Whisper Privileges (16 page)

“Sounds delicious.”

“Do you drink
Sangría
?”

“I drink whatever you’re serving, darling,”
he drawled.

Smooth and supple, his accent dripped of
sweet, sensual...sexuality. She closed the menu. “
Sangría
,
it is.”

The waiter appeared and Sydney ordered for
the two of them. When the man left, she settled in for an evening
with Clay, more excited than she had felt in a long time. It felt
good to be out with a handsome, attentive man. A man interested in
getting to know her, support her. Recalling their stroll outside
the pool today, she believed his intentions were decent, honorable.
Unlike some she knew. Visions of Morgan and her revelation this
afternoon snared within the fabric of her pleasure. While she
didn’t want to think of her, it suddenly occurred to her that
Charlie might be serving up the scoop on her and Clay. Is that how
Javier knew to stop by the pool? Did Morgan push him into it
because Charlie told her about them?

“So, tell me, are you enjoying the
events?”

She stuffed the venomous thoughts to the back
of her mind. She didn’t want Morgan or Charlie of anyone to ruin
her evening with Clay. “Yes and no. While I enjoy the idea of
helping everyone, the job description for these events is not the
best fit for me.” She reached for her water, but drew a line down
the length of her fork instead. The cold steel felt good,
comforting in its distraction.

Clay tipped his chin down and said, “Well I
think we learned that the speaking thing isn’t your deal.”

“No,” she heaved a sigh. “It’s not my deal at
all. In fact, I didn’t want any part of it but—”

But there was no sense in dragging him
through the mess. Morgan was a bitch, plain and simple. She’d pay
for her little stunt with the Mayor—the only question that remained
was the
how
—as in how could she annihilate her competition
without jeopardizing her job? That was the problem. It was clear
Morgan had Javier’s ear and she didn’t.
Have his ear
? Hell,
the woman was licking the damn thing! Sydney grabbed hold of her
water glass. “Let’s just say the assignment was given against my
wishes.”

He nodded as though he completely understood.
“No fun when you have no say.”

“Exactly.” Sydney took a long, slow sip of
ice water, the cold liquid welcome as it soothed her taut throat.
“I prefer to stay behind the scenes. It’s where I belong.”

“Well now, I don’t know about that one.” A
flirtatious smile lit up his face, sharpened the soft appeal of his
empathy. “I enjoy watching you.”

“I’m not a stage prop.”

“Didn’t say you were,” he said and his
pleasure fell away.

Sydney dropped her gaze to the table, soured
by the reminder of her failure. Opening ceremonies would have been
tolerable had she been able to utter the first word—the first
coherent word—instead of croaking like a sick toad. But
damn
she couldn’t help herself. It was as though an adrenaline junkie
took hold of her body and robbed her of every last nerve she had
when it was time to get up and speak. Which was so simple. She
spoke to people every day. She could even talk to groups. Why did
the stage matter? What the hell was the difference?

“Did I say something wrong?”

Annoyed with herself, with Morgan, Javier—the
whole situation—she lifted her head to face him. “No. It’s not
you.”
It’s definitely not you
. Unless you count the fact
that you’re the one person in the crowd I would have preferred
didn’t witness my humiliating performance.

“What then?”

“I was only on stage because of my looks.” A
fleeting thought of Mayor Cortez’s hand on her thigh congealed in
her memory like a wad of rank oil washed up on the shores of a
pristine beach. She tightened her hold on the frigid glass. And
because some manipulative bitch wants me out of the picture.

“But they introduced you as a local
volleyball champion. It made sense to include you because of your
athletic accomplishments. I don’t see how it had anything to do
with your appearance, though I’ll admit it’s an added benefit.”

She glared. “If only that were true.”

“What’s not—your looks? he asked, a shade too
innocently. “Or your champion status?”

“Sorry to break the news to you Clay, but
some in the business world still try to make gains the
old-fashioned way. Sex.” Morgan sure as hell did. The Mayor did.
Even Javier, her conscience whispered. Even he used his position to
impress and get his way.

He grinned. “Sex sells.”

“Not this sex.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Do I?” How could she not? But then again,
how could he understand? She shifted her attention to the activity
at the bar. The woman she had noticed earlier was now leaning into
the man. She was touching his arm, caressing his skin. She was all
but shouting,
I’m ready, take me home
. Of course the man was
ready and willing. He was looking at her for what she could give
him, how she could pleasure him. She turned back to Clay. Much like
he would. Men had no idea what women were subjected to in the
workforce, how they were taken advantage of or what one conniving
woman would do to her female coworkers. She was certain men didn’t
experience the same kind of discrimination, the same kind of
backstabbing behavior.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry
about your boss putting you in uncomfortable positions. Or anyone
else for that matter.”

“Is that what happened?”

Sydney looked away. “In so many words...”

“Does he usually ask you to do things you’re
not comfortable in doing?”

She didn’t like the sound of his question. It
was too accurate. Javier did ask things of her he wouldn’t ask of
anyone else—because of their relationship—their past relationship.
And Mayor Cortez? She clenched her jaw as an image of him and
Morgan formed in her mind, she leaning close, using her body to get
what she wanted. It made her want to spit. Maybe she
was
bitter. But she had good reason.

“Adversity can be a great teacher,” Clay
said, as though to fill the space she left void.

“Yes, and next you’re going to tell me what
doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?”

He laughed and reached for his glass of
water. “Whoa...you always this sharp when you’re unhappy?”

When opportunity for advancement is handed
out based on looks? She dropped her gaze to the table. Yes, she
rued. It cuts a bit raw.

Wine landed between them, a pitcher of ruby
red liquid filled with chunks of orange, mango and lime. Grateful
for the distraction, Sydney watched as the waiter grasped the
pitcher with exaggerated flourish and poured the
Sangría
into their glasses, controlling any spillage with a white bar
towel. Setting the pitcher off to one side of the table, he slung
the cloth over his forearm and announced, “Your appetizers will be
out shortly. Can I get you anything else at the moment?”

She shook her head and looked to Clay for
confirmation.

“Nothing for me,” he replied.

“Very well.” Sydney trailed the waiter’s
return to the kitchen, then hooked her gaze onto a foursome,
walking in the opposite direction as they followed the hostess to
their seats.

“Looks aren’t everything you know. What
counts is the woman inside.”

“So I’ve heard.” She returned her attention
to Clay and thought of his beauty pageant ex-wife. They didn’t
enter and win because they were ugly. Or fat. They did so because
they were beautiful. And thin. She glanced back at the slim
brunette at the bar.

“My ex was the beauty pageant type and
everything in her life had to be picture-perfect.”

Half-listening, Sydney took in a deep swallow
of wine. The combination of fruit and red wine packed a punch of
flavor that was intensely fulfilling. And easy to drink, she
thought, fighting the urge for an immediate second sip.

“From her hair to her toe polish, everything
was perfectly done, perfectly presented. She wouldn’t walk out of
the house without a full face of makeup.”

Sounded like her mother. Desperate to keep
her looks, her youth—her husband—she did practically everything to
maintain her appearance, from surgery to skin peels, expensive
lotions to layers of makeup and in the end? It didn’t work. Her
father walked out and her mother walked on in search of the next
man.

“When Q was born,” Clay continued, “it all
came to crashing halt. From the minute they placed him in her arms,
I think she sensed something was off, wasn’t the way she
wanted.”

“But how could she know?” Sydney asked,
suddenly drawn by the subject of his son, a world she didn’t
understand. “I thought people didn’t realize their children had
autism until much later.”

“She could tell.” Clay looked at Sydney and
his expression dissolved into dispassion. Even in the short time
that she’d known him, the bland indifference seemed out of
character for him. “Q didn’t pay attention to her, didn’t really
look at her. He was detached. All her hope for immediate and
adoring love was erased and she had a hard time dealing with
it.”

Abandoning thoughts of her own troubles, a
piece of Sydney’s heart went out to Q’s mother. While she felt it
unforgivable that the woman left, she felt some sympathy as to the
why. Sydney heard that babies could recognize their mothers from
the moment of birth, would even smile and cry for them. To have a
newborn that didn’t even look at you? That
would
be tough.
Circling her finger around the base of her wineglass, Sydney wasn’t
sure she would handle it any better.

“By the time Q was a year old we could tell
something wasn’t right with regard to his development, but it
wasn’t until we took him to preschool that we knew for sure. He was
definitely different from other kids his age.”

“But how could you tell?” Sydney hated to
sound ignorant, but there was so much about the condition she
didn’t know. So much she suddenly wanted to know.

“He ignored us. When we called his name, he’d
continue doing what he was doing and paid no attention—which really
bothered my wife. At first I was afraid he might be deaf, but...”
Clay shook his head. “The boy can hear just fine,” he said and a
smile tipped his mouth upward.

Sydney was glad to see it.

“When we took him to a doctor to check his
hearing I think we both already knew. Then a second doctor
confirmed the diagnosis of autism and it sealed her fate. She
couldn’t do it. Within a few months she found someone else and left
us.”

She reached a hand toward him. “I’m sorry,
Clay.”

He tapped it with a glance but didn’t reach
for her. “Don’t be. Like I said, it’s her loss. Q and I are fine.
But trust me when I say looks aren’t everything. When the shit hits
the fan, you need something solid to hold on to in the aftermath of
crap. Life gets messy. You just have to do the best with what you
have.” He raised his wineglass. “Cheers.”

Sydney followed his lead and held hers
likewise. “Cheers,” she repeated and touched her
Sangría
rim
to rim with his. Bringing the glass to her lips, the wine went down
easy and smooth. This time, she detected the brandy.

Clay cast an appreciative glance. “That’s
good stuff.”

She pitched up her glass. “One of my
favorites.”

He grew quiet. “You have good taste.”

She nodded, thankful for the easier terrain.
Brooding over Javier and Morgan—her own parents—was not where her
mind wanted to be. She wanted to enjoy Clay. She wanted to be easy
and fun. “This place makes some of the best,” she said and took
another sip from her glass.

Allowing the conversation to settle between
them, his focus came to rest on Sydney’s face, her cheeks…her
mouth. Feeling the heat of his gaze yet again, she was struck by
his forward nature. Clay made no effort to conceal his interest in
her. While he didn’t actually voice as much, he certainly didn’t
hide the lust churning in his eyes. “I’m glad you accepted my
invitation.”

“I enjoy your company, Clay,” she said, as
though the reason she was here was plain for all to see.
Thankfully, he couldn’t see the swarm of butterflies tearing
through her stomach, or the rise in temperature as her neck and
ears flushed hot—from the alcohol, from him.

Sydney had accepted this date because she
couldn’t resist him. Because she enjoyed being with him, looking at
him. What would he do if he knew? Sydney brought
Sangría
to
lips. She knew exactly what he would do. The sensation of his kiss
on her hand after lunch cut through her thoughts. Clay would take
full advantage.

Would she give it?

If the sudden urge to run her fingers through
the soft layers of his hair were any indication, she imagined she
would. Clay leaned back and smiled, taking her in as she was doing
him. He slowly sipped from his wine and lounged in the silence
between them, the subtle conversations of strangers floating around
them, the privacy of an evening alone together, man and woman, the
chemistry charged and mutual. Oh yes, given the chance she’d start
with his hair continue to his neck but it wouldn’t end there. She’d
want to touch him, kiss him, allow him to do all that and more.
Clay was the kind of guy she could fall for—sexy on the outside,
sweet on the inside; it was a combination she wanted to explore. “Q
is fortunate to have a father like you.”

“I do my best. I’ll be honest, it’s not
always easy. But I focus on the skill set I have and work from
there.”

It occurred to her that she didn’t have any
idea what Clay actually did for a living. He mentioned he was some
kind of board member, consultant. What kind of job tolerated him to
be the primary caregiver for a special needs child a decent career?
“What do you do, anyway?”