by Grayson Cole
“So I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, right?”
Nya nodded. “Yes… ah… thanks. I’m, ah, I’m gonna go find my friends, okay?”
“Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow, then.” He smiled at her and she backed up.
Behind her she raised a hand and pushed a door open. “Bye, then!” she called.
“Bye.” He actually chuckled and turned to go.
Nya ducked… right back into the bathroom. She cursed herself and counted to ten, giving him time to clear the area. When she walked out again, luckily he wasn’t right there, but she caught a glimpse of him on the way back to her table. He was sitting with a tall, slender, Italian-looking fellow in a suit. The man was handsome and distinguished, with silver at his temples.
Sitting next to Lysette again, she couldn’t get the impressive image of the man out of her head, or the way her hand had felt engulfed by his. “What happened?” Lysette whispered into Nya’s ear.
“Nothing,” Nya responded, then shifted the spotlight from herself. “I can’t believe you.”
“What?” Lysette asked innocently.
“You knew he was here.” Nya tried to keep her voice down.
“I knew no such thing.”
“You had to.” Then a wave of recognition moved over her face as her gaze shifted beyond Lysette. Her eyes were accusing daggers. “And you, Jamie.”
He pointed to himself and asked, “Who, me? I just got back to town!”
“You helped her!”
“Hey, don’t blame me. It was all Lysette’s idea. I just do what she tells me to.”
Lysette hit Jamie on the arm. “It’s great to know I can always count on my husband to support me when it’s going down. Listen, Nya, I’m sorry. I just thought you would get past this little…thing between the two of you.”
“There is no ‘thing’ between us. We all know the article was a misunderstanding, but it’s still a problem, and fixing this mess before Daddy gets back is still my priority. I don’t have time for anything else.”
“But I just heard that he hasn’t dated anyone since he dated Tamitra last year.”
“Little Tamitra Lansing?” Nya chirped.
Lysette’s eyes bugged as she confirmed, “That would be the one, even if she’s only two or three years younger than us.”
“Wow.”
“I know, right!”
“At least he escaped with his life and his bankroll,” Nya remarked. “I can’t believe that woman. Every eligible man in this city is prey. Hell, ineligible, too. Why can’t she just get married, get old, get fat, and take all that weave out of her head.”
“Woooo,” Jamie laughed and stabbed at a piece of chicken on his plate.
“That’s her hair, and you know it.” Nya giggled.
“Well, isn’t it a good sign that Michael dumped her?” Lysette asked.
“I’m sure, but what does it matter? I hardly know him.” Nya’s gazed drifted toward the double doors as if she could see beyond them.
“The whole point of my machinations, girl, is for you to get to know him.”
h
Michael Harrison lay on his couch staring up at the ceiling, trying to sort out the things Derrick had told him about the Hatsheput case. He was failing. As much as he would have liked to focus on his new obsession—not just fixing Hatsheput’s reputation, but helping to find the masterminds behind the crime ring—instead, he was thinking about Nya Seymour. Actually, thinking about her was probably a mild description. He was mentally salivating. He could easily admit to himself that when he saw her and she was either silent or pleasant he felt as if he could just stare at her forever. Her skin was utter perfection and gleamed like lacquered wood. He had never seen eyes as intriguingly feline as hers. And the woman had a mouth meant to be kissed. She’d even smiled at him at the club. He hadn’t expected that after their first meeting in her office.
He remembered the way she’d looked at him tonight when she saw him standing there. Certainly she’d looked surprised to see him, but in those first few silent moments, he could see none of the belligerence he’d seen in her office. Her eyes had traced his face and body and his own heartbeat had quickened involuntarily. It was as if her gaze were tangible as it touched on him. He didn’t know what to make of that woman, but, for some reason, she was all he could think of. His head filled with the vision of swaying, sexy twists and a trim-fitting dress very similar to the one she’d worn when he first saw her. She had looked so much the woman he’d dreamed about in the airport that for an instant, when her eyes had trailed flames over him, he’d wanted to grasp her and kiss her the way he had in his dreams, dreams that had gone ignored until that very night. “Insane.” He yawned, shaking his head to send the images scattering. He went up to bed. “Crazy,” he sighed as he drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed of Nya Seymour.
Chapter 5
The morning before Michael’s interview with the distracting Ms. Seymour, he sat at his desk mesmerized by the huge pile of information on Hatsheput. The researchers at the office had really outdone themselves. On his right stood a stack of papers as high as his shoulder about Nyron Seymour alone. Michael had read all the articles. Seymour had started out as a street kid on St. Thomas with little family to speak of. He’d started out as an artist, doing scenic pieces for tourists on the waterfront. After two years of supporting himself that way, he’d come to realize that his talent for the sale surpassed his talent as a painter. That was when he’d started to organize other artists and sell their works. They’d rented a small space not really large enough for a gallery, and eventually started selling art stateside. After a few years of dedicated toiling, they’d made enough money to buy a tiny shipping company in order to expand their business. Out of that small one-boat operation came a huge American success story.
From everything he’d read, Michael could see that Nyron Seymour was an honest, hardworking businessman, a man who commanded respect. He’d seen this before when completing the initial piece and ignored it. Plenty of evil men looked good on the surface. He leaned back with his eyes closed, picturing an angry Nyron Seymour, but slowly the face softened, transforming itself into Nya’s.
He picked up the file with her name scrawled across the label. Here was everything ever printed about her. For a moment he tried to guess at the contents in the folder, but found it useless. She was apparently full of surprises. He opened the file and began to read.
A few moments later he sat overwhelmed. From the very earliest of her appearances in the public eye, Nya Seymour had apparently succeeded in every single thing she’d done. She had obtained a perfect score on her standardized tests, which helped earn her a scholarship to Harvard, where she graduated with honors. Later, after she received an MBA from Wharton, the eldest daughter of the company president started at Hatsheput as a sales rep. That was odd, but Michael dismissed it as he continued to read. By the next summer, Hatsheput experienced a phenomenal sales growth based on getting hotel contracts, which Nyron Seymour had been staunchly against. Nya had sold those deals. Later she spearheaded community outreach projects where they brought Caribbean-style carnivals into American communities and conducted free cultural experiences at the galleries. This way the local public could experience the richness of Caribbean art and history while at the same time associating it with the name Hatsheput, the name of an ancient African queen. It worked. After three months, the festivals were so popular they became huge social events. It was these gatherings and the opening of Hatsheput Galleries that had her named V.P. of Marketing. She had only been in sales twenty months, so maybe Daddy had wanted her to prove herself. Six months after that, judging by the date on the article, a second Hatsheput Galleries complex was built.
The next item pictured Nya and Nyron Seymour with their arms crossed as they faced each other. He noticed the strong similarity in their expressions. Both had set, unsmiling faces with compelling glares. The caption read, “Father and daughter of Hatsheput Industries: an unstoppabl
e, unmovable duo.” In the next photo from the same article they were both laughing. And Michael was again drawn to the smiling Nya. She was practically glowing with vitality.
He made a quick decision then to get her to smile like that again… for him.
“What’s your problem, little brother?”
“Claude?” Michael looked up from his desk.
“Don’t ‘Claude’ me. You were seen at dinner with Derrick last night.”
“I was seen?” He laughed. “Who ‘seen’ me?”
“Never you mind. Why were you out to dinner with him?”
“We were talking business. Nothing to do with you, sister dear.”
“What kind of business?”
“Jesus, woman, why are you so pushy? I was talking to him about the same thing you were, my recent goof and what he could glean from his contacts.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Michael pressed her.
“Yeah, oh. Just oh,” she mumbled as she started to leave.
“He wasn’t asking me anything about you,” Michael offered.
“I don’t care.” Claudia shot him a scowl, then walked out of his office. Michael got the first full-bellied laugh he had had in weeks. If he didn’t know any better, just maybe his sister didn’t quite hate her ex as much as she had let on. Derrick had wasted no time telling him that he wanted his wife back, though he still didn’t comment on what had driven them apart.
Michael waited until his sister had enough time to make it back to her office before he called her. “You didn’t stay to find out what he told me. That’s awfully uncharacteristic of you.”
“You didn’t tell me right off the bat. If you found out anything at all, that was uncharacteristic of you.”
“The Feds think Rinaldo Mandolesi is involved.”
He heard a whoosh, then the line went dead. In seconds his sister was back in his office and she had closed and locked the door behind her.
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Unless you’ve talked to Derrick since last night, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t know until late afternoon.”
“Rinaldo Mandolesi? Is he sure?”
“No. If they were sure, they would have moved already. There’s no evidence connecting him directly to Art Sentries, though.”
“Rinaldo Mandolesi is the crime lord of the Caribbean. What makes them think he’s involved in something so small? I mean, it’s awful what happened, but it’s small potatoes in comparison to what this guy is capable of.”
“For one, he runs the drug trade in that part of the world. The majority of the kids that found themselves arrested were brought up on drug charges—”
“Which we already knew.”
“Right, but what Derrick found out is that three of the four that died were executed in front of loved ones. The hooded executioner then gave them five thousand dollars apiece to bury the kids.”
“The Mandolesi M.O. What happened to the other kid?”
“Carved up and tossed into the ocean like chum. Washed up on shore four weeks ago.”
“That is horrible.”
“Yeah.”
“If they can link Mandolesi to it, it will be huge.”
“Yeah.”
“And insanely dangerous,” she said meaningfully. “That guy has been untouchable for more than a decade. Michael, listen to me carefully, brother. I know what you’re thinking. I’m all for breaking this story wide open, but only after the Feds have something on Mandolesi and are ready to move on him. I won’t let you put yourself in danger by printing a story while he’s still out there.”
“I understand.”
“I mean it, Mike. And if you get something good, I want you to promise to go directly to Derrick and hand it over.”
“So you want me to continue bonding with my ex-brother-in-law?” He smirked.
His sister did not let up. “Michael, I’m serious. This is not your editor talking. This is your sister, and I love you.”
Michael promised her that he would be careful and give any evidence he managed to turn up to the FBI.
h
“He’s coming,” Michael heard Lysette whisper into the phone as he entered the lobby. She smiled slyly at him, and he was almost positive that Nya Seymour was on the other end.
“Hello, Lysette.” He sweetened his greeting by flashing a dazzling smile at the energetic little woman.
“Hello, Mr. Harrison.”
“Michael, please,” he said. She nodded her head and repeated his name. “Is Ms. Seymour ready for me now?”
“She’s got someone with her at the moment, but you’re certainly welcome to wait.” She motioned to the leather loveseat across from her desk. Michael sat while Lysette continued a lengthy scrutiny of him.
“What is it?” he demanded with brows pulled into a crease. Since he’d met her, Lysette acted as if she knew something he didn’t but ought to.
“Oh, nothing,” she said in a sing-song voice as she studied him. Lysette smiled like the cat that ate the canary.
Michael shifted in his seat and checked his watch. He glanced around nervously, wondering just what was in store for him.
“So you’re not actually a receptionist or an assistant?”
“Correct.”
“What do you normally do that allows you to fill in like this?”
“I’m married to an NBA player who plays for an out-of-state team. I run around the country with him a lot.”
Not even the tiniest bit of self-consciousness about that, either, he noted. He was sure Nya Seymour would have been self-conscious about that. Hell, he was sure she wouldn’t do it as much as she thrived on working for Hatsheput. “I see. So what was your vocation prior to becoming Mrs. Jamie Hendricks?”
The phone buzzed, momentarily eclipsing her answer. “Yes?” She listened for a moment and her brow knit. “But he’s out here waiting right now,” she said. “You’re supposed to—” She was apparently cut off. “Yes, that’s fine, I’ll tell him.” She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “She’ll see you now. You remember where her office is, right? Well, just go on down there and she’ll see you.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. He knew for certain that Nya had definitely not said that she would see him. But as he walked down the hall, he told himself over and over again that this time would be different from the first time he’d showed up at her door. He was going to be amicable, and he was going to maintain his composure no matter if Nya Seymour baited him as she had when they first met.
h
“Daddy, I’ll handle it,” Nya said into the phone. “The retraction was printed in Tuesday’s issue.” She rubbed her temples, pondering a useless question. Hadn’t she proven herself by now? “Right now I’m reviewing the reports from the Norfolk office. There was some unusual shipping activity up there and I think it might help the investigation if I go tomorrow to see if I can get some answers. I want to see what’s going on before the next stockholders report. I don’t see why it’d be necessary for you to go up there, too. Yes, Daddy, everything’s under control.” She didn’t know how much longer she could hear the relentless battery of questions her father was hurling at her.
“Listen, Daddy,” she interrupted him. Her almost imperceptible accent had thickened. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to let Elphonse know that Harrison’s on his way to the gallery… Well, he’s on his way here right now, and I figured that it would save some time for El to give him a tour of the gallery rather than me.”
She rolled her eyes as her father attempted to explain the importance of having this spread done properly, which entailed showing Michael Harrison the best Hatsheput had to offer. He followed by telling her that if she didn’t have time to devote to the proper handling of the article, then she should consider letting someone with more time take over.
“Daddy, you’re acting like the man is doing us a favor. Remember, he’s the one who started all this in the first place. I am not going to have someone else handle this ar
ticle. I’ll work with Harrison all the way. I’m on top of everything, okay?”
Nya sighed loudly and began tapping her pencil on the desk. Her father could be the most infuriating and frustrating man she knew. She didn’t know if he acted this way because she was a woman, because of her paintings, or because he didn’t want to see anyone run the company as well as he did. After all, he had worked passionately all of his life to get Hatsheput where it was. She just wished he had a little faith. “No, Daddy, I don’t need Elphonse’s help, I’m fine.” She heard a knock at her door. “Daddy, I’ve got to go, I have an appointment. Bye.” She closed the Norfolk file lying open on her desk, took a deep breath, and sipped her coffee. After setting the mug down again on the desk, she said softly, “Come in.”
When the door opened she nearly toppled the mug on her desk. “What are you doing here?”
“We have an appointment, correct?” Michael Harrison asked with a suspiciously stoic expression.
Nya bit down on her lower lip, furious and hoping he couldn’t tell. “Have a seat, Mr. Harrison,” she rasped, glancing down at the calendar on her desk. “I seem to have gotten our appointment mixed up,” she explained while swearing silently she was going to fire, no, murder Lysette the first chance she got. That woman couldn’t take an order if she was a waitress. But Nya had more immediate things to think of at the moment. She sighed wearily and figured that she might as well get it over with. “Where would you like to start?”
Michael smiled big at her. Something about his demeanor read a little too sunny. Nya tilted her head to the side. “Did Lysette tell you I was tied up?”
“Nope.” He grinned wider. “She told me to come right on in. But I did overhear—through no fault of my own—that you were trying to pawn me off on someone else this afternoon.”
She cleared her throat. Caught. “Well… I… you see…” She put a hand over her eyes. “Yes, I was.” She took her hand down, recovering quickly. “There were a few things I wanted to get done this afternoon.”
He seemed to take pity on her. “I understand. If you want to postpone, that’s fine. I really would like you to take me on the tour, though, since the site was your brainchild.”