Heaven In His Arms

Chapter 1

The severance package is very generous. I really don’t think you’ll have any problem with it.

Bill Whittiker smiled as he said that. He was on his feet, already ushering her out the door of his office. Lisa thought he looked very satisfied with himself, and why not? She’d been in there a grand total of seven minutes—enough time to be told how much the company appreciated her work, how much they regretted having to downsize her, and how soon she had to clear out her desk. There was no doubt about it, Whittiker had this sort of thing down to a science; but then, he’d had plenty of experience.

And she’d had plenty of warning. Well, not plenty. Was there ever plenty of anything in a situation like this? But ever since the Portland, Oregon, advertising agency she worked for had been taken over by a New York City megafirm a month before, the word had been out that a purge was in the making. The new bosses had come in with all the usual assurances about how valued everyone was, no one would be making changes just for the sake of change, they were going to be one big, happy family, and so on and so forth.

Tripe. Pure, unadulterated tripe. Maybe one or two of her fellow employees had been naive—or desperate—enough to believe them, but Lisa had been through this once before and had seen far too many friends go through it in recent years. She’d recognized all the signs. Long before Whittiker asked her to drop in for a little talk that day, she’d seen it coming.

Which wasn’t to say that it didn’t hurt. Hell, she liked her job. Worse yet, she was good at it. And she liked the people she’d been working with, many for the full two years she’d been with the agency. They had been like a family, one that was breaking up now.

Her chest felt tight as she walked back to her cubicle. She slumped down in the chair and looked straight ahead. Her desk was cluttered, as usual. Her current assignment was tacked to the drawing board that was a quick swivel of the chair away. There was a small cabinet on wheels to hold art materials, a shelf with reference books, a corkboard festooned with various reminders, a computer, a phone, and that was it. What few personal touches there had been were gone. She really had anticipated being fired. Again.

God, this was the second time in two years. She worked hard, she did a good job, she was utterly reliable and yet here she was, canned again. For just a moment, Lisa let herself really think about how unfair it was. Before she could go too far in that direction, she took a deep breath and sat up straighter. She had to look at the situation honestly. She was single, with no kids, no mortgage, and some actual money in the bank and a few stocks. For the last two years, she’d never bought anything on credit that she couldn’t pay for right away. Moreover, even after she’d gotten her current—soon—to—be—former—job, she’d kept up the freelance graphic design and copywriting that had seen her through the stretch between staff positions. That often meant working eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, but besides what it added to her income, it meant she didn’t have to feel dependent on any one job ever again. She had a keen appreciation of that now.

There were other people getting the word from Whittiker who were in very different situations than her own. She would save her regrets for them.

She had a week—one week to wrap up what she was doing and get ready to move on with her life. Fine, no problem. But first she was going to have lunch.

In the ladies’ room, she glanced at herself in the mirror and grimaced. For someone who was supposedly weathering all this without a flinch, she didn’t look all that good. Her light brown eyes were deeply shadowed. Her hair—a rich shade of chestnut—tumbled in disarray around her shoulders. She was very pale; the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her straight nose stood out starkly. Her mouth looked unusually full. She had a bad habit of nibbling on her lower lip when she was nervous.

With a sigh, she set about repairing matters as best she could. With a firm hand on the brush, she scooped her hair up to the crown of her head, secured it with an elastic and fastened it in a loose bun. A few wisps escaped but the result still seemed more controlled. She delved into her bag for the few cosmetics she carried, but lip gloss and a little blush didn’t make all that much of a difference.

Still, she’d done all she could. She smoothed the knitted top she wore with a wraparound silk skirt that fell gracefully to her knees. One thing she did tend to splurge on was pretty clothes, but she’d been careful even about that.

Satisfied she’d done all she could, she left the ladies’ room and headed for the elevators. The offices of New West Advertising were just a couple of blocks from the restaurant where she was meeting her date for lunch. She got there a few minutes early, but Brad was already seated, waiting for her.

He stood when she arrived. She smiled at that, and at him. Brad Dickerson had wonderful manners. It was actually one of the first things she’d noticed about him when they met a month ago. Well, that and the fact that he was undeniably good-looking. Although only a few inches taller than herself, he had thick blond hair, attractive features, and a body kept in shape with daily workouts at the gym. He was always impeccably if conservatively dressed, as befitted a rising investment analyst.

Brad didn’t return her smile, leading Lisa to wonder if she’d left something out of place. She was never quite as perfectly put together as he was. Her job didn’t require it and her natural inclination was otherwise anyway. But she wondered now if perhaps she shouldn’t have spent just a bit more time with the hairbrush.

Hi, she said, a whole lot more brightly than she felt, and took her seat. He resumed his and nodded. She thought he was still staring at her rather oddly but couldn’t be sure because a moment later, his expression was masked.

How are you? he asked.

It was on the tip of Lisa’s tongue to tell him the truth but she stopped herself. He’d asked just to be polite, not with any real desire to know. A month ago, she wouldn’t have realized that. But she’d gotten to know him well enough to recognize when he was just going through the motions until he could get to what really interested him.

Fine, she said, picking up the menu. And you?

Fine, great. Shall we order?

They did and for the next few minutes the chitchat was strictly that—meaningless. Lisa found herself wondering why he was doing this. Clearly, he had something on his mind. She wished he would just tell her. The food came and still he seemed determined to say nothing in particular.

They were supposed to go to a concert that weekend. Remembering that suddenly, she mentioned it. I’m really looking forward to Saturday. Pavarotti’s my absolute favorite. Her enthusiasm was warm and unfeigned. She liked most kinds of music but opera was her passion. It might be melodramatic, grandiose, and sometimes just downright silly. She didn’t care. Give her an aria and she was happy.

Brad winced. There was no kidding herself about that. She put her fork down and looked right at him. What’s wrong? I thought you were excited about the concert, too.

I was.... I am.... It’s just that... He took a sip of water and appeared to gird himself. Somberly, he said, We have to talk.

Lisa didn’t move, didn’t blink, and for a blessed moment, thought of absolutely nothing. Into that toobrief void, a host of emotions rushed. First, and most strongly, was the sinking realization that she had played this scene before. Those same words, that same tone, the same look. The We have to talk scene.

Maybe, just maybe, this time it would be different.

About what? she asked, pleased that her voice sounded just a little reedy.

Us.

Nope, not different. Same scene.

Brad cleared his throat. He looked suitably serious but allowed himself just a shade of anger. Look, Lisa, this can’t come as a big shock to you. We’ve been dating a month now, seeing each other several times a week, and you still won’t...

She didn’t want to hear the rest. Didn’t need to. She knew exactly how it would play out.

A month. A whole month. And she still hadn’t gone to bed with him. In fact, hadn’t permitted him anything more than a few kisses.

A month isn’t all that long to get to know each other, she said quietly. She’d said it before. It hadn’t worked then and she would be very surprised if it worked now.

He shook his head, genuinely bewildered. The thing is, I.think you really believe that. First, I thought it was just some kind of game you were playing, and that was okay. I didn’t mind going along with it...for a while. But a month’s a hell of a long time to invest for nothing.

Lisa took a deep breath. She was getting angry and she didn’t like to do that. Anger was bad. It was frightening. But sometimes she just couldn’t help it.

You make it sound like some sort of business deal. Exactly what sort of return on your investment were you looking for?

The hardness in her voice surprised him. His expression turned cautious. Hey, there’s no reason to get upset. I’m just being honest with you.

They were in a public place. Although that didn’t seem to bother Brad any, it did make Lisa feel restrained in what she could say and do—which, all things considered, was just as well.

Then let me be honest with you, too, she said. I have too much respect for myself to take intimacy lightly. I won’t go into it with someone I barely know.

His mouth twisted in a sneer. After a month? Hell, what does it take? Two months, six? What exactly do you think you’re worth?

Her chest hurt. For all that she’d been through this before, it wasn’t any easier this time. She hated the idea that she had to justify herself, and refused to accept it.

I’m worth whatever I decide I’m worth, she said quietly. That’s as true for me as it is for anyone else. I won’t be pushed or bullied or tricked into doing something I’m not ready for. If you don’t understand that, I’m sorry but—

No, Brad said. Abruptly, he stood, tossed his napkin onto his unfinished lunch and grabbed his briefcase. I’m sorry. Sorry I wasted a month with a stuck-up relic from another age. Leaning closer, so that she felt his breath on her cheek, he hissed, Besides, I’m damn sure you must be frigid.

And with that he was gone. Out the door, out of her life. Just one more signpost on what seemed more than ever to be the wrong road.

Besides which, he’d stuck her with the check.

Chapter 2

It was done. Tad’s fists clenched in satisfaction but outwardly he showed no other sign. He’d been cooped up in the palatial offices of the megacompany that had owned his music imprint for the better part of the day. Worse yet, he’d been forced to tolerate the presence of not only the company executives but a battalion of lawyers—some of them his—accountants, and general hangers-on with no particular function.

His formidable temper was right on the edge, had been for hours, but he’d kept it reined in as sharply as he would have reined a bucking horse. The effort had cost him a pounding headache and a mounting sense of disgust, but he didn’t care.

It was done.

He was free.

After fifteen years in the music business, the last seven of them as a superstar, he was free. He’d severed his ties to the company that had virtually owned him in the beginning, then tried to ruthlessly exploit him and when that had failed, done everything possible to manipulate and control him. He hadn’t allowed that. Using the immense power his string of platinum hits guaranteed, he’d made the music-company executives dance to his own tune. In the process, he’d acquired a full measure of satisfaction and an immense personal fortune.

But now it was over and he couldn’t feel anything but relief. He was walking away from a life many people would have killed for, and he was glad of it. He was thirty-six years old and he didn’t sleep under his own roof more than twenty nights a year. He had his pick of women but knew full well that they wanted the star, not the man. He had a daughter he didn’t know and a place he thought could be home if he ever let it.

He stood, unfolding his full six-foot-three-inch length with fluid grace. The charcoal-gray suit he wore lay smoothly over his massive shoulders and broad chest. He had not taken his jacket off, only opened it over the finely woven white linen shirt and striped silk tie. He fastened it again now, a silent male signal that the meeting was over.

He was leaving.

Jason Roberts jumped up. The music-company CEO was a good half-foot shorter than Tad and thirty pounds heavier. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He put out both well-manicured hands beseechingly.

Tad, please, don’t do this. It’s still not too late. We can work things out. Just tell us what you want.

Although he was tempted to laugh, Tad stopped himself. After all this time, all the words that had been said, Roberts still persisted in believing it was some kind of negotiating ploy. He just couldn’t wrap his greedy little head around the fact that Tad was really finished.

There’s nothing to work out, Tad said as he stepped around the executive and headed for the door. I’ve got what I came for and now I’m going home.

Nobody else moved. So far as he knew, nobody even blinked. They just sat there in stunned silence, his own people included, and watched him walk away.

On the table behind him, untouched, were the papers documenting an offer of one hundred million dollars needing only his signature to make real.

A signature he would never give.

Limos were waiting in the garage for the phalanx of lawyers and the rest, but he’d had the foresight to come in his own car. It was a sweet little Italian number, low-slung, black, and powerful enough to be interesting. He’d only had it a couple of weeks, and his life didn’t exactly leave him much opportunity to enjoy it. That was going to change, starting right now.

The clock above the garage security booth read five o’clock exactly when Tad purred up the ramp and angled the car smoothly into traffic.

Lisa had gone back to the office after lunch. She had no good reason for doing so, just habit. Sitting in her cubicle, she stared at the opposite wall and tried to make some sense out of the sudden shambles all around her.

So far today, she’d lost her job and her boyfriend. Her lips pressed together tightly. She absolutely, positively was not going to cry. Why should she? If nothing else, things were bound to get better.

Hell, they would just about have to.

Despite the growing desire to rush home, crawl into bed, pull the covers up over her head and sob her heart out, she forced herself to stay right where she was until five o’clock. She didn’t actually get any work done—that would have been asking too much. But she did manage just enough of a semblance of normality to salvage her pride.

At 5:02 p.m. she got into the elevator. At 5:05 p.m. she crossed the street to the parking lot and retrieved her battered four-wheel-drive vehicle, the same one she’d had since college. It might not look like much, but it got her where she was