Exclusive / a Touch of Heaven

by Samantha Chase

  “Excuse me, but your girls? Your girls? I’m a partner in this business. I think it’s fair to say that they’re our girls, and I say they can wear them.”

  “Don’t you see what you’ve done?” Regan asked, bewildered. “Don’t you see what makes them so offensive?”

  Caroline looked at the shirt and could only smile. “Regan, they’re perfectly acceptable. It’s a basic T-shirt, no plunging necklines, not too tight…I don’t see the problem. Here.” She shoved the shirt into Regan’s hand. “Go ahead. Try it on and show me what is so offensive about it.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “No, go ahead,” Caroline urged. “Clearly you see something that I don’t. So please, enlighten me.”

  All Regan wanted to do was stomp her foot, but she knew her mother would eat that up. It wasn’t easy being in business together—their mother-daughter dynamic followed them to work. Ignoring her mother’s arched brow, Regan headed to the bathroom to change.

  “For crying out loud, Regan, I’m your mother. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  Regan knew the words were a dare but she took the bait anyway. “Fine.” She stopped where she stood, whipped her own conservative shirt over her head, and reached for the bedazzled spectacle that her mother was so thrilled about.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to invest in some good underwear, you know,” her mother taunted while Regan changed.

  Deciding not to take that bait either, Regan pulled on the T-shirt and straightened it. Hands on hips, she faced her mother.

  “I still don’t see it.”

  “Really? You don’t see any problems with this shirt?”

  “It’s the spa logo. What is offensive about it?”

  Regan was done playing. This had gone on long enough. “It says A Touch of Heaven in bejeweled letters right across my breasts, Mom! For crying out loud, you don’t think that’s offensive?”

  She saw the exact moment her mother caught on.

  “Oh my goodness,” Caroline gasped. “I hadn’t thought of it like that! I just thought it would be better to have our logo stand out more—I didn’t even think about the placement.” Caroline turned a lovely shade of crimson as she placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “Don’t you dare,” Regan warned. “You can play innocent all you want, but I will not cave in and wear this shirt.”

  “Well, the logo certainly pops,” Caroline said and then burst out laughing.

  “Yes, yes,” Regan said tiredly. “Yes, it’s very clever, Mom. My enormous chest really makes the words stand out. What’s more flattering than someone asking what I do for a living and reading it across my breasts? Brilliant marketing strategy.”

  “Don’t be so snarky. I honestly didn’t think along those lines when I ordered them. You have to admit, though, the male clientele will increase.”

  “Mom!” Regan cried with exasperation. “We are a respectable day spa. We’ve worked so hard to get where we are, and I’m not turning to cheap thrills to boost business. You can’t be serious.”

  Caroline waved her daughter off. “I was joking about the male clientele, Regan. Relax. I was only trying to go for something different, a little less practical and stuffy.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with practical.”

  “What about stuffy?”

  This was not a new argument. Lately there seemed to be a lot more of them. Originally they had agreed upon a standard uniform of black pants and white shirts. Then they added the option of black on black. The idea of a shirt with the spa’s logo seemed to be a good one, and as far as Regan was concerned, the design she’d suggested made sense. Caroline hadn’t argued about it, so Regan thought it was a done deal.

  Clearly she was wrong.

  “People come here to be pampered and to relax. They don’t need flashy lettering on the employees’ chests distracting them.”

  Caroline nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry that I tried to get too creative. I’ll keep my opinions to myself from now on.”

  Great, the martyr act.

  “I’m not saying you can’t get creative. All I’m saying is that we’re supposed to talk to one another before making decisions. Those are two completely different things.”

  Mumbling about minding her own business and maybe it was time to move her into a home, Caroline walked away, leaving Regan in the office wondering what she was supposed to do now.

  Forgetting about the ridiculous shirt for a moment, Regan welcomed an incoming phone call, and for the next hour found herself placing orders for towels and candles while scheduling appointments for two upcoming bridal parties coming in for a day of pampering. When she looked at the clock, it was lunchtime, her stomach reminding her that she had skipped breakfast. Stretching, she stood up from her chair and headed into the spa to find Caroline.

  “What are we doing for lunch today?” she asked as Caroline was coming out of the storeroom.

  “How about sushi?” Caroline suggested.

  “How about burgers?” Regan countered. It was a daily argument about what to eat—Caroline always ready to try new things, and Regan content with sticking to what she knew.

  Sighing with defeat, Caroline spoke first. “I’m probably going to grab something while I’m out. I want to go to the home improvement store and get the paint for the kitchen and bathroom. The sooner we get them painted, the sooner I can get the Realtor over and the house listed.”

  It was a topic that made Regan’s heart ache: her mother was going to sell the home Regan had grown up in. It was the smart thing to do; after Regan’s father died ten years ago and with Regan living on her own, the house was too big for Caroline to take care of by herself. But it still made Regan sad. In a perfect world, she’d buy the house, but it was too much house for Regan as well. The practical thing was for them to sell the house and for Caroline to find someplace better suited for her. Regan just wished the thought of strangers living in her home didn’t bother her so much.

  “I still think we should hire a painter to come in,” Regan reminded her mother. They’d had an earlier discussion on the topic.

  “Nonsense. It will be fun for the two of us to do it together.”

  Fun wasn’t quite the word Regan would have chosen. “But it would go so much faster if we had a professional.” Plus, it would help Regan distance herself from the process. The thought of spending extra time in the house and painting over walls that held a lifetime of memories seemed too much to ask.

  Caroline knew her daughter well and knew why she was so apprehensive. She stepped up and placed her arms around her. “Regan, it’s just a house. Your memories are here”—she pointed to Regan’s head and then to her heart—“and here. Just because the house won’t be ours anymore doesn’t mean you lose all those memories.”

  Tears threatened, but Regan willed them away. “I know, Mom, I really do. I can’t help the way I feel, though.”

  Caroline stroked her daughter’s cheek. “You just say the word and I won’t sell. I’ll find a way to make it work.”

  And we’re back to guilt.

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m being selfish. Selling the house is the right thing to do. You deserve to retire and live someplace that doesn’t require so much work.” She hugged her mother and stepped back. “Go find your paint colors. Remember, the Realtor said neutrals. Don’t go getting all flashy with the paint.”

  “I believe I’ve learned my lesson, dear,” Caroline said as she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

  Regan watched her go and took a moment to enjoy the silence. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the T-shirt debacle was an indication of bigger things to come.

  * * *

  “Regan? Are you there? Did you hear me? I’ve won a home makeover!” her mother trilled into the phone a few hours later.

  Clearly,
I’ve died in some sort of fiery crash and this is hell, Regan thought as her mother rambled on about her good fortune. “Mom, I’m sure you’re mistaken. You did not win a home makeover.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m senile, young lady! I’m telling you, I was walking around the home improvement store with a shopping cart full of paint supplies when a man with a camera crew approached me and asked what I was doing.”

  “They couldn’t tell by the shopping cart full of paint?” Regan deadpanned.

  Caroline ignored the comment. “So I looked around and asked for the store manager. He told me the man was legit and that I had, indeed, won a home makeover.”

  A migraine was building behind Regan’s right eye. “We don’t need a home makeover, Mom, we need to paint the kitchen and the bathroom. That’s it.”

  “Well, I know that’s all we had planned to do, but imagine how much more we can get for the house if it’s been professionally made over! It will surely draw a lot of attention to the listing if we say a famous TV show did our whole house over.”

  A famous TV show? “Wait, wait, wait,” Regan said, thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Honestly, you never listen to me,” Caroline said with a huff. “You know that show The Bennett Project on the Home Improvement Network?”

  “What about it?”

  “That’s who stopped me today! Max Bennett! Oh, Regan, he’s even more handsome in person!”

  “Isn’t he a little young for you, Mom?”

  “Sheesh, Regan,” Caroline said with exasperation. “Max is the father. You’re thinking of Sawyer. He’s the son.”

  “Not that any of this matters, Mom. We don’t need the home done over. All we need is a coat of paint in two rooms. That’s it. Tell them thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I can’t do that. I already told them we’d do it.”

  “What?” Regan collapsed into her desk chair and nearly slid to the floor. “Didn’t we just talk about not making any decisions without checking with one another?”

  “That was about business, dear, not the house.”

  Seriously, I’m in hell. “Mom…”

  “Anyway, they’re going to meet me at the house in an hour, so I won’t be back to the spa today. Kaitlyn can handle my appointments.”

  “Please don’t sign anything before I get there!” Regan cautioned.

  “You don’t have to be there, Regan. I can handle this.”

  “Just…promise me you won’t sign anything,” Regan repeated for good measure.

  “Fine, fine, fine. I won’t do anything until you get there. But I’m telling you right now, Regan, I want to do this. You’re not going to talk me out it.”

  We’ll see about that, Regan thought before she hung up the phone.

  * * *

  “I thought you were going to wait for me before choosing someone,” Sawyer Bennett said to his father as they drove down the highway in search of their latest project’s address.

  “I know, I know,” Max said patiently. “But I saw her wandering the aisles with way too many paint supplies, and I knew she would be the perfect client.”

  “Dad, just because she was painting a room doesn’t mean she’s going to be a good fit for the show. You know there are certain criteria that have to be met. The producers—”

  “I already talked to Devin and he is one hundred percent on board with this project.”

  Sawyer looked doubtful. “Devin is never one hundred percent on board with any project—he finds problems with everything. What makes this one so different?”

  “Well, for starters, she’s a widow.”

  “Oh no—”

  Max held up a hand to stop him. “She’s been a widow for ten years. She is getting ready to put her house on the market because it’s too much for her to take care of.”

  “I’m still not seeing the draw.”

  “Her daughter isn’t on board with her selling the family home, so it adds a bit of drama to the whole thing.”

  Luckily, they were stopping for a traffic light, otherwise Sawyer would have slammed on the brakes in disbelief. “So we are going to glamorize an emotional decision between a mother and daughter for the sake of ratings? When did we stoop to this level?”

  “It’s not stooping to anything, Sawyer,” Max said in an even voice. “Devin and I both think that the show has been a little too predictable lately: Family needs a makeover, we give them a makeover, everyone’s happy. There’s almost no need to tune in because one show bleeds into the next. This time we’re going to throw a little emotion into the mix, show another side to that scenario.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Well, the network does. They’re getting a little tired of the same old, same old, and if we don’t do something different soon, we may not have a show to keep doing.”

  “It wouldn’t be a catastrophe, Dad,” Sawyer said, his voice weary. Truth be known, he was ready to be done with The Bennett Project. It had been a lot of fun at first, but now it was exactly as his father said: predictable. Sawyer missed being able to pick and choose the projects he wanted to do. He missed sleeping in his own bed more than a handful of nights per month. If the network decided to pull the plug on the show, Sawyer was confident that he would be okay. He had saved a lot of money and could readily go back to being a full-time contractor again.

  He longed to do it.

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” Max said. “This show has been a godsend for both of us. Why wouldn’t you want to continue with it?”

  “I’m just ready for a change, that’s all.”

  “Well, get unready. I think this project is going to open a lot of doors for us and I want you to keep an open mind about it.”

  “When have I ever not had an open mind?” Sawyer asked with a scowl.

  “Seems like it’s happening more and more lately. It’s not Devin who has problems, son, it’s you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sawyer snapped. “I’m just getting a little tired of not having a say in which projects we pick. In the beginning, they listened to my input, but now I’m supposed to go wherever they tell me—and personally, it’s insulting. I have proven myself to them. I’m competent at what I do, and yet I’m being babysat like I’m a rookie!”

  Max glanced at his son and sighed. “You’re looking at this the wrong way. They want you to focus on the designing and the job so you don’t have to worry about weeding through applicants and the paperwork end of it. They thought they were doing you a favor.”

  “Well, they aren’t. I want to decide what jobs we take. I have to be honest with you. From what you’ve told me about this one? I am not interested.”

  “Look, let’s just meet with Caroline Amerson and her daughter and take a look at the house. If you’re still set against it after we meet with them, then I’ll talk to Devin and the network and tell them we want to pass on it.”

  Sawyer looked at his father hesitantly. “You’d do that? You’d go against the network over this?”

  Max nodded. “I want you to be happy, Sawyer. It’s been a blessing to work with you like this for the last five years. I never dreamed after raising you on my own that you’d want to work with me. I don’t want this to be a chore for you. I want you to enjoy what you do.”

  How could he argue with that? “Thanks, Dad.”

  Max reached over and squeezed Sawyer’s shoulder. “You make me proud every day, Sawyer. I’m not going to let Devin or the network tell you what you have to do. I wish you had told me sooner that you were so unhappy.”

  “I guess it really didn’t hit me until today, when I heard about adding this emotional angle.”

  “What did?”

  “It just seems wrong to be using someone’s emotional distress to sensationalize our show.”

  “Well, that’s t
he way most reality TV is these days.”

  “That’s not the kind of TV I want to be a part of, Dad.” The conversation died off and they continued the rest of the drive in silence, listening to the GPS directing them to their location. Once off the main highway, they took the secondary roads until they came to a turnoff that could have been a road but seemed more like a driveway. “This can’t be it,” Sawyer mumbled, turning at the insistence of the GPS.

  “We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” Max said.

  “Not funny,” Sawyer said, trying to get a grip on where exactly they were. There were houses lining the road on large, heavily wooded lots. “What number are we looking for?”

  Max looked at his paperwork. “Number eighty-seven.” He craned his neck and looked around. “Looks like it’s coming up on the right.”

  Sawyer turned into the long driveway and parked behind a white SUV. Putting the truck in park, he took in the house. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It was a ranch with a detached two-car, two-story garage that could work as an income property, he thought. The outside needed some TLC and the landscaping was a little overgrown, but overall it wasn’t as bad as some of the properties he’d worked on.

  They climbed from the truck and Sawyer came around to stand next to his father. “First impression?” he asked.

  Max walked a few feet away, taking a good look at the property, and made some notes in the notebook he insisted on carrying, still refusing to join the digital age and use a tablet. “First glance tells me there are some boards that need to be replaced on the siding, and we’ll only need a cleanup crew for the yard. I like the detached garage, but the doors are in need of some paint.” Sawyer nodded. “I think overall the paint looks good but could use a bit of sprucing up on the trim.” He took a step back so he could get a better view of the roof. “I’ll want someone to check the gutters and look for any roofing issues.”

  “Isn’t this supposed to be an interior thing?” Sawyer asked, clearly confused.

  “Normally, but I’m thinking if we’re going to go a different route with this one, we might as well break from routine and throw in something new.” Again, all Sawyer could do was nod. “What about you? What are you thinking?”