Whisper Privileges (21 page)

“Oh I don’t know... I hear South Carolina is
a beautiful place to visit.” Sam waggled her brow. “Makes for a
nice break from Miami.”

“I’m not interested in visiting and besides,
where I’m going, I probably won’t have the time.”

“Uh—and where are you going, exactly?”

“I’m thinking of leaving JL Conventions.”

“
You’re what
? But why?” She swept an
arm about Sydney’s cramped office and exclaimed, “You love this
job!”

“I did.” She never once cared that her office
wasn’t lavish, that her phone rang constantly, that clients
grumbled and griped. Drawn to the makeshift calendar on her wall,
the timeline for events, notes scribbled in black and blue marker,
red and orange, the job made her feel needed. Essential. She was
the grease that made the wheels turn. She was the director who
shouted,
places everyone
! But she was also stage manager,
producer. She was the reason events happened, seamless and
successful. And yes, she loved what she did—until Javier started to
play with her future. Until Morgan began sleeping with him and
campaigning for her exit. And then there was Charlie.

But he’d been an opposing pawn on her chess
board of life since day one. “It’s time for me to move on. Bigger
and greener pastures, right?” She tried to smile, but fell
short.

“You have a job offer I don’t know
about?”

Her shoulders slumped. “No.” And she didn’t
know exactly where to begin her search for one, either. She dropped
into her chair. Slinging forearms over the armrests, she sighed. “I
just know I can’t stay here anymore. Too much has happened and
well, you know. It’s best I leave.”

Sam eyed her like a bird on a worm. “Is there
something you’re not telling me?”

“Not really.”

“Is this about your speech at opening
ceremonies?”

She scoffed. “
You call that a
speech
?”

“It was nothing. A blip on the radar. You’re
not getting all worked up over that and letting it drive your
decision, are you?”

“It was a disaster.” She gripped the armrests
and leaned forward. “I looked like a fool.”

“Don’t dwell on it, Syd. It was one night,
one event. It’s not your career.”

“It’s not even what I do!”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” she repeated flatly.

Sam leaned back on her desk perch. “Okay, you
lost me.”

“The only reason I was up there was eye candy
for the Mayor.” And because Morgan knew she’d fall on her face and
make an ass out of herself.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. I was pushed into it
against my will.”

“Did you ask Javier for a pass?”

“Of course. But he wouldn’t hear of it.
Neither would the Mayor, though now I know why.” Unwilling to
reveal Morgan’s full role because it would make her look like a
bigger fool, Sydney focused on the easier targets. Besides, it
didn’t change the reason for the Mayor’s interest in her
participation. Or Javier’s. A man interested in using women at work
wasn’t something Sam would be able to relate to. They treated her
the same as they did her male counterparts. But weakness on her
part for being unable to refuse?

Sam would think less of her. “They were both
using me, but they’ll think better of it next time. Actually—”
Sydney stood, walked to the opposite side of her desk and said,
“There won’t be a next time. I won’t give them the luxury. I’m
leaving. All I need now is to decide the when.”

Sam pivoted around. “You’re self-conscious,
is all. You sure you’re not reading more into this than is at
play?”

“I’m sure. I’m nobody’s Barbie. I’m a
competent professional with value to contribute and I won’t work in
an environment that thinks otherwise.”

“Oh Syd, don’t let this be the piece of sand
that’s going to grind itself into a pearl of resentment, lodging
itself into your—”

Sydney held up a hand. Men used women. Men
cheated on women. Forget that her own father was a cheat—wasn’t the
Mayor proof positive? Hell, wasn’t Morgan? “I get your point. It’s
not. I’m only trying to be objective and focus on what’s working
and what’s not. JL Conventions isn’t cutting it anymore. Not for
me.”

Sam blew out her breath and rolled up off the
edge of the desk. It was clear she thought Sydney was holding
back—which she was—but she wouldn’t push. Sam was a woman who
respected personal boundaries. If Sydney didn’t want to play ball,
she wouldn’t force it. “Whatever you say. If I can help in anyway,
let me know.”

“Keep your ears open for anyone looking for
an event planner in-house.” Sam knew her ultimate goals. She wanted
to travel, to see the world. She wanted to enjoy life, enjoy
success and if she remained stuck in this dead-end job she’d never
get there. “And give them my cell phone number, will you?”

“Will do.” She held up the tickets. “Thanks
for these.”

“My pleasure.”

“Speaking of pleasure, since you’re not
planning on staying with JL, I’d reconsider a hot fling with that
boy of yours. You know, the
jump-in-the-kiln-and-set-your-world-on-fire kinda hot?”

Sydney couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that all
you think about?”

Sam flipped her a brazen grin. “Pretty
much.”

“You are a
machine
.”

“That I am—well-oiled, lubed and ready for
high performance, baby!”

Sydney shook her head and waved her off.
“Goodbye.”

“Think about it.” She winked, one hand
clasping hold of the door jamb. “At this rate, you might be sorry
if you don’t!”

Sam whisked herself out of the office and
Sydney returned to her chair, dropping into her seat.
Jump in
the kiln and set your world on fire
. If the kiss she had
trouble forgetting was any indication, then Sam was right. A romp
with Clay would be nothing short of volcano hot.
Molten-lava-body-shuddering-white-hot pleasure...

Sydney tamped down a sudden rise of
excitement. There was definite chemistry there—at least on her
part. Who knows what Clay was feeling? As far as she knew, this was
all a game of lust for him. Men chased women for sex. Women ran
from them in a “come hither” tease. Well, Sam—she chased men and
they let her catch them. Sydney swore the woman was chocked
half-f of testosterone! She was a player of the utmost skill and
perseverance.

Before Vic, anyway. Until him, Sam had played
the field and played it hard, but now? There were no plans on the
table for marriage but at least she was reconsidering her options.
As for her, refusing Clay’s offer for dinner was the last thing she
wanted to do, but it was for the best. Javier had them in his
sights and who knows what he intended to do about it, though where
she came up with the brilliant excuse of “the long-distance
relationships stink” angle to put him off, she had no idea. But
sometimes brilliance struck at the most unexpected moments. Not one
to look a gift horse in the mouth, she accepted her lot.

Though it was true.
What did they think
would happen when he left
? If things went well, she and Clay
would be mired in a long-distance relationship. Or maybe he wasn’t
after anything more than a quick fling so the question of distance
was moot. Maybe he was the type of guy who wanted to score some
action at every stop and keep going, without looking back. He was a
friend of Charlie’s, wasn’t he? Probably viewed women in the same
light, despite her nagging suspicion otherwise. But still...

Part of her felt crazy for even contemplating
a relationship with him, let alone acting on it. But another part
of her wanted to do just that—follow him, be with him. She wanted a
man like Clay, one for the long haul. Her two years with Javier had
been a romantic experience, even sweet and loving, but it never
felt like he was the one. She knew the reason. One of the reasons,
anyway. Javier reminded her too much of her father. He had all the
good qualities...the encouraging, loving qualities her father had
demonstrated when she was young, but he also shared the bad. Javier
had an eye for the ladies, an eye he didn’t bother to hide. Even
when they were together he looked at other women. When she told him
that it made her feel uncomfortable, he simply smiled and shook his
head.
I’m a man. I notice these things. Doesn’t mean I want to
be with them
.

Didn’t it? Isn’t that exactly why a man
looked at other women, because a part of him wanted to be with
them? And what if he found something he liked better?

Her father had. Forget he’d made a commitment
to her mother—to her—he decided there was something out there
better. Her mother was a good-looking woman, but she never believed
it deep down, never reconciled her outer image with her inner
feelings, her self-esteem. If she had, she wouldn’t have worked so
hard to change her looks. But would it have mattered? Her father
obviously thought she was lacking and let the door slam closed
behind him.

How was Sydney supposed to compete with that?
Was she supposed to magically believe that she was beautiful and
attractive and Javier wanted only her, despite his constant ogling
of other women? While she had no proof he ever cheated on her,
gawking at other women was not good for a relationship.

The phone rang. Disturbed by the intrusion,
she plucked the slim black receiver from its cradle. “Hello?”

“Have you stopped by the pool today?”

She scowled. “No, I have not.”

“Well you need to. Clay called me, said Q was
looking for you.”

She groaned inwardly, doubt splitting her in
two. “Clay told you that?”

“Yes, it’s why I’m calling. I just told
you.”

Usually she didn’t believe anything Charlie
said, most of which held ulterior motives. But if he was telling
the truth? She glanced at her watch. She didn’t want to disappoint
Q. “Would you happen to know if he has any races today?”

“Who, Q?”

Hey, it’s Captain Obvious. “Yes, Q.”
You
fool
.

“He’s slated to swim this afternoon.”

“Would you happen to know if he won that race
yesterday?”

“No idea. Why don’t you ask him
yourself?”

She flipped her eyes to the ceiling. “You’re
a big help, Charlie.”

“I’m here to please, Sydney, you know
that.”

The shit-eating grin reached clear through
the telephone line and repulsed her as much as it would have if he
was standing before her. “Thanks for the reminder.” She smacked
down the phone. As usual, the thought of Clay and Charlie as
friends grated on her. She couldn’t fathom Clay enjoying a second
of his time with that greaseball let alone years’ worth. She looked
at the paperwork on her desk and thought about the calls she needed
to make. But if Q was asking for her, she felt obliged to go.
Letting Clay down was one thing. No harm, no foul, isn’t that what
they say? She had a job to do and then she’d move on. But
disappointing Q?

That was a different matter entirely.

Twenty minutes later, she was swinging into
the parking lot of the university pool. Seeing a spot up front, she
parked and headed left of the building. Now familiar with the
setup, she entered through a side door. It would put her closer to
the action. Strolling inside, the pool seemed busier today. There
were more visitors, more volunteers, a group of which were gathered
on the opposite side of the pool deck. Treading carefully over
sopping wet floors, she searched for sight of South Carolina’s team
colors. A mild thrill streamed through her as she picked Clay out
from the crowd. Standing next to his son, he was joking around with
some of the kids. Smiling, laughing, she envied his easy natural
way with the other kids, the bond between father and son.

While her father attended her games during
junior high, he never once traveled to watch her play volleyball.
Said he was too busy. Too much going on is what she heard. Her mom
showed up, but wasn’t much support. The woman didn’t have an
athletic cell in her body and didn’t have the first clue what was
going on in Sydney’s games. She was more interested in who was
watching her than watching her daughter play, anyway. Yet here Clay
was, miles away from home, by his son’s side for each and every
event. She felt a pinch of longing at the sight of them together.
She wished it had been that way for her.

He leaned over and said something into Q’s
ear that made the boy bust out in laughter. The swimmers around him
seemed amused as well, carrying on beside them, much like she used
to with her school volleyball team. In between matches she and her
teammates would carry on and act practically giddy—especially after
a win. But soon enough their coach would put an end to their
antics. That woman was stern and substance and wanted the same from
her girls. But looking back, it was a camaraderie Sydney missed. In
college she switched over to beach volleyball—at Diego’s
prodding—but with only two women to a side, the dynamics changed.
It was a partnership rather than a team. There was more
expectation, more commitment, which meant Sydney had to get
serious.

A tinge of nostalgia settled in her heart.
Most of girls from her high school team earned scholarships and
went on to play for colleges and universities around the country,
but not her. She stayed in Miami. And why?

Sydney expelled a ragged sigh. Because Miami
was a center for international business, a hub for conventions and
contacts and the perfect place to start her career. Unless she
planned on moving to Chicago, or LA. But Chicago was too cold and
LA was too far.

“Excuse me,” a man interrupted her
thoughts.

Stumbling aside, she said, “Sorry,” and
glimpsed the boy by his side. Tears streamed down his face, pain he
made no attempt to hide. Her heart squeezed. Red-faced, the child
openly cried and he clutched the towel at his waist. She assumed it
was due to a lost race, confirmed when the child swiped a wrist
under his nose and she heard the man console him with a soothing,
“You did great, Tye. You’ll get it next time.”