Whisper Privileges (15 page)

Yes, I imagine you do. Thoughts of his finger
on her lips remained seared into her brain.

# # #

On her way home, Sydney stopped by the office
to check on supplies for the week. All American had really
underestimated the number of people who would show up at the
events, particularly the volunteers. There were hundreds of them
and they kept coming! Kept showing up, kept looking for something
to do, some way they could help. Sydney chuckled as she recalled
one in particular. An elderly gentleman—who had to be pushing
eighty—arrived on site at the basketball courts and insisted on
warming up with the athletes before the game. While the coaches
were wary, they allowed it. One confided to Sydney she was worried
the man would have a heart attack if they let him play. But as
Sydney watched him, she thought their concern was for naught. The
man was in good shape. Quick and agile, he scored some pretty nice
shots, performed a few dribble tricks in between even! The kids
loved him, but the staff? She was sure they had 9-1-1
pre-programmed into their cell phones.

Spotting Morgan down the hall, Sydney quickly
dodged into her office. Already running late for her date with
Clay, the last thing she had time for was that woman’s trivial
nitpicking. Circling around her desk, she sat and pulled out a
drawer. She grabbed a pen. Besides water, the venue could benefit
from a little extra sunscreen. Some of those kids looked downright
pink today. She smiled to herself and jotted down the note. But
gleefully so.

At the knock on her door, Sydney ground her
jaw. She didn’t bother to look up from her desk. She knew who would
be standing there. “What do you want, Morgan?”

“Hello, Sydney,” she purred, waltzing in
uninvited. Through her peripheral vision, Sydney followed her as
she made a wide slow arc around the room, taking her time as though
this was a leisurely visit.

Sydney set her pen down with a purposeful
smack and slowly looked up. She homed in on Morgan. Wearing a
plunging, yellow neckline today, pink cuffs rolled up on
three-quarter sleeves, her skirt falling well above the knee,
Sydney mentally shook her head. Did she have her clothes tailored
to fit so tightly, or did she simply buy a size too small? Did she
think she looked good? Granted the woman was thin—and busty—but did
she need to make sure people could see every indentation of her bra
and underwear? If you asked her, the dress was totally
inappropriate for the office, let alone walking down the
street.

Morgan sauntered up to the edge of her desk
and looked down her nose at Sydney. Her over-painted lips curled
into a malicious smile. “Don’t you want these?” she asked with a
sneer and withdrew several slim tickets from an inside pocket.

“Yes,” she replied and grudgingly took them
from her. Dear Old Dad would owe her for this one. When she
remained, Sydney asked, “Is there something else?”

She cocked her head full of blonde hair to
one side. “Only that I
told
Javier you didn't have what it
takes for the big time,” she said in a snide tone. “That you would
screw it up and make an ass of yourself.”

Sydney bristled at the blatant insult but
held her temper in check. She slid the golf tickets under her desk
blotter. “I really don’t have time for this—”

“And that choosing me for next year’s
international tech show is a no-brainer.”

“Well, when it comes to no brains, you should
know.”

Morgan smiled, and flicked a glance at
Sydney's chest. “Javier isn't interested in my brains.”

Sydney kicked back a bust glance of her own,
grazing the slice of cleavage filling the V of her top and said,
“No, doesn't seem to be what you're selling, does it?”

Morgan smiled sweetly. She rubbed her glossy
pink lips together and said, “You might want to check the want ads
Sydney, because if I get my way—and I usually do—you won't be
working at JL Conventions for much longer.”

Is that the best she had? Trivial threats?
“You have nothing to say about my job security.” Reaching for her
pen, she returned to work. The woman was going to have to sling a
whole lot harder than that if she intended to leave a mark.

“Oh don't I? Mayor Manny and I are close,
personal friends,” she said, accentuating the
close
and
personal
.

The name fired through her brain, but she
kept her head down.
Manny
? As in,
Mayor Cortez
?

“Don’t think he doesn’t have just as much to
say about who gets what convention as Javier does. And to tell you
the truth, he didn't think any more of your opening ceremonies
performance than I did.”

She slowly lifted her head. And glared.

Morgan’s lips curled into a smile yet her
eyes remained cold. “Probably wondered why I suggested you in the
first place.”

“
You
suggested?”

“Yes. I tried to help you but alas...” she
blew out the words with a satisfied sigh. “There’s no helping
someone as incompetent as yourself.”

“You suggested that I speak at opening
ceremonies?”

She snickered. “Yes darling, it was me.”

The spectacle of nerves, embarrassment,
humiliation and failure came tumbling around her, burying Sydney in
a fog as she digested what Morgan said.
It was her
? It was
one thing to manipulate vendors and make Sydney look as though
she’d forgotten appointments—a trick revealed to her a week later
by one of the secretaries, which gave her enough lead time to
manage the fallout before it became serious. But it was quite
another thing to make her look bad in front of the entire city.

“Now I’m not even sure the dear man will ever
speak to me again.”

Anger streamed through Sydney’s veins. “Why?”
she demanded. She already stole the golf event. “What was the
point?”

Morgan chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

It was all she could do not to punch her in
the mouth. She ground her jaw and said, “Fill me in.”

“I wanted Javier to see you for the inept
fool you are and not some—” she cut herself off and glanced
away.

Sydney discarded the reference to Javier as
meaningless. “And the Mayor?” He was the piece she didn’t
understand.

Morgan returned to face her full on, a mask
of a smile pasted on her lips. “Like I said, we’re close, personal
friends. He was more than willing to oblige my request and now he
and everyone else know what a fraud you are.”

Javier entered Sydney’s office and placed a
light hand to the small of Morgan’s back. “Hi Sydney,” he said in
casual greeting.

She barely acknowledged his presence.

“Are you ready?” he asked Morgan, oblivious
to the knives flying between them.

She slipped him a glance over her shoulder.
“I am.”

Javier leaned in close. “Good. Because I’m in
a hurry.”

Sydney glared at the intimate gesture. Javier
was so close to her, it felt like he was about to kiss Morgan’s
cheek.

“Let me know if you need any more help
covering the games, Sydney.” Morgan winked. “You know I’m always
willing to pitch in for the team.”

Javier cast an appreciate gaze toward Morgan,
then said to Sydney, “See you tomorrow.” He ushered Morgan toward
the door.

See—
nothing
! Sydney couldn’t see a
thing while this witch stood there, acting like the picture-perfect
employee.

“Bye, bye!” Morgan trotted out the door and
slipped her hand in Javier’s, a gesture from which he pulled free
as he followed her out. A withdrawal that was pronounced.

Was that for her benefit
? Sydney mused
sarcastically. Because any more goodwill from either one of those
two and she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. The
fiasco of opening ceremonies steamrolled fresh and hot through her
blood. That
bitch
set me up—again!

Chapter Eleven

Sydney pushed through the front door of
Mallorca, the sounds of traffic and music from the street and
nearby bars drowned out completely as she entered the second set of
double doors. Inside, warm hues of yellow and red drenched the
interior of the Coconut Grove restaurant, accentuated by dark
wooden beams. The scent of roasted pork and garlic permeated the
air and instantly transported her mind to the kitchen and its
savory delights. She had memorized the menu and tonight was in the
mood for a plate full of sumptuously moist paella. Her stomach
growled. She could almost taste it, she was so hungry.

Located front and center in the Coco Walk
plaza, Mallorca offered up an authentic serving of Spanish food and
entertainment. Flamenco dancers took center stage on the weekends
but tonight would be quiet and cozy, just like Clay had requested.
A shiver of anticipation scurried up her spine as she searched for
sight of him. Several men and women mingled around the bar, brown
veined marble over paneled mahogany backed by a wall of mirror and
layered with tiers of alcohol bottles. The dining area was
comprised mostly of booths with a small section of tables and
chairs tucked in and around ferns, wrought iron chandeliers dousing
the room in shades of gold.

With no sight of Clay, she exhaled heavily.
Seems she was here first.

“May I help you?”

“Table for two.”

The gal scribbled something on her dry erase
board, grabbed two menus and instructed, “Follow me.”

Sydney trailed her to a table, mulling over
the anxiety coursing through her limbs. Why so nervous? Taking her
seat, her eyes immediately sought the door. Clay was kind and
sincere, considerate and well-mannered. He was intelligent and
good-looking and downright flirtatious. A rise of pleasure swelled
in her belly. He definitely seemed interested. Why the nerves?

She glanced at a couple near the bar, the man
leaning toward the woman, she smiling, batting her lashes as she
made him work for her attention in another game of predictable
cat-and-mouse; he wanted her, she enjoyed him wanting her, but how
long would he chase? How far would he go? Was he in it to win it?
Or was it just another mark on his bed post?

Sydney flipped her glance back to the
entrance. Was Clay like this with everyone? Did he flirt with her
because he enjoyed the game, or was he truly interested in her for
the woman inside? Conversations rose and fell around her, sparked
by male laughter and a call to the bartender.

She glanced at her watch. Ten past seven. Was
he coming? Did his plans change? Was he playing her? Charlie had
done the very same to her girlfriend,
the louse
. Anger shot
through her veins. Staring at the front doors, doubt filtered in.
Maybe he and his friend weren’t so different after all. Maybe he
was nothing more than a self-centered jerk. Self-recriminations
came at her rapid-fire. Like Charlie. She kicked herself. She
should have known better.

Clay pushed through the entrance and her
heart dashed for cover. Dressed in blue jeans and white button
down, he held the door open for a young woman as she walked in
behind him, a similarly aged young woman with her. They beamed at
him, and he smiled back. He scanned the dining room and quickly
spotted her. He smiled again, but this one lingered. Her heart
raced as he closed the distance with the smile, the one capable of
drawing her straight into his arms.

She gulped. Maybe this dinner thing wasn’t
such a good idea after all. Indicating to the hostess that he found
his companion, Clay moved toward her, the white shells of his
necklace snagging her attention as approached. When he neared, his
generous mouth lured her back to his face. “Hello gorgeous.” He
leaned down and dropped a presumptive peck on her cheek.

She suppressed a swarm of nervous energy as
he eased down into his chair. Were they already developing a
rhythm? “Hello yourself,” she said, trying to sound cool and in
control, though she felt neither.

He slid his hand across the table. With a
cursory glance around the restaurant he nodded. “I like it.”

“They have great food,” she said, trying not
to stare into the blue of his eyes, brilliant within the tanned
skin of his complexion. But it was hard not to—they reached out and
grabbed hold of her.

Pleasure entered his eyes. “I was thinking
quiet.”

Sydney blinked. She didn’t have a response
for that one.

Elbows to the table, he leaned forward and
crossed forearm over forearm. “What’s good?”

“Everything. And this is one of those places
you can believe it.”

“I believe
you
.”

Why did everything he say feel so personal?
Like it meant something more? She opened her menu. Best she kept
her thoughts on the food. “What do you like?” she asked, but heard
the word before he spoke it.

“You.”

She looked at him over the menu and smiled.
“Are we going to do this all night?”

“I sure hope so,” he said eagerly, but
hesitated, as though he thought better of it. “Okay, okay, I’ll
relax. But have you ever been around someone you can’t seem to get
enough of?”

Yes, as a matter of fact she had. Him.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but
honestly, I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

And he never shied away from voicing as much,
either. Something she discovered she liked. A lot. Once again, she
couldn’t help wondering if he was like this with every woman, or if
there really was something special about her, about them.

“Seafood, spicy, exotic,” he said abruptly.
“That’s what I like. I’ll let you do the choosing.”

She dropped her gaze to the laminated pages,
noting he hadn’t bothered to reach for his. Something she didn’t
have to do, either. She already knew what she was going to
have—what they would both have. “How about we start with some
cevíche
and
calamares fritos
, and then for the main
dish we try some
paella
fra diavlo
.” She flipped her
gaze to meet his. Does that sound good?”