Truth

His external facade remained intact, “Yes, but I want more.”

Her heart sank, “Please, I’m tired.”

“Then perhaps you should go to bed.”

She saw the twinkle in his eye. Her mask momentarily shattered, she leaned closer, as panic filled each syllable, “I am not agreeing to sleep with you.”

His perfect smile remained unwavering; however, his eyes registered darker than she’d seen since the penthouse, “Sleeping, my dear, is not what I had in mind.”

She closed her eyes and waited for the distress to pass. When it merely subsided, she turned to her ex-husband, “I will go upstairs with you. I will complete this scenario. I will not have sex with you.”

“Why do you fight it?”

People mingled close. There were waitresses and waiters clearing tables. Other couples milled near. Claire inhaled and exhaled. The urge to cry was almost beyond her control. “May we please go upstairs? This conversation is upsetting me. If you want to maintain this charade, we’d better leave while I can maintain a smile.”

Tony stood and chivalrously offered Claire his hand. She exhaled and took it, allowing her fingers to be swallowed by his girth. “Ms. Nichols, shall we bid our ado’s to the appropriate people?”

“Yes, Mr. Rawlings. I am but so ready to close the curtain on this performance.”

Tony leaned toward her ear, “The press release is viral. This, my love, was only the first act.”

An older couple from the National Center for Learning Disabilities approached. With her stomach in knots, Claire bravely continued her duties. When they finally reached the golden elevator, Tony removed his phone from his jacket and sent a text. Claire remained silent until the doors opened to the Penthouse entry. “May I have my phone?”

Tony looked at his watch, 10:17 PM. “My dear, the night is still young.”

*****

Sophia looked at the list of cities: San Francisco, Seattle, Phoenix, Dallas, Chicago, Louisville, Atlanta, Miami, Charlotte, New York, Boston and Bangor. The tour consisted of two weeks in each city. Exhibition halls rented, advertised, and paid. Lodging and food stipends, as well as travel expenses. Mr. George would receive his customary fifteen percent. The mysterious buyer would receive five percent. The rest of all sales would go to Sophia. With two weeks in each city and the occasional time off, the tour would last approximately thirty months.

“I have some overseas commitments,” Sophia said as Mr. Hensley discussed the exhibitions.

“I’m sure that can be worked out.”

“I really need to discuss this with my husband.”

“Of course,” Eric replied as he glanced at his phone. “Let me give you this written information.” Looking to Mr. George, “You have my number. Please call when Mrs. Burke has made her decision.”

Mr. George responded, “Yes, we’ll talk.”

Eric Hensley turned to Sophia, “Mrs. Burke, again, I apologize for the inconvenience. I hope my employer’s olive branch will help to make amends for the missed gala. I’m sure you would like to join your husband. I look forward to talking to you again soon.”

Sophia stood with the realization she’d been released. “Thank you, Mr. Hensley. Mr. George and I will be back to you soon. Please tell your employer I do appreciate his offer.”

Eric walked Sophia to the door of the suite, “I will. Do you need an escort back to the ballroom?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

Eric Hensley nodded as Sophia walked from the suite. As she waited for the elevator Sophia sent a text to Derek. I’M FINALLY RELEASED. DO YOU STILL WANT ME?

Her phone vibrated within seconds, DINNER IS DONE. DANCING IS ABOUT TO START. I’D LOOK FUNNY DANCING ALONE. I ALWAYS WANT YOU!

Sophia smiled as the mirrored cubical descended to the main level. When the doors opened, she hurried toward the ballroom.

The single biggest problem with communication

is the illusion that it has taken place.

-- George Bernard Shaw.

Chapter 36

Perhaps it was her look of desperation or the tears that lingered on her perfectly painted lids. The reason was not yet revealed. Nonetheless, once the golden elevator closed and Tony and Claire were alone in the entry of the Saint Regis Penthouse, he opened his Armani jacket and handed Claire her phone. She contemplated taking it to an isolated area and calling Harry. Instead, she bravely stood before Tony, waited for it to turn on, ignored the icons indicating missed calls and messages, and scrolled for the number of the SiJo driver.

Although Tony stood resolute before her, Claire refused to turn away. Maybe it was a replay of a scene from their past. Maybe it was a move, counter move. Nevertheless, she waited while the phone rang. When the driver answered, she heard, “Ms. Nichols, this is Marcus, are you ready to be picked up?”

Looking Tony in the eyes, she replied, “Hello, Marcus, yes, this is Claire Nichols...”

She didn’t complete her sentence. Tony unexpectantly took the iPhone from her hand and spoke, “Hello, Marcus. Ms. Nichols will not need your assistance this evening.” Claire could no longer hear Marcus’s response, only Tony’s: “This is Anthony Rawlings.” “That is correct.” “Yes, you are relieved of your assignment.” “Thank you, good night.” He turned off the phone and placed it back in his pocket. His dark chocolate eyes glowed in the dim light of the penthouse.

Claire wanted to fight, she wanted her iPhone back, and she wanted to be back in Palo Alto with Harry and Amber. However, after Tony disconnected the call, she dejectedly walked to the sofa and collapsed. The tight reign she’d had on her emotions all night severed. How could it not? The tension was too much. With tears cascading down her cheeks, Claire closed her eyes and waited. She’d been here before. Not this hotel or this scenario, but one with enough similarity she knew the drill. Her only option was conceding -- until her side regained strength.