Caress (9 page)

Nya and Lysette went into the elegant bathroom and sat on a settee, waiting as her friend touched up her lipstick. “Lysette, what are you planning? I know that scheming mind of yours. You didn’t call me over here to be nice.”

“Of course I did.”

Nya could tell that she was holding back a snicker. “You can’t lie to me, you know you can’t. Besides, I have ways to make you talk,” Nya said. “So, what’s going on?” Lysette appeared from around the door and stood in front of the mirror washing her hands. She patted her freshly cut coiffure and stood back admiring herself. “Could you get out of that mirror? I’m getting sick.” Nya pursed her lips.

“I’m ready.” Lysette smirked and they walked out of the bathroom. Across the hall in a small alcove, Nya noticed a tall man with broad shoulders with one hand covering an ear as he tried to have a conversation on his cell phone. When he hung up and turned around, she saw it was Michael Harrison. She didn’t know what to say. Nor did she know why her heart leaped irrationally.

“Hello, Ms. Seymour,” he said politely. Then, “Hi, Lysette Hendricks, of Jamie Hendricks fame,” he said more warmly. “I just talked to your new husband. I knew he’d gotten married, just not to whom. Congratulations. You know, he’s going to do an interview with me soon.”

“Hmm, ain’t that something,” Lysette grated out as Nya pinched her on the back. Then she backed away, saying, “If you’ll both excuse me, I gotta get back to dinner.”

Breathless, unsure, and just a little irritated by her pal, Nya greeted him. “Hello.”

“Ms. Seymour, I want to apologize again for the article. I never intended to report something that could harm innocent people or even an innocent company. I said it this morning, but I don’t know if it got lost in our discussion.”

He was being nice, even after their earlier exchange, and Nya couldn’t stand it. There was something about him, maybe the way the jacket he wore hung off his broad shoulders, that was simply dazzling. She willed herself to look away, but those magnificent eyes filled with remorse were melting her resolve. And his mouth… she could feel her face flushing at notions of what it must be like to kiss that mouth. How long had she been standing there without speaking? She wanted to snap, “Just do the feature and we’ll try to forget how mistaken you were.” Instead, she said, “Thank you. I know this situation has been difficult all around.”

“I imagine,” he returned. “Hopefully we can start over and correct this. And I know you can’t talk about it, but if there’s anything I can do to help with the investigation, please let me know. Despite this error, that
is
what I do.”

“Sure,” she responded, not sure what else to say.

“Truce?” He held out his hand to her.

Nya looked at it for a moment and swallowed. Why, oh why, were her nerves getting the best of her right then? She reached out then, taking a leap. She put her hand in his large warm one. He squeezed and passed his thumb briefly over the sensitive skin on her wrist. A chill raced up her arm. “Truce,” she gasped and swiftly pulled her hand back.

“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.

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 unstoppable, 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.”