“I believe I might be able to persuade you otherwise.”
“Is that a threat? What are you going to do this time, arrange a walk-out of SiJo’s employees?”
“No, Claire. No threats,” he reassured. “I believe you’ll want to attend this function.”
“Why? What function would I possibly want to attend with you?”
“Caleb and Julia’s wedding.”
Claire gasped. “B-but all of your friends think I tried to kill you.”
“The press release says differently.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ve changed their opinion. They probably don’t want me there—”
“That’s not true,” he interrupted. “I promise that I’ve spoken to all of our closest friends. I’ve explained things to them.”
“I-I don’t know?”
Tony had put too much effort into this. It was the perfect plan to get Claire to Iowa, not just to be there, but to be there willingly. He wouldn’t stop until she said yes. He explained about Brent and Courtney and how Courtney had talked to Sue. There may have been a few details that he forgot to mention: questions and tones of voices, but that wasn’t lying—it was omitting. Slowly, Claire began to come around. The irritation Tony heard when he first called morphed to what he hoped could be interpreted as excitement.
By the time their discussion concluded, Claire agreed to fly commercially, but only if she had a return ticket to Palo Alto on Sunday. She also agreed to the get-together at Sue and Tim’s on Thursday, the rehearsal reception on Friday, and the wedding on Saturday. The subject of accommodations took a little more persuasion. It was when Catherine was mentioned, and Tony expressed how badly Catherine wanted Claire at the estate, that her undebatable stance began to sway.
Tony smirked at Claire’s ultimatum. “My room will need a lock.”
“That isn’t a problem.” It wasn’t a problem at all. Tony imagined the electronic lock that could so easily be reactivated on the door of her suite.
Perhaps sensing his thoughts, she qualified, “It needs to be a lock that operates from the inside. Also, I will keep my phone at all times and have access to your Wi-Fi.”
“You drive a hard bargain. I’ve told you before that you should go into business. You’re a master negotiator.” Hell, he’d have promised the moon and the stars if it meant she would once again be under his roof—their roof.
Thursday couldn’t come soon enough.
The first condition of progress is the removal of censorship.
—George Bernard Shaw
Everything happened in slow motion, from Eric’s driving, to the opening of the large iron gates. If Tony didn’t get into his house soon, he might combust. It didn’t help that his recent conversations with Mr. George and Danielle grated on his already frayed nerves. With Sophia in New Jersey, it was the perfect opportunity for Danielle to convince Derek Burke that he could find comfort elsewhere. Why the stupid girl hadn’t gone to China with Burke in the first place was beyond Tony. Did all of these people need him to micromanage their lives? He had much more pressing matters with his own life.
Eric had barely put the car in park on the brickyard in front of Tony’s estate before Tony had his door open and was halfway up the steps. From his peripheral vision, he saw Eric’s head shake. That man knew Tony better than anyone else, probably even better than Catherine knew him. It wasn’t that Eric pried, like she did. No, Eric was observant and omnipresent. He didn’t comment or judge; he just was. Tony appreciated his objectivity, such as how he concisely described picking Claire up at the airport and taking her to the estate. In every situation, Eric was calm, ready, and loyal. Tony couldn’t ask for more.
The grand foyer of his home shone with a welcoming glow that he hadn’t noticed in over a year. As Tony entered the grand doors, Catherine turned the corner. “Oh, my, Mr. Rawlings, you seem to be in a hurry.”
“Come to my office.” He didn’t wait for her to respond before his quick step and long legs had him safely within the confines of his private domain.
Following closely behind, Catherine entered and closed the door behind her. “Yes?” she asked, the word elongated and her brow lifted.
“Where is she? What was she like when she arrived? Eric said that she was upset. Why?”
Catherine chuckled as she settled on a nearby chair. “She’s in her old suite.”
Tony’s eyes opened wide before he narrowed them questioningly. “You did tell her that she could stay in any of the rooms, didn’t you?”
“I did. She was the one who asked about her old suite.”
He exhaled, as some of the pent-up tension eased from his taut shoulders. That was a good sign, he hoped. He’d left her a note in her suite, as well as in two other rooms, but he was happy with her choice. Catherine went on. “She was upset when she arrived, not about anything in particular. I believe that returning was emotionally overwhelming.”
“And you?” he prompted.
“Did what I do.” Catherine’s gray eyes dulled. “You know me—the kind housekeeper.”
Tony shook his head. “Stop it. She doesn’t think of you that way. I believe she came here as much for you as she did me.” Suddenly, that truth bothered Tony. He didn’t want to share.
Catherine shrugged. “We spoke for a little while, she ate, and now she’s resting. It was a long trip.”