Touch of Heaven (13 page)

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 acknowledge 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.

L
owering 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 round 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.”

“I wish you'd told me that before,” Deniece had said petulantly. “You know I would have chosen you over my job in a heartbeat! You know how much you've always meant to me, Warrick.”

When he'd said nothing, she'd continued imploringly, “Please don't be mad at me, baby. I was only trying to help. And it worked! You won't
believe
how many phone calls and e-mails I've already received from readers who are excited about your company relocating its headquarters to Houston. I've heard from several people who plan to apply for a job at Mayne Industries as soon as the new office complex is open for business. I've even heard from mothers who hope their sons and daughters will get internships with you.
Everyone
is so excited, baby.”

“And what about your managing editor?” Warrick had drawled sarcastically. “How excited is he that
you
got the scoop and broke the story before your competitors?”

Deniece had said nothing.

“That's what I thought.” His tone had hardened. “Don't use me to advance your career or to settle personal vendettas, Niecy. Trust me, you don't want to play that game with me.”

“I was only trying to help,” Deniece had said in a small voice, sounding thoroughly chastened. “I thought this was what you'd want. I heard that Raina is playing hardball about selling her property. Based on the way people are already responding to my article, she won't be able to hold out much longer.”

“Why don't you let me worry about Raina?” Warrick had suggested, in a milder tone than before. “Believe me, when it comes to
competitors playing hardball, I've encountered a lot worse than Raina St. James.”

“I know you can handle her. You wouldn't be where you are if you couldn't handle difficult people. Anyway, enough about Little Miss Thang. We've wasted more than enough time talking about her. What're you doing tonight, baby?”

“Hanging out with Xavier and Zeke.”

“Oh.” Deniece had sounded disappointed. “I was hoping we could get together this evening. I was going to make you dinner, then let you have me for dessert.” She had laughed, low and sultry.

Warrick had felt a pang of guilt, remembering what his uncle had told him yesterday about Deniece's parents blaming Warrick for their daughter not being married.
Don't start something you can't finish,
Randall had warned.

When Warrick hadn't respond to her provocative invitation, Deniece had heaved a pouty sigh. “All right. I suppose I can give you a rain check so you can hang out with the fellas tonight. But while you're out partying on the town and meeting all kinds of women—'cause I know that's what you boys do—let me just leave you with some food for thought. I bought a new negligee yesterday, and just to give you an idea of how skimpy it is, I nearly threw it away with the receipt because I almost didn't see it. Oh, and did I mention it's edible?”

Warrick couldn't help chuckling softly. “I'm sure that thought will cross my mind once or twice while I'm out tonight.”

“Well, if you change your mind about dinner,” Deniece had purred seductively, “me—and the negligee—will be waiting.”

Warrick had hung up the phone smiling. But his good humor hadn't lasted, and by the time he'd reached his temporary office downtown, his thoughts were once again dominated by Raina. He had sat through an hour-long videoconference with a team of his engineers, who'd eagerly updated him on the status of the vaporization project he'd commissioned. Warrick had jotted down notes, nodded at the appropriate intervals and asked all the right questions, but afterward he could hardly remember a word that had been said.

Thanks to Deniece's article, he'd been besieged with interview requests from reporters at various newspapers and television stations. Warrick had returned some of the phone calls, then handed
off the rest to his media relations director and tried to catch up on some paperwork. But when he found himself unable to concentrate, he'd finally given up and told his secretary he was leaving early. Mabel had raised a surprised brow and asked him if he was feeling okay, clearly wondering if there was something in the Houston air that had made her notorious workaholic of a boss cut out early two days in a row.

Warrick had assured his worried secretary that he was fine and had headed out, silently cursing Raina for tampering with his business. As if it weren't bad enough that she was standing in the way of his construction project. Now she had to wreak havoc on his mental productivity as well?

He was still in a surly mood by the time he'd arrived at the Shawn Mayne Community Center, named in honor of his cousin, who was killed in a drive-by shooting when they were fourteen.

Stepping inside the large building—a building Warrick believed his cousin would have approved of—should have soothed Warrick's temper. But it hadn't.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was caught off guard when his uncle suddenly charged past him and went for the easy layup. More applause erupted around the basketball court.

“
That's
how you school him, Uncle Randall!” Xavier Mayne laughingly called out.

Warrick turned and glared at his brother, who had served as executive director of the community center since it had opened five years ago. “Don't you have some paperwork to do?” he growled.

Xavier just laughed harder and traded a high five with Zeke, who, as the center's athletic director, coordinated all sports and recreation programs and coached the center's youth basketball league during the summers. The brothers, two years apart and in their early thirties, were not quite as tall as Warrick, nor were they as dark-skinned, having their mother's caramel complexion. But they shared their older brother's deep-set dark eyes and good looks, as well as his competitive nature.

“Xay, Zeke.” When his brothers glanced over at him, Warrick said, “Y'all are up next. Twenty-one. I'll even spot you ten points.”

Zeke grinned cockily. “It's on, man! And we don't need your ten points.”

Xavier, for once, didn't look as confident.

Randall chuckled. “Don't take out your frustration on your brothers,” he said to Warrick. “It's not their fault some woman's got you tied up in knots.”

Warrick scowled. Lunging forward, he swiped the ball from his uncle and jumped up to make a basket. There was a smattering of applause from the young boys gathered around the court, whose loyalties were divided between their two heroes: Warrick, the former college basketball star and founder of the community center, and Randall, the easygoing retired cop who regularly volunteered at the center and gave the kids rides in his cool classic cars.

Randall, for his part, was not impressed by Warrick's steal and resulting score. He had other things on his mind, judging by the knowing look on his face. “You didn't deny what I just said, boy. So it
is
a woman.”

Warrick frowned. “Are we having shrink time or playing ball?”

Randall grinned. “I need a time-out,” he said abruptly, heading off the court.

Warrick hesitated, then reluctantly followed. He passed the basketball to a young boy as he and several other kids ran onto the court, joined by Zeke.

After shadowboxing with Warrick for a moment, Xavier announced that he was going back inside to do some “real work” since his bossy employer—Warrick—had decided to drop by unexpectedly.

Warrick followed Randall over to the bench where they'd left their towels and bottled water. Each man had always made a practice of keeping a change of clothes in a gym bag stored in the trunk of his car, always prepared for an impromptu pickup game.

They reclined on the bench and fell silent for several minutes as they drank from their water bottles and watched Zeke coaching the young players on the basketball court.

Warrick was proud of his younger brothers. After flirting with danger for a few years, Xavier and Zeke had finally resisted the lure of the streets and decided to make something of themselves. Both had attended college, worked hard, and landed good jobs, never expecting any handouts from their successful older brother. Both had been instrumental in the founding of the community center, rightfully earning the high-profile positions they held today.

Without warning, Randall asked Warrick, “What's going on between you and Raina?”

Warrick was so startled by the question that he choked on his water.

Chuckling, Randall reached over and pounded him on the back. “Didn't mean to catch you off guard there, son.”

Warrick glared balefully at him. “The hell you didn't,” he rasped.

“All right. Maybe I did.” Randall grinned. “Answer the question, anyway.”