Interestingly, Claire noted Eric never asked her where she lived. Perhaps more thought provokingly, she never questioned his knowledge. Music was their only topic of conversation. Eric’s only words during their entire drive were those in his reply, “Yes, ma’am, do you have a preference?”

She shook her head to the eyes in the rearview mirror and turned again to the side window. The interior of the Mercedes filled with the sounds of Doc Severinsen and Louis Armstrong. Claire doubted the moisture on her cheeks and occasional ragged breath escaped Eric’s observation. Nevertheless, she took comfort in the fact the jazz music muffled her involuntary sounds.

In Claire’s likely scenarios for their reunion, she imagined Harry sad, hurt, or more optimistically relieved that she’d made it back. She imagined his supportive embrace as she explained the events of the night. Not once during her hour long journey did she foresee anger. Why would she? In the three months she’s known Harry, she’d never witnessed him upset.

Stepping into his entry, Claire saw and felt the aura of his fury. After dealing with Tony’s anger, she was now face-to-face with an obviously irate Harrison Baldwin. Her imagined scenarios paled in comparison. This was worse than she’d predicted.

He displayed the source of his discontentment on the table near the sofa. Laid out for her viewing pleasure were pages of information, multiple internet stories complete with photos featuring her.

Shit, she thought, this stupid gala only happened five hours ago. How did all of this get out already?

Claire walked silently to the table and scanned the headlines: Rawlings’ Reunited, Anthony Rawlings Asks for Privacy, Innocent? Anthony Rawlings’ New Claim. There were more but she just couldn’t stomach to read each one. Each article contained pictures. There was one photo of them during the introductions, Tony’s arm behind Claire’s back. They were both smiling. Another picture was during the meal. He appeared to be smiling at something she was saying, a friendly conversation. There was another picture of them standing together talking to another couple. The other couple was not identified. Claire read the caption:

EVERYONE IS TALKING! The big news at this year’s National Center for Learning Disabilities Fundraising Gala, in San Francisco, is not the millions of dollars raised for a worthy charity. It is the reunification of Anthony Rawlings and Claire Nichols. Their unexpected inseparability during the festivities begs the question: is this merger only personal or will it include Shedis-tics and SiJo Gaming?

She put down the page and another photo caught her eye. It was one of Tony kissing her hand. The look on her own face made Claire uneasy. The woman in the picture was staring into Tony’s eyes with a blushed radiance. Claire remembered; it was right after his speech.

“Yeah, that one caught my attention, too.” Harry’s emotionally ladened voice returned Claire to present. “I’ve never seen that look in your eyes. You’re acting skills are amazing!”

Tentatively she looked up to Harry. His blue eyes cried out with unspoken angst. She laid the papers back on the table and struggled with her own emotions. Claire needed to feel understood. Instead she felt challenged and fought the urge to launch her defenses. When she spoke, her voice came out flat. “Do you want to hear what happened? Or have you already made your own conclusions?”

He stared in silence. Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he walked to the kitchen, and returned with a partial bottle of Blue Label and an empty tumbler. Pouring himself two fingers of whiskey, he sat down in his recliner, gestured to the sofa and replied, “By all means, make yourself comfortable and fill me in. I can’t wait to hear how this isn’t how it looks.” She sat; he took a drink of the amber liquor and added, “It never is, is it?”

“I’ve never seen you drink, like this.”

“I’ve had a shitty day. Would you like a glass? Or has your day been all parties and private drivers?”

She saw herself in the mirror at Tony’s penthouse. How could he not see that she’d been crying? Claire could feel her swollen eyelids. Did he think she looked like someone who’d had a great day?

“No, thank you.” She answered dryly. “Harry...” Claire began. Then she stopped. Her head pounded with her internal debate. Was she mad, sad, defensive or wounded? Abruptly she stood and walked toward the door. “I can’t do this.” The tears resumed. Claire honestly wondered how she had any tears left. “I can’t do more confrontations.”

Suddenly, Harry was out of the chair and standing before her. She looked up at his expression. Behind the anger she saw hurt.

She had been wrong; hurt was worse than anger. The smell of whiskey burned her nostrils as his breath blew warmly toward her face. Her stomach clenched, but undeterred she strived to maintain the eye contact.

She attempted to explain, “You deserve to hear everything. I didn’t do anything without thinking of you and of Amber. I did it for you! But I can’t talk to you about it when you’re like this.”

She reached for the door handle as his words cut into her heart, “Did you sleep with him?”

Claire wanted to be angry and then she remembered her dream – that wasn’t a dream. She settled for offended, “I can’t believe you just asked me that. No. We didn’t sleep together tonight.”

He seized her shoulders and stared down into her red swollen eyes. “Why?”

“Because, he blackmailed me! With you. And with Amber and SiJo. He was responsible for the problems you had tonight at SiJo.”

Harry interjected, “No, he wasn’t. We found the problem, it was internal. I tried to call you; hell, I was on my way to San Francisco when Amber called me. She saw the news release, and after witnessing our moment in her living room, she thought I should know.”

Claire’s stomach twisted. She wanted desperately to make Harry understand, “But, he did know about it! He threatened to make your problems worse if I didn’t concede. And he had that press release issued before I even spoke to him.”

Harry released her shoulders and stared incredulously, “I can’t fathom how you can continually believe he has that much power. Our computer engineers are top notch. Your ex-husband,” Harry struggled with his words, walked to his glass, took another drink, and continued, “or should I say the man you’re working to reconcile with can’t just snap his fingers and bring down our firewall.”

“Firewall! That was the word he used. He said it was incompetent. And I didn’t answer your calls because he took my phone.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Our firewall is secure. Our people had everything cleared and secure by eight o’clock. I could have been there with you by nine.” He took another drink and chuckled, “Now, that sure as hell would’ve been fun!”

“You had it cleared by eight?” she repeated dejectedly.

“Yes, why?”

Claire closed her eyes. She remembered Tony’s words. He told her the problem was resolved by eight. It was clear, Harry wouldn’t believe her. She made her way to his sofa, and collapsed. The night would never end. “I know I sound ridiculous, but don’t you see? Now I’m trapped. He took my plans for public revelation and used them against me.”

“How are you trapped?”

The words flowed with welcomed release as she tried to explain. She told him about being summoned to the penthouse, the revelation of their supposed reconciliation, the gala, and their confrontations back in the penthouse. Admittedly, her recollection contained a few omissions. Specifically, she excluded the kiss and the disclosure about her dream. She explained to Harry that the news release was a public disclosure. According to public knowledge, she and Tony were now working on their relationship. Public failure wasn’t an option.