Truth - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений бесплатно txt) 📗
Claire read a blurb suggesting his money was hidden outside of the United States. However, those closest to Mr. Rawls, vehemently denied this, stating Nathaniel was known for his American bravado. They speculated he’d never trusted foreigners with his money.
After hours of reading, and not finding anything she hadn’t read before, Claire decided to move on to Samuel. Reaching for his stack of information, she noticed the faint sunlight leaking from around the blinds. Refocusing on the clock at the corner of her laptop, she saw it was almost seven thirty.
Claire decided to table – or bed – the Samuel reread and opt for a shower. She wasn’t sure, after the way she left Harry last night, but he usually came over for coffee about eight. She moved stiffly from the soft chair and lifted her empty coffee cup. If she were to survive her incredibly long day, Claire needed more caffeine.
Feeling almost human after another cup of coffee and shower, Claire decided to dress causal, wearing yoga pants, a camisole, and an oversized t-shirt. Not wanting to be busy with the hairdryer when Harry arrived, she combed her wet hair back into a low ponytail and managed a little mascara, lip gloss, blush, and perfume. Claire wasn’t the stunning model from last night, and although she wanted to tell him she was sorry, if he walked in and saw her dressed to the nines for coffee, he’d rightfully be suspicious. She wasn’t sure of her daily plans. However, as her bare feet padded along the wood floor of the cavernous condo, she smiled at the sunshine streaming through the unblocked windows.
Some research, coffee, warm shower, and fog-free blue skies did wonders to put her life in perspective. Claire’s dinner with Tony momentarily sent things off-kilter, but all was neutralizing again. She needed to focus on her mission involving Tony. And that mission wasn’t sex! It was retaliation. He may not have sent that box, but her research continued to validate its contents.
As Claire set her laptop on the kitchen table she typed in Newsweek. Like so many other publications, Newsweek required a subscription in order to access previous editions. That was fine, she thought, Phillip Roach can have fun figuring out why I’m suddenly so interested in news magazines.
Starting the coffee maker for another high octane injection, she typed 1975, the year Rawls went public. She remembered a magazine article with a picture of Nathaniel and his family in front of a house like Tony’s. She wanted to find that picture, to verify – if only to herself – that Tony was indeed Anton Rawls. If it wasn’t in Newsweek, she assumed it must be Time. She had an online subscription to that publication, too.
Two hours later she found the picture with the house, Nathaniel, Sharron, Samuel, Amanda, and Anton. Claire couldn’t wait to show Harry. She’d tell him about Tony’s denial, and then show him the picture to validate her suspicions.
Then Claire realized – two hours. It was almost ten. Surely, Harry’s at SiJo by now. He hadn’t come over for coffee. Claire staggered at the sudden disappointment flowing through her. She hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed their morning chats, until now, when he didn’t show.
There was no question; it was her fault. She’d been rude last night. Would she have ever treated Tony that way? The answer was no, not because she didn’t want to, but because he’d never have allowed it. Had she really spent half the night fantasizing about someone who dominated her entire life, including emotions and reactions, when there was a kind understanding man in real life?
Claire went to the bedroom to find her phone. She wanted to send Harry a text, tell him she missed him this morning. Hopefully he’d respond, and maybe she could meet him for lunch.
The screen indicated four missed calls. Picking up her Emily phone she had texts, one each from Emily and Courtney. They both wanted to be sure she was all right, after her dinner.
Darn, she’d meant to call them last night. The whole evening just messed her up. She sent a text telling them she was fine and would talk to them, when they had time. Walking toward the kitchen, she added, I HAVE SOME NEW RELEVANT INFO TO SHARE!
Honestly, she hadn’t checked her Tony phone. That could wait. She needed more time in the sunshine, without his voice and the darkness that swallowed her into its abyss. Smiling, she checked the iPhone. Two calls were from Amber; oh yeah, she’d forgotten to check in with her, too. One call was from Harry, no message. At least he called. She didn’t recognize the other number, no message.
When almost to the kitchen she heard a knock at the door. Wow, Harry must be upset, if he is knocking. Claire didn’t care, as long as he was there. Smiling her biggest grin, she opened the door with a light hearted, “Did you forget your key?”
Her heart stopped beating, and the air dissipated from her lungs. She wasn’t staring into Harry’s soft blue eyes, wavy blonde hair, or his SiJo fitted black shirt. No, it wasn’t his chest with the nicely stretched Under Armor across his wide pecs in front of her. This one was covered by an Armani tailored suit. Claire’s smile shattered, as dark eyes once again sent her world into a spiral. The axis which had taken her most of the night to correct was once again wobbling uncontrollably.
Straightening her neck, she suddenly wished for shoes, preferably heels. It was a stupid wish. If a Genie had just given her three, it would be a waste. However, as he loomed, at least six and a half feet high in her doorway and she stood barefooted, she felt incredibly small. Claire didn’t like the sense of vulnerability rushing through her nervous system, sending off flares of panic at every synapse.
His voice registered deep, “I don’t have a key, but I’d be glad to get one. Just tell me where to sign-up.” After so much time of evaluating his looks, eyes, movements, and voice, she immediately assessed: he sounds restrained, yet amused.
She wanted to say, “Go to hell, and let me know when it turns cold – because, that’s when you can expect to receive a key!” However instead, she squared her shoulders and tried to display a small amount of decorum, “How did you get up here. You can’t be on this floor without a key.”
He was still standing in the hallway. Claire held the edge of the door, ready to slam it, if necessary. “Perhaps you could invite me in, and we can discuss it?”
“Tony, why are you here?”
He smirked, “If we’re playing one hundred questions, I admit defeat. May I come in?”
Momentarily, Claire stared. Her stomach twisted with the realization, he’d asked the same question twice. It was another of his old pet-peeves. As much as she didn’t want to allow him entry, she didn’t want risk him asking her a third time. She stood back and nodded. He walked in and surveyed his surroundings with an air of approval.
“My, Claire, you are living much better than I expected. When I first learned of your release, I pictured you destitute.”
“I’m sure you enjoyed that scenario. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
He snickered, “Disappoint? On the contrary, your ingenuity is to be praised.”
Still standing on the marbled floored entry, Claire asked her question, again. “Tony, I will repeat myself, at the risk of being redundant.” She could sense the increased intensity in his stare. “Why are you here and how did you access my floor.”
“I gained access by the security guard on the first floor. He tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Claire thought about that unknown number. She needed to program Security into her phone. “I explained, we are old friends, I’m leaving town, and since I had recently talked with you, I knew you were home and expecting me.”
As he spoke her iPhone rang. It was the unknown number again. “This is security. I’ll tell them I don’t want you here, unless you quickly tell me why you’re here.” The phone rang again.
