“Tony, please stop.” She gasped for breath as her temple and cheek stung. “I was hiking in the woods.”

He let go of her shoulders, shoving her onto the sofa. He followed her and loomed over her body as she lay against the cushions. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”

She tried to explain, “I was in the woods. The sun was setting. It was so beautiful.” Her words came in gasps.

Finally, he yelled, “Shut the fuck up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home and you didn’t want to face me after what you did.”

Claire’s mind spun. She didn’t know what she had done. “I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home on Saturday, this is still Friday. I haven’t done anything.”

Tony slapped her again and called her a liar. Then he walked over to the light switch and turned it on. Claire watched him. His suit coat was gone and his shirt and slacks looked wrinkled. His chest visibly expanded and contracted with labored breaths and his eyes were not only black but violent. In the past he’d been upset, but in control. Tonight his self-control was replaced with rage. She knew he’d passed some invisible threshold. Claire just didn’t know why, but the reason scared the hell out of her. He walked to her dining table and picked up some papers.

“Then tell me, tell me how this is a misunderstanding.” He shook the pages in his hand while his words came too close together. “I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I am doing that now.”

Claire feared talking, but she did. “Tony, I am sorry. I really don’t know what you are talking about.” He threw the pages at her, they scattered on the floor near her feet. When he didn’t move, she bent down to pick them up. Her vision now blurry from tears, she tried desperately to blink and focus on the pages.

They were typed, from the Internet. The last two pages contained pictures: pictures of the two of them at the symphony, at some event she couldn’t distinguish, in New York, and walking down the street in Chicago, arm in arm. Then there were pictures of Claire, in college, with friends and one of her and Meredith sitting at a table talking.

The breath in her chest suddenly dissipated. Her eyes focused on the words: “Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’s Life Agrees to a One on One Interview.”

Claire’s eyes grew wide and immediately overflowed with a flood of tears. She couldn’t believe what she read. Oh my god! She didn’t agree to an interview. She wouldn’t do that!

“Tony, oh my god, I did not agree to an interview.”

“So you are telling me that the picture of you talking to this woman is a print shop fabrication and this is a colossal misunderstanding?” He pointed to the picture as he stood over Claire. His closeness filled her with dread. It was her talking to Meredith, but it wasn’t an interview.

“It is me, but—” His hands picked her off the sofa and pinned her against a wall. “I wasn’t giving an interview.” She hit the wall with enough force for a picture to fall. His grip hurt her arms, she could taste the salt of her tears, and her ears reverberated with his booming voice and rang from his repeated slaps.

His face descended upon hers. “Then what in the hell are you doing?” He shook her again. “Claire, I put my trust in you! You told me I could trust you and I believed you. I sent you to a spa day. This is how you thank me? By breaking all my rules, by public failure?” he dropped her to the floor like a rag doll.

Claire scurried to pick up the papers. She wanted to know what the article said. “What is this?”

“It is an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. It will run simultaneously in People and Rolling Stone.” He hovered over her and then turned abruptly away. He went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. He tried to gain control of his anger and of himself. “Shelly, my publicist found it today and immediately forwarded a copy to me. I flew home as soon as I could.” She wondered how long he’d been waiting and brewing in her suite. She desperately tried to read.

Well, you believe you know Anthony Rawlings, forty-five, self-made billionaire? Or maybe you would like to know him? You may be too late. Since May of 2010 Anthony has been seen out on the town with the same mystery woman. Up until now we have not known much about Anthony’s special woman. That is until she agreed to sit down with old friend and freelance writer Meredith Banks. The woman in Anthony Rawlings’s life is Claire Nichols, twenty-six. She is originally from Fishers, Indiana, just outside of Indianapolis.

Claire graduated from Valparaiso University, Valparaiso, Indiana in 2006. She has a bachelor’s degree in meteorology. Ms. Nichols and Meredith were in the same sorority from 2003 through 2006. It is believed that this long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.

Claire looked up from the page in her hand. Tony sat on the sofa and watched her reaction as she sat on the floor and read. Her whole body trembled as nausea erupted in her empty stomach.

“Tony, I did go to school with Meredith, she did come up to me the other day and started talking. I didn’t know she was a reporter. I wasn’t giving an interview. I didn’t say anything about you. Your name was never mentioned!”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he nodded toward the pages and she continued to read.

Anthony Rawlings has long been seen as a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. He dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens. However, none of his previous relationships lasted very long. That is until now, now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. And since that time, they have been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well as taking on two of the nation’s biggest cities, New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).