"You should have worked faster. Got in, got the information and got out. Instead you couldn't resist falling in bed with the hussy,” he spat.
Trevor reached Smythe in two strides and jerked the man to his feet by the front of his expensive polo shirt. “Don't you dare call Sydnie a hussy, you son-of-a-bitch! She saved your ass so many times, I can't count. All you gave her was ridicule, embarrassment and the boot. She's the best damn thing that ever happened to this agency, and you threw her away like a piece of your high-priced trash."
"Protective, aren't we?” Smythe mocked. “She must have got you good. Always figured she'd be good for at least one night of sex."
Trevor's fist met Smythe's jaw in one bone-crushing punch, ramming him down onto the floor.
Smythe stared up at Trevor in utter shock. He brushed his fingers across his lips and paled at the blood he found there. “You're fired!"
"You can't fire me because I quit. My letter of resignation is on your desk.” Trevor tossed a set of keys at the man sprawled on the floor at his feet.
"What are these for?"
"The truck.” Trevor turned his back on the man who'd robbed him of everything he'd held dear, and strode toward the door. He twisted the doorknob in his grasp. “I'm starting my own ad agency, so you'd better hang onto that pile of rust,” he said over his shoulder. “You're going to need something to drive when my new ad agency puts you out of business."
* * * *
"Sydnie!” a deep raspy voice bellowed.
Syd jumped in her chair and dropped her pencil. She looked up and shot to her feet. “Alfred?! What a surprise. It's great to see you,” she said genuinely pleased. She remembered the flowers and the card attached—don't call me. I'll call you. So Alfred had sent the bouquet after all, and instead of calling, he'd come to see her.
A wave of relief washed over her as she realized she'd been wrong in assuming Trevor had sent the gift for his own gain. She hurried around her desk and over to Alfred.
She extended her hand, but he didn't move his fists from his hips, failing to accept her gesture. “I want to thank you for—"
"I saw you on Wake-Up, Omaha this morning,” he said, his voice heavy with disapproval. “What's up with that?"
"You saw it?” She planed her hands down her jeans, sensing that for some reason he wasn't pleased about the segment. “Well, what do you think? Have we got a winner here, or what?!” she said with a nervous laugh. She didn't know what to make of Alfred's stony features and the tense muscle working at his jaw. She'd never seen this side of the pro wrestler before.
"I think you should be working on my advertising campaign instead of running a stud service,” he chided, copying Vanessa's comment on the breeding farm versus contacting service issue.
Syd's defenses kicked in, but she rounded up her grit and reined them in before she said something she'd regret. “This isn't a stud service in the way in which you are implying, Alfred. I thought the segment made that perfectly clear."
"Oh, I know that.” He waved off her concern. “But I don't appreciate you taking valuable time away from my account to work on this instead. My account is supposed to always be your top priority. Is there a problem at the agency? Don't they pay you enough? Do you have to moonlight with a second career?"
"I'm not moonlighting. This is my full-time job now. I'm a co-owner of Studs for Hire. I no longer work for Smythe and Jones. I figured you knew that."
"No longer work there! They never told me that. They said you were off visiting your sick grandmother and that's why you couldn't be in on the meetings. Shit, and I fell for it,” he grumbled under his breath.
"Who are they?” Syd narrowed her eyes in suspicion, already having a good idea who they were. But after placing her heart, not to mention her body, in Trevor's hands, she wanted proof to go on—not just her doubts.
"Your boss, Charles Smythe. And your buddy, Trevor Vanden Bosch.” He crossed her arms in front of his chest in defiance.
Well there it was—what she'd been searching for—the dreaded truth. Everything rang clear—Trevor coming to her for a job, his inquisitiveness regarding Stardust Lingerie, and his sudden renewed interest in her. They were all lies. Once again, she'd been stabbed in the back.
Syd felt the color drain from her face and she leaned against the desk for support. She didn't want to believe this could be true—that she'd been fool enough to fall for Trevor's games—again.
But past experience told Sydnie she should have known better.
Trevor had deceived her, used her—just like before.
Trepidation and anger filled her soul. “Well, they lied,” she managed to choke out around a lump in her throat. “I left the agency almost two months ago."
"So all the ad layouts, and the decision to use everyday women to model the Venus Bra, weren't your ideas?"
"No, I—"
"They are Sydnie's ideas,” a voice said from the doorway. Sydnie turned and saw Trevor standing there, his eyes filled with despondency and remorse.
Alfred whipped around. “You're lying,” he thundered.
"She inspired every idea I presented to you, Alfred.” Trevor walked deeper into the room, bringing all the lies and deceit full circle.
Sydnie's heart ceased beating in her chest. She'd known all along that Trevor had an underlying motive for coming back into her life. But deep down inside she'd hoped he had changed—that his only motive for being here was because he cared for her—had always cared for her.
And the way he'd made love to her—like she was his everything—that was all a lie, too.
Funny, but life always insisted upon slapping Sydnie in the face, reminding her what happened when she dared to trust in a man and wear her heart on her sleeve.
Tears stung Syd's eyes, but instead of letting them fall, she lifted her chin, bound and determined to show Trevor that his deception meant nothing to her. She'd always been a naive fool when it came to love, and it was best to deal with her failures by shedding her tears in private.
The air in the room thickened and she felt like she'd suffocate if someone didn't say something soon.
"This is bull shit,” Mars said, granting Sydnie her wish. “I've always considered myself a reasonable man, so I'm giving you one chance to dig yourself out of your grave, Vanden Bosch. What were you trying to pull?"
"I was trying to do my job."
"Your job?” Sydnie questioned, speaking up for the first time. She faced him head on. She wouldn't be the one to walk away this time. This time she was going to see to it Trevor got his just deserts. “Since when has lying become a job requirement?"
"Come on, Syd. You were at Smythe and Jones long enough to know how their corporate ladder worked."
"Yes, I did. And that's exactly the reason I left.” Syd swallowed hard, struggling to keep her hurt and anger in check. “But that's no excuse for you to join them. I'd always hoped you were a bigger man than that, Trevor.” She turned away from him and her heart froze over like ice.
"Syd—” He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shoved him away, putting much needed distance between them.
"So what did Smythe offer you this time? A raise? A boat? A condo?” she asked, each word laced with hurt and anger.
Trevor stood rigid, unresponsive to her speculations.
"I hope it was worth the cost,” she continued, “like a partnership.” Trevor looked away, unable to face her any longer.
His silence confirmed her suspicions.
"How wonderful for you,” she said with a steely resolve she didn't feel. Inside she was ready to fall apart.
Mars took a stand beside Sydnie, placing a protective arm around her. “I don't go for ruthless business practices, Vanden Bosch. I'm pulling my account. Tell your boss that truth and see how he likes watching a million dollars fly out the window."
"I can explain, Sydnie,” Trevor spoke at last, holding out his hands in apology. “Smythe had me over a barrel—"
"No.” She shook her head
. “I won't stand here and listen to your excuses."
A flood of emotions raged through Sydnie, but she took a deep breath and forged ahead. She picked up the bouquet of exotic flowers and shoved them into Trevor's arms.
"Syd, if you'd just let me explain.” His eyes pleaded with her for understanding, but she didn't care.
"That won't be necessary,” she said, the tone of her voice clearly dismissing Trevor from her life.
Forever.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Trevor raised his hand to knock on Sydnie's apartment door, but paused. He mouthed a silent prayer that she'd finally concede and at least let him in long enough to explain.
He'd called time-and-again and was always forced to leave a message, even though he knew she was sitting right there at her desk. He'd even tried e-mail as a last resort.
But nothing worked.
How could he help her understand if she continued to ignore him as though he didn't exist? How could he make her see they'd come too far, sacrificed too much, to just throw it all away as if neither one of them cared?
Well, he couldn't walk away. He'd stand here until Christmas if necessary, but he wasn't leaving until she heard the whole truth. He rapped harder on the wooden door and waited. The faint pad of footsteps came from the other side.
"Who is it?” she asked, her voice muffled through the wood.
"Syd. It's Trev. Now hear me out. I really need to talk to you. Give me five minutes and I promise I won't bother you ever again."
Silence hung between them, and he hoped she was at least considering his request and not off scrubbing the bathroom. Seconds ticked into what felt like minutes and still she remained silent. Trevor's chest tightened, truly afraid that no matter what he did, or said, he'd never be able to right the wrongs he'd committed against her.
"Look, Syd,” he said with pleading in his voice. “I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, but I have to talk to you."
"There's nothing to discuss,” she said coldly.
A small wave of relief loosened his aching chest. She'd spoken. At last. Even if those weren't the words he wanted to hear, he'd take them.
"Yes there is. My last paycheck,” he joked, hoping to warm the wintry pall hovering over them.
The click of the lock echoed through the hall and the door opened far enough for her to poke her head out. “Here,” she growled, and tossed a one-dollar bill at him. The money fluttered to the floor, landing at his feet. She pulled away, intent on slamming the door in his face, but Trevor was too quick for her.
"Please, Syd,” he begged as he gripped the heavy oak door. His fingertips touched hers and she jerked her hand away. “I never wanted to hurt you. And I know I deserve your distrust. But throw me a bone, will ya? Five minutes is all I ask."
She frowned, and her eyes studied him as though he were some kind of nasty fungus she wasn't quite sure how to scrub off of her shower door.
All Trevor could do now was hold his breath and wait.
At last, she took a step back and let the door swing wide.
"It's late. Make it quick.” She strode across the room in a purple nightshirt and a pair of gray shorts. Grabbing the remote, she clicked off the I Dream of Jeannie episode she'd been watching, crossed her arms and waited impatiently.
"Nice apartment,” Trevor said, casually. He glanced around the room and noticed the vast array of country-style antiques gave the place a warm, homey feel. Cozy—like he wanted things to be for them.
"Look. You didn't come here to assess my decorating skills, so let's skip the small talk and get to the point."
"Okay,” he said with a heavy breath. “When I first started working for Smythe, I didn't give his crooked schemes much thought. I was a newbie in the field, eager to make my way, bring home the big bucks. But the longer I worked for him, and the higher I climbed the ladder, the more I began to realize Smythe used more than a few white lies as tactics to make his scores.
"I grew to hate his methods, his condescension. But most of all ... I hated the way he treated you."
Sydnie stiffened and turned toward the large double-hung windows, focusing her gaze on the brick streets and shops of the Old Market area below.
"In spite of his ill treatment of you,” Trevor pushed ahead, “you held your head high, matched him move for move, and never gave up. I admire your grit, your tenacity.” Braving a few steps, he shortened the distance between them. He reached out to touch her, but stopped his hand in midair before letting it fall back by his side.
"I have to admit,” he said. “I owe you a great deal for my success within the agency. You were the one who always came up with the unique ideas, the new approach, but Smythe refused to give credit where credit was due. And what success should have been yours, he gave to me."
Her rigid shoulders slumped and she turned to face him, surprise and disappointment filling her green eyes at the same time. He took another step and she in turn, took one back.
"When Smythe threw the promotion for head ad exec on the table at that staff meeting,” he continued, refusing to give up, “I saw the determination on your face, and I knew then that you were setting yourself up for a fall."
He took a huge leap and brushed the back of his fingers along her arm. This time she didn't move. “Syd. I knew you deserved that promotion more than anyone, and I told Smythe so, but no matter what accounts you won, or what I said to try and persuade him, he denied you. Even with all you'd done to land Stardust, our biggest account—"
"I'm a woman,” she interrupted. She leveled her gaze on Trevor. “And a woman will never hold any position higher than entry level in Smythe and Jones,” she said, quoting Charles Smythe word for word.
Trevor heard the pain in her voice and felt it in his heart. “You knew?"
"That Smythe was a male chauvinist, egotistical and an arrogant bastard, to boot,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Of course I knew. I figured out Charles Smythe and his twisted games even before my job interview was over. And when the promotion came up for grabs, I quickly realized he was only pretending to make me feel like I had a shot. Pacifying me, or so he thought. Being the only woman vying for the position, he had to keep me happy so I didn't holler discrimination when I lost out."
"But all those years, Syd. All that B.S.. Why?"
"Simple. Smythe and Jones is one of the biggest ad agencies in the country. I considered myself fortunate to land the job, even if Smythe did base his decision on the size of my bust line. At that point I didn't care. I wanted the job."
"You should've cared."
"I was like you, Trevor—fresh out of college. I wanted the impressive credentials on my resume. I was prepared to do whatever it took to get the job and keep it. Except.” She held up her hand, demanding that he let her finish before he said a word. “I vowed to never stoop so low as to sleep with him. No job is worth that price,” she said in a deep, curt tone.
"Once Smythe figured out he couldn't woo me into his bed, my career at the agency was over. Oh, sure I worked there for years after that, but I knew that any promotions, raises, or any of the other goodies Smythe offered his employees would never come my way."
"Then why did you stay?"
Sydnie stood tall and lifted her chin. “I thought you were the one doing the confessing here. Your five minutes is about up. Get talking."
He raked his fingers through his hair, angry and frustrated by the whole rotten mess. The urge to go back and give Smythe another punch, in the gut this time, hit him full force. “Okay. While you were being denied the rungs of the corporate ladder, I was forced to climb them. I understood that what I'd gotten caught up in was wrong, but it was like a car spinning out of control on ice. I was powerless to stop it."
"You could have quit. Gone to another agency,” she stated dryly.
"Sure. I knew that. And I considered it—many times. But the bottom line—I couldn't leave you behind."
She looked away swiftly. “Who made you my protector?"
She shook her head in disbelief, her hair swishing about her shoulders. “You had a great way of showing it."
"Syd,” he took her hand in his. “I knew that if we made love that night, the next day, after you'd learned of my promotion, you'd feel used and betrayed."
"Kind of like I feel now.” She jerked her hand out of his grasp.
"I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing when I turned you away that night."
"What about all the lies this time around?” she bit out. “Was that the right thing? All the down-on-your luck bull you fed me, the flowers and the lingerie ploy. And the ... sex? Was that all it was to you, just sex? Was that the bonus Smythe promised you?"
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 01] Page 17