41

At exactly two o’clock, Claire walked into the lobby of the north tower of The W, a hotel complex with luxury condominiums in downtown Dallas. Her heels clicked against shiny cream-colored tile flooring as she admired the sophisticated modern design and furnishings of the posh and beautifully appointed venue, a place she and Tuck had often patronized before life went into a tailspin.

The concierge directed her to the bar, where Brian waited. Even though they’d had to wait a few weeks for her potential benefactor to return from a trip abroad, as promised, Brian arranged for a meeting with Maybelline Knudsen, Dallas’s real estate grand dame—and, if things went well, the woman who would provide funding for Claire’s new business.

When Brian disclosed the identity of his “friend,” Claire had immediately balked. Unlike her, Maybelline had not relied on any man’s wealth. And most certainly the woman some claimed to now be in her eighties had never lived through the kind of financial debacle Claire had faced these past months. She was savvy and had a no-nonsense approach to life. At least in the articles Claire had read over the years.

So much was riding on this meeting. Claire’s nerves betrayed the confidence she hoped to convey as she and Brian rode the elevators up to the top penthouse condominium where Maybelline lived.

“Look,” Brian said, pressing the button to the top floor, “Maybelline made her fortune in the early seventies, when men ruled the real estate market in Dallas. You think she doesn’t know what it’s like to be sold down the river for money?” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Why do you think she’s so motivated to help women get ahead in the business world? I promise there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Claire didn’t feel so convinced. “I bring a lot of baggage.”

Brian gave her arm a little squeeze. “Maybelline knew everything and she wanted to meet you. So relax.”

Brian’s friendship had been a pleasant addition to her life. Despite the trouble the media tried to cause, he was a sweet spot after months of turmoil. At first, guilt over how quickly she’d connected with a man other than Tuck overshadowed her budding affinity for Brian, the easy way they talked and supported one another. Claire quickly moved past that frame of mind. There was nothing inappropriate about simply enjoying a friendship she very much needed.

Following his instruction, she took a deep breath and tried to be calm. “You’re right,” she said. “Thank you for brokering this meeting, Brian. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

Before he could respond, the elevator slowed and a melodic chime sounded. The doors shifted open, revealing an elegant white-haired woman smartly dressed in a nautical pantsuit standing there waiting for them.

“Brian, right on time, as always.” Maybelline Knudsen leaned forward and Brian brushed her cheek with a kiss. “This boy is like a son to me,” she told Claire while guiding them into a living area with walls of glass overlooking the city.

In the center of the room, several plush leather sofas in shades of lemon-yellow and sage created an inviting seating area. Claire was no stranger to exquisite homes, but Maybelline’s place topped the charts on lavish living. Despite her host’s age, the condominium was surprisingly modern, no doubt assembled by designers with superior taste. Even the carpets screamed luxurious. Claire’s shoes sank in a good two inches with each step.

She wanted to ask who furnished her home, then she remembered. It didn’t matter. She no longer lived in that world.

Maybelline sat across from her. They were served tea and small cookies filled with raspberry crème on delicate plates with lacy edges. After a few minutes of small talk, their host turned to Claire. “So, Brian tells me you want to start a catering business?”

Claire swallowed her nerves and described her plans. With Brian’s help, she’d assembled the necessary financials and marketing proposal. “I intend on starting very small and building from there,” she explained, handing the woman her business plan.

Maybelline nodded. “With my help, you’re going to do just that.”

Claire returned home that day battling a mixture of feelings. She’d been elated when Brian’s friend leaned forward, placed her diamond-laden hand over hers, and said, “Claire, I’ve got your back. I’m happy to provide the start-up capital you’ll need to launch this effort . . . on a confidential basis, of course. Funding will come through a company I’ve set up for this very thing. Long-term success will depend on you.” She looked her squarely in the eyes. “Honey, you up for the challenge of making it on your own?”

Claire assured her she was. She’d done her homework, put together a reasonable budget, determined equipment needs. All she required now was clients, and that would be the one thing that might hinder her enterprise, at least initially. The circles she and Tuck had run in were prime customer targets, but most held grudges for losses they’d endured, or they had climbed onto personal judgment seats rendering anything connected to the scandal unsavory and not worthy of association. Or both.

She adjusted her earlier thoughts. She’d have to go outside those circles, which wouldn’t be easy. She knew from years of experience that a caterer worthy of his or her salt (and every other spice in the rack) was hard to find. She’d have to build trust through word of mouth. And that would take time. Precious time she didn’t necessarily have.

Despite Maybelline Knudsen’s generous support, Claire would have to turn a profit and make a living . . . and soon. If she wanted to eat and have electricity, that is.

She shared those concerns with Brian over dinner that evening, quietly nestled in a booth at an out-of-the-way burger joint. One that served homemade onion rings dipped in light batter and fried to a delicate golden crisp—the kind of meal she rarely ate. Not if she intended to stay a size 6.

“You worry too much.” Brian squirted ketchup from a red plastic bottle onto his open bun. “I learned a few years back to live in the moment. Don’t dwell on the past, don’t worry about tomorrow.”

Claire sighed and slid a slice of raw onion from her burger, placing it on the edge of her plate. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard to not think about what I might face. Despite the assurances I gave Maybelline, I’ve never stepped out on my own before. Tuck handled the business and financial end of things.” She cut her burger in half. “Throughout most of my marriage, I never paid a bill, bought groceries, cleaned house, or maintained a checking account. I’m afraid I feel a little overwhelmed at times. I mean, who do I think I am starting a catering business?”

“So . . . you’re paying bills, right?”

“Right.”

“You’re buying groceries, cleaning house, and maintaining a checking account?”

“I see where you’re heading.” She grinned and reached for the ketchup bottle.

Brian reached across the table and took her hand. “You are a beautiful and capable woman. Success is in your future. I promise.”

Claire found herself unable to pull her eyes from his thoughtful gaze. Had he just called her beautiful?

“Bet you say that to all the girls.” She playfully whacked at his hand, ignoring the way her heart raced. In an attempt to redirect the conversation, Claire put ketchup on her burger and chattered about her plans.

“I’m going to need an industrial kitchen, fully stocked. My big ticket items, to start off, will be the portable ovens and hotboxes, and I’ll need a transport van. Of course, I can go with a used vehicle. So long as the thing is mechanically sound. I can’t risk breaking down on the way to a job. That would be a disaster.”

She lifted her burger to take a bite but stopped. “You know, I think the only permanent staff I’ll need will be a kitchen manager and a driver. I could offer Margarita, my former housekeeper, the kitchen job. Henry can be my driver—well, Henry’s fairly old, but I still want to put him on my regular payroll, if at all possible.”

Claire paused. He was staring again. “What are you smiling at?”

“You.” Brian leaned back against the red vinyl booth, his clear green eyes looking at her the way Tuck often had. “I’m looking at you.”

Claire drove home with a bad case of indigestion. Not from the greasy meal she so seldom ate, although the thick burger and onion rings likely contributed. No, she knew her stomach roiled in large part because of that look in Brian’s eyes.

She wasn’t sure how it had happened so quickly, but things between them had taken an abrupt turn. At least on Brian’s part. In her mind, she’d been careful to draw a line between friendship and romantic interest. Brian, on the other hand, single-handedly used a giant eraser tonight and left the line blurred.

She wasn’t a schoolgirl, for goodness’ sake. Claire had no business flirting with this kind of danger. She was a forty-nine-year-old married woman. She’d assured everyone, most importantly her children, that her friendship with Brian was just that—friendship.

She startled as her cell phone rang. Without checking the caller ID, she picked up. “Hello?”

“Claire? It’s Brian.”

A motorcycle whizzed by Claire’s vehicle, driving dangerously fast. “Brian?”

“Look, I sensed I made you uncomfortable tonight.”

“No—uh, I just—” Claire frowned and slid her foot to the brake. She slowed her own vehicle as the motorcycle crowded into the lane in front of her. “It’s just that I’m still married.”

“I know, and that’s why I called to apologize. I had no right to place you in that position,” he said. “But at the same time, I can’t live my life in any other manner than absolutely honest. Took a lot of years and many hours in rehab and AA, but pretending is what makes us all sick inside. So I’m not going to claim that I’m not attracted to you, Claire. I’m not going to deny I lay in bed at night thinking about you, that my waking hours drag until we meet for dinner.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I feel like a kid sitting behind the prettiest girl in class, wanting nothing more than to get a whiff of her hair.”

“I—I’m attracted to you as well, Brian.” Claire couldn’t believe she said those words, knowing there was no way to take them back. Still, Brian’s honesty was refreshing after Tuck’s lengthy deceit, and she felt compelled to reciprocate. As she’d learned, no relationship worth having could be built on pretense. “But like I said—I’m technically still Tuck’s wife.”

Despite the disappointment clouding his voice, Brian assured her he understood. He admired her respect for her marriage. Regardless of what feelings were building, they agreed the only relationship viable at this juncture had to be platonic.

Brian seemed relieved Claire didn’t cut him off entirely. How could she, after all he’d done for her?

Besides, if she really wanted to be honest, she had to acknowledge her loneliness. Since Tuck’s arrest, Claire’s bed had been a tomb, a sad monument to a relationship once alive, now dead. How could anyone expect her to wait twenty years to resurrect that part of her life?

Tears formed, so close to the surface they almost spilled. She remembered how a man’s skin felt against her own. She ached to be held again—to be wanted, desired. Her emptiness needed filled.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she turned her car into the parking garage of her building, maneuvered into her spot, and cut the engine. She sat in the dark for several minutes, letting scenes flash in her mind.

An image of Tuck waiting at the end of the church aisle, wearing a suit and a wide grin.

His hands carefully placing Garrett in his infant seat for the first time before he drove them home.

His red-rimmed eyes as he confided he’d let his mother die all alone.

Claire leaned her weary head against the seat back, pushing the memories from her mind. She couldn’t let the past shadow her future. Isn’t that what Brian said?

With trembling fingers, Claire wiped her tears. Her crumbled marriage was not her fault. She’d made those wedding vows never expecting her husband would betray her and tear their life to shreds. She could never have known that “forever” included twenty years apart because her husband committed federal crimes and sat in prison.

Sure, she’d had second thoughts since telling Tuck it was over. But she couldn’t be expected to continue a marriage under these circumstances.

She deserved to be happy.

Before she could change her mind, she reached for her phone and quickly dialed the attorney she’d decided to use. When the receptionist answered, Claire took a deep breath.

“I’d like to make an appointment with Rhonda Kates, please.”