Touch of Heaven

by Maureen Smith

When he had finished speaking, Nikki and Alisa cheered and clapped loudly in approval. Even Raina smiled a little, her own temper cooling slightly in the face of such fierce loyalty.

  “Thank you, Trey,” she murmured. “I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate your support. That goes for all of you.”

  Trey impatiently waved off the gratitude. “Honey, you don’t have to thank us! You’ve got a good thing going here, and I’ll be damned if I let some no-talent hack who can’t even cut it at a real newspaper try to run you out of business. Deniece Labelle didn’t even try to appear objective in that one-sided piece of trash she called an article. After devoting several paragraphs to how wonderful Mayne Industries is, how wonderful Warrick Mayne is and how wonderful the company will be for Houston, she couldn’t find one good thing to say about Touch of Heaven. Talk about media bias!” He shook his head in patent disgust.

  Scanning the lengthy article, Raina said grimly, “You won’t get any argument from me about Deniece Labelle’s appalling lack of journalistic integrity, but I’m afraid she may be right about one thing. The economy is still in a slump, unfortunately, and not every business in this area has been doing as well as we have. I’ve already gotten an earful from Tyler Ralston, one of the owners of Ralston Development. I know there are plenty of people like him who will want to see Mayne Industries relocate its headquarters to this area. Thanks to this article, I’m probably going to start coming under a lot of pressure to sell.”

  “It’s already starting,” Nikki said, looking apologetic. “When I came in this morning, there were already two voice-mail messages from people who had read the article and wanted to urge you to reconsider your decision not to sell. And, um, that was me paraphrasing. They weren’t as polite as that.”

  Raina scowled. “Great,” she muttered under her breath. Just what she needed: more threats. First from Warrick, then Tyler Ralston, and now perfect strangers were calling to harass her.

  “They can’t pressure you into selling!” Trey cried, outraged. “We have to do something about this.” He snapped his fingers. “I know! Maybe we can get someone at the Chronicle to write some sort of rebuttal to this story. An article that gives your perspective, Raina, and lets people know how much the spa has done for the community. Don’t you have contacts at the Chronicle?”

  “Several,” Raina said wryly. “But given the local media’s ongoing love affair with Warrick Mayne, I’d probably be hard pressed to find any editor willing to print a negative word about him, even if they’re a little peeved with him for letting another paper break the story about his company’s expansion plans.”

  Trey sucked his teeth. “They’re peeved with him? I’m livid! I always thought so highly of that brother. Hell, I defended him when some of my friends from L.A. were saying he did that little actress wrong. What was her name again?”

  “Simone Persia Fox?” Nikki helpfully supplied.

  “Yeah, her! They were saying how Warrick Mayne strung her along, had her ready to give up her acting career and move all the way to Philadelphia just to be with him. He made her think he was ready to settle down with her. And then he changed his mind, broke that child’s heart and had her head all messed up. You see she ain’t been in any movies ever since the breakup, and that was two years ago!”

  Nikki snickered. “The reason she ain’t doing any more movies is ’cause that chick can’t act!”

  Alisa chortled, nodding in agreement.

  Trey made a face. “Maybe so, but I still defended that brother when my friends were badmouthing him, saying how he played poor Simone.”

  “You defended him because you think he’s hot,” Alisa reminded him.

  Trey scowled at her. “Well, I don’t care how hot he is, or how much money he has. He can’t just show up out of the blue one day and expect people to hand over their properties to him, no questions asked. It doesn’t work that way! Ain’t that right, boss?”

  “Hmm?” Raina had only been half listening to the spirited exchange between her employees. She’d heard all the sordid stories about Warrick’s high-profile breakups over the years. She’d stopped caring a long time ago.

  Or so she told herself.

  “We need to get support from the community,” she murmured, thinking aloud, steering the conversation back on track. “It’s safe to assume Warrick’s already got the media in his corner. Maybe we can get the support of some community leaders and activists who are known for championing the cause of small businesses.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Trey, Nikki and Alisa chorused in unison.

  Raina chuckled. “Then it’s unanimous. That’s what we’ll do.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind?” Trey asked hopefully, relishing the idea of a fight.

  Raina pursed her lips, then nodded briskly. “Actually, I do. City Councilman Bonner. He’s an old friend of the family. He always told me to give him a call if I ever need any favors.”

  Trey grinned. “Well, honey, you’d better get on that phone and start calling in those favors!”

  “Better yet,” Raina said decisively, “I’ll pay him a visit.”

  When Raina arrived at Dwight Bonner’s plush downtown law firm an hour later, his secretary informed her that the councilman was in his office with a visitor.

  “I’ll wait,” Raina told the woman.

  She sat in one of the visitor chairs, crossed her legs and grabbed a magazine to flip through while she waited.

  After fifteen minutes a door opened, and the rumble of male laughter spilled into the corridor.

  Raina froze.

  She recognized one of those voices. A deep, dark timbre she would have known anywhere.

  Her heart sank.

  Warrick. He’d gotten to Councilman Bonner before she could. Damn it!

  As the voices drew nearer, she thought about bolting. But it was too late.

  Warrick and Dwight Bonner appeared in the reception area, laughing and talking like a pair of old friends. Raina ducked her head, pretending to become absorbed in the magazine, hoping and praying Warrick would leave without noticing her.

  “It was great to see you again, Warrick,” the councilman was saying. “I’ll have my secretary get in touch with Mabel to set up a tee time next week.”

  Golf? Raina thought in exasperation. They’re playing golf together?

  “Sounds good,” Warrick drawled, a smile in his voice. “I’m afraid my golf game isn’t up to par yet, so you’ll have to go easy on me.”

  “Yeah, like you’d go easy on me if we were on the basketball court.”

  The two men chuckled good-naturedly.

  “Mr. Bonner, you have a visitor,” the secretary announced, looking across the reception area at Raina. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, Miss—”

  “St. James,” Raina supplied, setting aside the magazine and rising. Deliberately ignoring Warrick—no easy feat, admittedly—she focused her attention on the short, gray-haired man standing beside him. “Hello, Councilman Bonner.”

  When Dwight Bonner turned and looked at Raina, his eyes widened in surprise and his smile wavered. He looked guiltier than a minister caught stealing money from an offering plate. Raina would have laughed if there were anything remotely amusing about the situation.

  “Why, hello, Raina!” the councilman said, recovering his composure. He strode toward her, clasping both her hands and kissing her upturned cheek. “You know it’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  Except when you’re consorting with the enemy!

  Shoving aside the uncharitable thought, Raina summoned a smile of genuine warmth. “I apologize for not calling first—”

  “Nonsense! I’ve known you since you were a little girl. You don’t have to call before stopping by for a visit.” Glancing over his shoulder, Bonner cleared his throat discreetly. “And, ah, speaking of someone else who has known you since you were little. Of course you and Warrick remember each other.”

  He stepped aside, leaving Raina no choice but to ackno
wledge Warrick. He was already watching her, a knowing glint in his dark eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

  “Hello, Raina,” he murmured.

  “Mr. Mayne,” Raina said in a voice frosty enough to freeze water. She raked him with a scathing glance, looking him over as if he were covered in dung instead of the finest Italian silk.

  Then, before he could react, she cut her eyes away, coldly dismissing him as she smiled at Dwight Bonner. “I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time,” she said smoothly.

  “Of course, of course. Let me just say goodbye to Warrick.”

  As Bonner turned and shook Warrick’s hand, his eyes communicated a silent apology that got under Raina’s skin. She didn’t know whether Bonner was apologizing for her rudeness to Warrick, or the fact that he felt obligated to give her an audience. Neither bode well for the outcome of her meeting with the councilman.

  Before leaving, Warrick nodded coolly at Raina. “Be seeing you around,” he murmured, his words both a promise and a threat.

  Raina gave him a bored look, stopping just short of yawning before turning her back on him and walking away with Councilman Bonner.

  Twenty minutes later, Raina emerged from the law firm with the bitter taste of defeat in her mouth.

  Just as she’d feared, Dwight Bonner would be of no help to her in her mission to retain her property. Even if she’d had any hope of receiving his support after seeing how chummy he and Warrick were, that hope had been dashed the moment she’d stepped into the councilman’s office and had seen, prominently displayed on the wall behind his desk, a framed poster of twenty-one-year-old Warrick suspended in midair as he took the game-winning shot that had helped his team clinch the NCAA championship. It was clear that Bonner was a longtime fan of Warrick’s, and as such, he wouldn’t stand in the way of Warrick’s construction project.

  To his credit, Bonner had backed up his decision with what he called “hard, cold facts.” He’d given Raina the same talking points she’d already heard from Tyler Ralston, the same talking points recited in that morning’s Ledger article: a Houston-based Mayne Industries would stimulate economic growth and development, create more jobs and help recruit major corporations. Additionally, the company’s minority internship program would provide scholarships and valuable training opportunities to local college students. Councilman Bonner—unlike Tyler Ralston and Deniece Labelle—had stopped short of telling Raina that her spa couldn’t begin to compete with the level of benefits that Warrick’s firm would bring to the community.

  In a gentle, fatherly tone, he instead had cautioned her against waging a long, bitter battle with Warrick, a battle he believed she would ultimately lose.

  There was little more Raina could say after that. So she’d left.

  As she strode across the parking lot, she rummaged in her handbag for her car keys and thought of how disappointed Trey, Nikki and Alisa would be when she returned to the spa and told them how the meeting with Councilman Bonner had gone.

  “Raina.”

  She glanced up, startled to find Warrick leaning casually against the driver’s side of his Bentley luxury car, which was parked on the same row as her car, but on the opposite end. He appeared to be waiting for her, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes concealed behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

  A fresh wave of anger swept through Raina. Deliberately ignoring him, she continued across the parking lot toward her car, hoping he’d take the hint and get lost.

  That was asking too much.

  By the time she reached her car, Warrick had easily caught up to her with those long, ground-eating strides of his.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “No, we don’t,” Raina snapped, retrieving her keys from her handbag. “We have nothing to say to each other.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Ask me if I care!”

  “Damn it, Raina. I know you didn’t get where you are in business by letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”

  Raina whirled on him, trembling with fury. “Don’t you dare lecture me! I poured blood, sweat and tears into making my business the success that it is. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you waltz in here and take it away from me!”

  “I’m not trying to take anything away from you,” Warrick growled, impatiently removing his sunglasses, those dark, piercing eyes drilling into hers. “If you would just listen to my business proposal—”

  “I don’t need to!” Raina shouted. “I’ve heard more than enough from the people you put up to doing your dirty work. Tyler Ralston was bad enough, Warrick, but siccing your old girlfriend on me was just downright despicable, even for you.”

  Warrick scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Oh, please! Don’t stand there and pretend you don’t know about the smear job that was published this morning by that filthy rag Deniece works for.” Raina’s lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer. “It must have felt like old times again, Deniece interviewing you for the Ledger the way she used to interview you after games for the school paper. I’m sure the two of you had a wonderful time working on the article together, then celebrating afterward with a nice little roll between the sheets. Just like old times, huh, Warrick?”

  There was a mocking gleam in his eyes. “What part are you objecting to, Raina?” he drawled sardonically. “The article Deniece wrote, or the way I repaid her afterward?”

  Narrowing her eyes, Raina said with withering scorn, “Just when I think you can’t sink any lower, you prove me wrong. I guess you can take the boy out of the gutter, but…Well, you get the point.”

  Warrick smiled, cold and narrow. “That’s funny,” he said silkily. “I didn’t hear you complaining when this gutter boy had his mouth and hands all over you yesterday.”

  Raina flinched, heat stinging her face. “Go to hell, Warrick,” she shot back. “And take that no-class bitch with you.”

  Shoving a pair of sunglasses onto her face, Raina ducked inside her car and slammed the door. As she sped out of the parking lot, still trembling with outrage, she couldn’t help feeling as though she had won a small battle, but would ultimately lose the war.

  Chapter 9

  Lowering one shoulder, Warrick charged past his uncle and slammed the basketball through the hoop. The metal rim vibrated with the force of the dunk, drawing groans and raucous male laughter around the basketball court.

  “Hey, War, why don’t you take it easy on the old man?” Xavier Mayne, watching from the sidelines, called out to his brother.

  “Yeah, man,” chimed in Zeke Mayne. “We’re trying to teach these young folks at the community center—which you founded, by the way—to respect their elders, not abuse them!”

  Ignoring his younger brothers’ half-serious protests, Warrick retrieved the rebound and said to his uncle, “Sixteen to eight. Had enough yet?”

  Randall chuckled. “Nah, I’m just gettingwarmed up. Best of three.”

  Warrick shook his head. “Your funeral.”

  He dribbled the ball in place, waiting as his uncle removed his soaked T-shirt and tossed it off the court. His chest, like Warrick’s, glistened with sweat in the summer heat, which was already blistering at eleven-thirty in the morning.

  “See, son,” Randall said, grinning, “I’m actually doing you a favor.”

  Warrick snorted, returning to the three-point line. “How’re you doing me a favor?”

  “I’m letting you burn off some steam and take out your frustrations on me.”

  Warrick scowled. “Who says I’m frustrated?”

  Randall’s grin widened. “Aren’t you?”

  “No.” Jaw tightly clenched, Warrick advanced on the net, deciding to forgo the easy basket in exchange for rough physical contact. Randall grunted with the effort of blocking the basketball and took an elbow shot to the ribs. Refusing to give way, he stretched his arm above his nephew’s head and successfully blocked the shot, then fought for the rebound and scored, drawing a r
ound of applause and cheers from the onlookers.

  “Don’t forget who taught you how to play this game in the first place,” Randall boasted, grinning at Warrick.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Warrick muttered. “Stop talking, start playing.”

  “Why? Because you don’t wanna talk about what’s been bugging you all morning, ever since you showed up here in a foul mood?”

  “I wasn’t in a foul mood,” Warrick bit off, even as his temper spiked at the memory of his earlier argument with Raina. Her parting words, dripping with icy contempt, reverberated through his brain, taunting and tormenting him. I guess you can take the boy out of the gutter…

  Warrick didn’t know what infuriated him more. The fact that Raina still thought he was somehow inferior to her, or the fact that it still bothered him, after all these years and after all the wealth he had accumulated. What was it about Raina St. James that made him give a damn what she thought?

  It shouldn’t have bothered him that she’d automatically assumed he’d put Deniece up to writing that article, when in reality, he hadn’t known a damn thing about it until Raina had brought it to his attention. Why had he been initially tempted to defend himself? He’d already warned Raina that he didn’t play nice, and he’d already vowed to himself that he would show her no mercy when it came to getting what he wanted. Hell, he’d been handling her with kid gloves up to this point. Why should it matter whether she believed he’d conspired with Deniece on an article that maligned her business?

  It shouldn’t have mattered.

  Except it did, damn it.

  After the confrontation with Raina at Councilman Bonner’s office, Warrick had called Deniece and bluntly demanded to know how she’d learned about his company’s expansion plans.

  “Baby, you know I can’t reveal my sources,” Deniece had protested. “That would be unethical. Besides, it’s not as if you were going to tell me. I can’t believe you intended to keep something that big a secret from me!”

  Impervious to her wounded tone, Warrick had explained with forced patience, “I didn’t want to go public with the story until the sale was finalized. Everyone involved has had to sign a confidentiality agreement. I didn’t want to put you in the difficult position of having to choose between your job as a reporter and our friendship.”