Again, Claire’s back was to the camera, so Will couldn’t see her face. “I want you to go away and leave Will Anderson alone. He’s one of the nicest, most generous people I’ve ever met, and he deserves better than you. He’s a war hero and you’re…you’re a selfish bitch. Get out before I lose it. Get out now.” Her voice broke on the last word and Beth bolted from the room like a scared rabbit. In the monitor, Will watched her enter an elevator and leave the building. He sat back and took several deep breaths as Claire slumped into a chair, back still to the camera, and covered her face.
“If you say one fucking word, Chance, I’m going to take out all my anger on you instead of a punching bag at the gym,” Will said. “Because I really want to hit someone right now.”
“So did Claire,” Chance said, pushing the chair upright and rolling it back to its original position. “I wish she had.”
“You’ll be taking your teeth home in a bag if you don’t shut up. I’m not kidding.”
“I’m not either.” Chance put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened between you and Claire that made it where you can’t even talk to her, but if I were you, I’d fix it.”
When Will looked back up at the conference room monitor, Claire was gone.
Chapter Eleven
Heather was already in their favorite booth with a glass of merlot when Claire arrived. “Hard day at the office?” she asked with a grin, dragging out the first word while wagging her eyebrows up and down.
The clumsy sexual innuendo was not appreciated. The altercation with Beth had shaken her up and left her in a crappy mood. “Today was my last day. I’m not going to finish out my temp time.”
Heather’s face clouded. “A phone call to me first would’ve been nice, you know. I’m the owner of the agency who placed you. It makes me look bad.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you first. I acted on impulse.” She pitched her purse onto the seat and slid into the booth opposite her friend. “I can’t stay until the end of next week. I need to be packing and other stuff so I can get to Egypt.”
“That’s not why you quit and we both know it.” Heather picked up her glass of wine. “I never pegged you for a runner.”
“I’m not running. I’m taking care of business. I don’t need the money anymore.” Which was and wasn’t true. She didn’t need the money, but she sure as hell was running. Just being in the same city with Will hurt, and sharing the same offices was excruciating. When she’d defended him to Beth, she’d spoken the truth—he was one of the nicest, most generous people she’d ever met. And in her heart, she knew he’d been honest with her. He hadn’t used her. He wanted her like she wanted him.
Heather took a sip and studied her over the rim. “What do you need?”
William Anderson. “Dinner.”
Heather flagged down the waitress and they ordered. “Done,” she said. “Now, tell me why you are really bailing early. What did he do?”
“Nothing. It’s not about him. It’s about me. What I need and want.”
“And that is?”
“Freedom.” What she really needed freedom from was the killer ache in her chest.
Heather held up her glass for a toast. “Well, you got your money. Nothing’s holding you back. Here’s to freedom.”
Claire clinked the rim of her glass to Heather’s feeling anything but liberated. Part of her was tied here—just a tiny thread of her heart wrapped around William Anderson, and she wasn’t sure it would stretch all the way to Egypt.
“You can always talk to me, you know,” Heather said, squeezing Claire’s hand.
“I know. I just…” She was lucky to have a friend like Heather. Still, she was so confused and conflicted about what was going on between her and Will, she wouldn’t know where to begin. No doubt she’d fall apart if she even tried. “I’m still sorting things out.”
After a long, awkward silence, she decided it was time to change the topic to something emotionally safe—something not about William Anderson or her impending escape to another country. “Anything good going on at your temp agency? New clients or funny stories?”
Heather shook her head. “Nope. You?”
Ah. A safe topic, one they both loved: Egyptian artifacts. “We had a new one come through from a past client. The guy didn’t have an appointment, but came in with a really cool private collection of canopic jars. He had all four and the stoppers were beautifully carved.” In addition to loving Egyptian artifacts, Heather was totally into the macabre and these were right up her alley, since they had been used to store vital organs when a body was mummified.
“Nice.” Heather’s eyes lit up and Claire knew she’d successfully turned the conversation away from her shredded heart.
“You want to see them?” She turned her phone screen toward Heather and flipped through the photos she’d emailed herself from the client file.
“Where on earth would someone get canopic jars?” She took Claire’s phone and studied the photos.
“The client had inherited them from his grandfather, who held mummy unwrappings on his kitchen table in the late eighteen hundreds. He said his grandmother still remembered the parties.”
Heather handed the phone back. “Enough of mummies and boring office biz. Let’s talk about why you and Will Anderson aren’t lip-locking anymore instead.”