Consequences (4 page)

“Hey, handsome, do you need another beer?”

Anthony lifted his gaze to look into her emerald eyes. He had a handsome face and knew after many years of practice exactly how to use it. However, at this moment, his smile was genuine. She was finally talking to him. It had been a long lonely road, but the destination was finally in sight. “Thank you, I would.”

Sizing up the remaining contents of his glass, she asked, “Is that one of our custom wheats?”

“Well, yes, it is the La bière Blanche.” She smiled sweetly and hurried away to fill him another glass. When she returned with the amber liquid, she efficiently removed his empty one and replaced it with the full glass and a fresh Red Wing napkin. “I would like to start a tab.”

“That would be great. If I could have your credit card, I will start one right away.”

With that, Anthony opened his Armani jacket and removed his wallet from the inside pocket. He had so many things he wanted to say, but he had all night. Her shift wouldn’t end until ten, and he planned to spend the evening sitting right there. Handing her his platinum Visa, he watched as she read the name.

“Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. I’ll return this to you in a minute.” Her smile or expression never wavered. She turned away toward the cash register. Anthony sat back against the chair with a brief moment of satisfaction. She didn’t know who he was. This was perfect.

During the next few hours, Anthony observed as Claire chatted and flirted with customer after customer. Her attentions were friendly and attentive, but never overtly personal. Some of the customers were greeted by name as they found their way to an empty seat. Many knew her name before she could introduce herself. Anthony assumed they were regulars. Both men and women appeared pleased to have her wait on them.

She moved nonstop, clearing away empty glasses and plates and replacing them with more of the same or checks in need of payment. She wiped the shiny wooden bar and smiled even when a comment deserved a strong retort. After so much time watching her from afar, being this close gave him more of a rush than securing a multimillion-dollar deal. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what is to come.

After tending bar on and off again for years, Claire Nichols knew how to read people. More importantly, she genuinely liked the little quirks that made them real. For instance, take Mr. Handsome sipping his La bière Blanche. He’s been watching her for the last few hours like a lion sizing up its prey. She judged that he was at least ten years her senior but hid his age well behind that perfect smile, dark wavy styled hair, and amazing brown, almost-black eyes. Claire smiled a secretive smile. She was watching him too.

“What time do you get off?” His voice resonated strong and husky through the noise of the bar, patrons, and music.

“Now, Anthony, isn’t that what you said your name is?” Claire’s chatty work tone contained the slightest of a Southern drawl, the kind of accent you pick up from being around it so much. Her roots in Indiana with a mother that taught English wouldn’t allow her to drag out those syllables too far, unless on purpose.

Smiling a devilish grin and flashing those sensual eyes, he met her gaze. “Yes, that’s correct. And if I recall, your name is Claire.”

“And even though I’m flattered, I don’t usually see my customers outside this esteemed establishment.”

“All right, what time do you get off? Perhaps we could sit in one of those booths, right here . . . in this esteemed establishment . . . and talk? I would like to know more about you.”

Damn. He was smoother talking than any of the regular Joes that sit on these stools. And now that his silk tie was in the pocket of his Armani suit coat and the top button of his silk shirt was undone, his casual business persona was incredibly sexy.

“Now tell me again what brings you to Atlanta. You aren’t from here are you?” Claire said, leaning against the bar.

“Business, and no, but I think I am the one who wanted to ask the questions.” His tone contained a playful quality and at the same time was focused and controlled. Claire’s intuition told her that he was used to getting his way. Something made her wonder if that was what made him successful in business, because his appearance definitely said success, and if it transcended to his personal life.

Claire listened and watched as Anthony’s eyes glistened. He was tall. Now that the coat had been removed, she could tell he was muscular, with wide chest and firm waist. Most importantly, his left hand had an empty fourth finger. Claire definitely wouldn’t go there. Against her better judgment, she decided she wanted to answer those questions.

“Okay.” She smiled charmingly. “But I will’ve been standing behind this bar for six hours straight. I can’t promise I will be the best company.”

“Then I take that as a yes? But did you tell me the time? Or am I still waiting for that answer?” She found herself absorbed in his eyes.

“Yo! Hey, sweetheart, how about you give us some service down here?” Claire’s attention suddenly was pulled away from the hold of those amazing eyes. The asshole down the bar needed more Jack and Coke. She started to walk away. Anthony reached for her hand, which was resting on the bar, only inches from his. His touch was warm and made her skin tingle. He didn’t ask again, but his expression did.

“At ten, I get off at ten.” She removed her hand from under his, shook her head, and walked down the bar, smiling to herself. She needed to find out what the asshole wanted.

The deep red vinyl seat of the semicircular booth situated on the edge of the dance floor tried unsuccessfully to imitate fine upholstery. Music filled the air, too loud and too fast. In Anthony’s mind, it was the perfect inducement for them to sit close in order to hear each other. He also had a bottle of the Red Wing’s finest cabernet sauvignon. Looking at his watch for the hundredth time, he read the hands as they said 10:30 p.m. It was then that he saw Claire walking across the empty dance floor toward his booth.

This was definitely a night for out-of-character behaviors. Not only did Anthony Rawlings usually not fraternize with regional associates, he also
never
waited for anyone. Under any other circumstances, he would have been up and gone by 10:05. His friends, associates, and employees all knew his obsession with punctuality. But tonight was different. As Claire eased herself into the booth, she smiled a fatigued grin and apologized for the delay. There was a problem with the cash register, but all is well now.

He gently touched her hand. Momentarily, he became transfixed by the contrast—his large and hers small. “I was beginning to wonder if you were standing me up.” His grin hinted toward levity. “But since I could see you across the room, I hoped I might still have a chance at friendly conversation.” Claire’s exhale and upturned lips told him she was relieved. Was it because he was still waiting or merely that her shift was complete? “Perhaps we could have a glass of wine, and you could enjoy sitting instead of standing.”

“I believe that would be very nice.” Anthony poured the wine and noticed Claire’s expression relax. The transformation occurring before him was from bartender into the real Claire Nichols. He watched as she took the glass, placed her lips on the rim, closed her eyes, and relished the thick red liquid on her tongue. Anthony fought the urge to think too much about her actions.

“So what’s a classy girl like you doing waiting on stooges like us?” Anthony’s rich voice refocused Claire’s attention. Her eyes twinkled with emerald lights as she turned to face him.

“Why, Anthony, I do believe that self-deprecating statement was a compliment to me in a way.” Her tone held that Southern accent that was far from her native Indiana cadence. He only arched his eyebrows, waiting patiently for an answer. Claire shook her head and fell into his charm. “I’m an out-of-work meteorologist. My news station was bought about a year ago. In their infinite wisdom, they decided I was no longer needed, so this,” she said as she glided her free hand open above the table “is my new glamorous life. Don’t knock it. It pays my student loans as well as multiple other bills.”

His laughter was deep and nonjudgmental. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing the weather thing than this?”

“Of course, but honestly, this isn’t so bad. I have some great friends here. There is always something going on, and I meet nice people like you.” Claire took another sip of the wine and leaned a little closer. “So that’s my story in a nutshell. Sir, it is your turn. You said you are here on business. What kind of business do you do?’

“I am actually involved in many businesses. I came to Atlanta for an acquisition, and some associates convinced me to come here to your esteemed establishment to try the world-famous fried green tomatoes.”

“Oh, they did. Did you?”

Anthony nodded. “Yes, I did.”

Claire’s snicker caused her to look down into her glass. “Did you like them?”

He likewise looked into his glass. “No, I don’t believe I am destined for Georgian cuisine.” Claire’s laugh made him look up. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because I think they are awful! Every time someone orders them, I want to whisper, ‘No, don’t do it.’ It is just that they are so . . .”

“Slimy?” They both said together and laughed. The conversation progressed effortlessly. She asked about his acquisition. Would his trip be successful? Anthony was honestly surprised at her depth and knowledge. It was a shame that her news station had not kept her on. She deserved so much better than tending bar. Of course, that was what he told her. They discussed her career opportunities. Since Anthony was involved in multiple endeavors, he offered the possibility of assistance with more profitable employment. Claire thanked him for his offer, but doubted his ability or desire to truly assist her.

“You know, your destiny could be as simple as an offer and a signature away.” He channeled every deal he ever made, which would be more than he could count or recall. Placing a napkin on the table, he drew her attention to the center design. “Just imagine if 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 said, she imagined. Exhaling audibly, she said, “That would be wonderful. It would be the offer a meteorologist dreams about.”

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 will be in town for a few more days. Perhaps I could call you for dinner? It isn’t proper to offer a lady alcohol and no food.”

“Thank you. I’m honored, but I believe I will 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 are 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 am 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, and he bowed his head to kiss 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.