accented with wood like trim. There was additional space behind the far wall. Claire guessed that it contained a bathroom, maybe more.

Tony introduced Claire to his associates and motioned for her to take a seat on the sofa near the wall. Everyone was polite and friendly. She went to the sofa as she was told. Tony, Mr. Simmons, Ms. Michaels, and Mr. Fields sat around the oval table. Eric joined them on the plane after loading their luggage into a compartment below. Surprisingly, he sat in the copilot’s seat. His talents suddenly impressed Claire—obviously, the world’s most versatile chauffeur.

Claire watched and listened as Tony and the others discussed the impending deal. She honestly didn’t care about the deal other than its impact on Tony. She liked to watch him work—his expertise, intelligence, and control. He respected the knowledge and wisdom of his associates, asked questions, and listened intently to their responses and opinions. With that said, Claire knew when the time came for decisions the only opinion that mattered would be his.

After they were in the air and the discussion at the table became mundane, Claire thought about napping and remembered Catherine’s advice. To stay awake, she looked in her purse—another treasure hunt. First, she opened her wallet. Staring back at her was her picture from her Georgia driver’s license. She read the identification card and saw her Atlanta address. Compartmentalize. Her picture didn’t look like her. The picture was taken two years earlier and her face had changed: slimmed, tanned, and just changed. Her height, five four, was the same; her weight, one hundred and twenty-five, was closer to actual. That hadn’t been the case four months ago. The listed weight was accurate when she was sixteen and like with everyone else it had inched up through the years; however, now it seemed accurate if not erroneously high. Next, Claire spotted the American Express platinum card with Claire Nichols embossed on the front.

When Tony first gave Claire the card, she didn’t want to use it. She thanked him for the confidence and faith and tried to explain there was nothing she needed. She had all the clothes she could possibly wear. She actually had many she’d never worn. Food came to her three times a day and she had a roof over her head. She had no interest in jewelry; having her grandmother’s necklace was all she wanted. She loved to read, but so far the library contained more than she could hope to read.

Tony wouldn’t accept any of her excuses. He told her to ask him when she wanted to go shopping. She didn’t ask. After a week, he apparently gave up. One evening, over dinner, he proclaimed, “Eric is taking you into Davenport tomorrow to shop.” Claire remembered suddenly feeling ill. She didn’t speak at first and only stared. “Claire, did you hear me?” He knew she did; he wanted verbal confirmation.