“She’s too busy clawing her way to the top of my company to go pro,” Charlie interjected and then made introductions. “Sydney, this is my friend Clay Rutledge. Clay, Sydney Flores.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said and extended his hand.
“You, too.” She met his hand and noted his palm was soft, his skin warm.
“Is that Flores, as in flower? Because if it is,” he paused and lengthened his smile, “it suits you.”
Sydney’s cheeks flushed at the silly compliment, heightened by the southern drawl he inflected. She pulled her hand from his, but not before he gave a slight squeeze.
“We’re headed out for lunch,” Charlie said. “Wanna join us?”
Black hair, ice blue eyes, sharp features and muscular build, Charlie may garner attention from many women, but not this one. “No thanks.” His rot-gut personality blinded her to any good looks he might have. “My body needs water and rest right now.” Standing idle, the sun began to sear into her head and shoulders. “And anyway, Alana and I will have another match soon.”
“Maybe another time,” Clay said.
Sydney considered the man before her. On the one hand she was attracted to his appearance; however, his choice of friends left a lot to be desired. She cast a glance toward Charlie. The man was a two-timing, self-centered certifiable jerk. Returning her attention to Clay she replied, “Maybe.” But don’t count on it. Any friend of Charlie’s must have something wrong with him.
“Are you playing tomorrow?”
“Depends on this afternoon. Alana and I move on to the semi-final round from here and then, we’ll see.”
“I’m still waiting for nude volleyball.” Charlie laughed. “You and Alana would win that one hands tied behind your back!”
Sydney’s stomach turned at the crude visual.
Clay turned on him. “What’s the matter with you?”
He’s an idiot. Crossing arms over chest, she glared at the both of them, and then settled on Clay. Or haven’t you noticed?
“What?” Charlie looked at Clay in surprise. “Syd knows I’m only kidding.”
“That’s no excuse for being rude,” he bit back.
Well there’s a refreshing surprise... By the tone of his voice, it sounded like this Clay fellow was actually as disgusted by the comment as she.
“Apologize to the woman.”
Charlie balked, but when Clay continued his penetrating stare, he relented. “Sorry, Syd.” He looked at the ground and kicked at the sand. “It was just a joke. You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Yes you did—you meant exactly what you said. “Whatever.” She had no interest in wasting any more time on Charlie than necessary.
Clay turned to her and said in a tone so soft and low, she had to struggle to hear him. “I’m sorry, Sydney. I didn’t know Charlie could be so crass.”
He’s an ass, she wanted to say. It’s what he does. But voicing her true feelings would do nothing to solve the problem. Charlie had been this way since the day she met him at JL Conventions and she didn’t expect him to change.
“Great match, Syd!”
The three of them turned.
“Hey, Diego!” Sydney said, warmed by the sight of her cousin. A fellow volleyball player, he too, was here as an amateur athlete in the events. Built thick and solid, Diego was shorter than most players but what he lacked in height he made up for in enthusiasm. “How’d your match go?”
He beamed, his teeth bright white against the brown of his skin. “Aced it! Joe and I are advancing to the next round. You?”
“Alana and I will see you there.” Sydney turned back to Charlie and his friend. “Listen, I’ve gotta run. It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” Clay murmured.
Without a word to Charlie, she asked Diego, “Thirsty?”
“Absolutely.” Diego passed a glance over Charlie and Clay and told her, “Joe’s over at the tent now.”
“Great. Let’s go.” Sydney walked off with Diego and imagined Charlie and Clay’s eyes trailing her backside. Nude volleyball. While she tried to eject the juvenile reference from her brain, it felt like each dimple of cellulite in her rear cried out, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’
Chapter Two
Leather-bound notebook in hand, Sydney jogged up the stairs spiraling prominently up the atrium lobby of JL Conventions. She mentally scrolled through her stats as she rounded the top step, swinging into a brisk stride down the hall. Located in downtown Miami, the company comprised three levels—her boss’s office consuming the corner penthouse suite overlooking Biscayne Bay. With a view of water to one side, the city beautiful to the other, it was a space she coveted for herself one day.
But working to help coordinate the Special Olympics National Games was probably not going to get her there. The games were being held right here in Miami, but the organization handled most of the details leaving her nothing to do but run errands, or so it felt that way. Her job was to make sure they had everything they needed, from managing local suppliers and communication between the two to calling the right people in the event if something went wrong. Athletes were set to arrive Saturday, opening ceremonies were scheduled for Sunday afternoon and the first full day of games would commence early Monday morning. A shimmy of anticipation skirted through her veins as she neared the office. Over three thousand athletes were expected for the games, accompanied by four hundred coaches, upwards of thirty thousand family members and guests not to mention the slew of nearly ten thousand volunteers who had already signed on to help.
Sydney had experience with big events, but these numbers were staggering. From the hotels and restaurants that would benefit, to the university sports complex and neighboring businesses, the games were projected to bring in close to fifty million in revenue for the area in less than two weeks. Talk about major impact—this one took the cake!
Paid the bill, she mused soberly. And the last event she wanted. The Special Olympics National Games were a far cry from the Celebrity Golf Tournament she’d put in for, but it wasn’t her job to assign events. Sydney strode through the open door to her boss’s office. It was her job to work them.
Javier Lopez looked up from his desk with a smile. “Right on time,” he said, his coffee-brown eyes lighting up as he took in the sight of her. Full-blooded Cuban, Javier had dark smoldering looks—looks that could undress you in seconds, seduce you in minutes. His eyes were lined in soft black, his silky black hair cut in long loose layers giving him an easy casual sophistication, one that went hand in hand with his management style. Setting his pen down, he hitched his chin toward the chairs across from him. “Have a seat.”
Sydney pulled one of the straight-back art deco style chairs from his desk and dropped to the cushion. Decorated with minimalist overtones, his black furnishings were gloss and shine, accented by a lone unframed canvas boldly colored and totally abstract. Included were the customary diplomas, but mostly his walls were adorned with photos of Javier accompanied by the Who’s Who in Miami. But then again, connections were his business. Crossing one leg over the other, she pulled the turquoise edge of her skirt toward her knee and laid her notebook open across her thigh. Sliding the pen from its secure loop, she tapped tip to paper, poised to take notes as she asked, “Did you call Henry?”
“I spoke with him this morning,” Javier replied evenly. “He wants to be sure the family info packets are set to go. Are we set with maps and area brochures?”
“Yes. I spoke with Lisa over at All American and she assures me they have everything ready to go for the airport and venues.” She marked a check by the item.
“Have you seen for yourself that they’ve been included?” He arched an accusatory brow. “You know it to be complete?”
“Yes. Went through the order personally and spoke with the people in charge at each location.”
“Very good.” He smiled, and a subtle familiarity entered his eyes. “Are you excited?”
She paused. “Revved as u
sual.” Always happened as they closed in on the deadline for an event start. These final days were the culmination of months—sometimes years—of planning and it was her job to see that everything came off without a glitch. Or in this case, assist the Special Olympics people in achieving the same. She had to admit, their in-house organization was one of the best she’d ever seen, rendering her almost extraneous to the process.
“Are you prepared for the number of volunteers that may show up?”
She nodded. Thousands of volunteers had signed on to help with the events and even more were predicted to show up the day of, expecting something to do. It was an incredible outpouring of support and one the Special Olympics staff made a point to embrace. They informed the local venues, in no uncertain terms, that not one able-bodied person was to be turned away. “We’ve increased the size of our order to almost double the number of water bottles originally planned.”
“Mayor Cortez wants to be sure his revised welcome letter has been included in lieu of the previous. I cannot underscore enough the significance of his request, Sydney.”
She nodded and scribbled a note to remind herself to make one more confirmation call regarding the issue. “I forwarded a copy to Lisa. Her printer has already substituted the new for the old.”
Javier smiled, his manner comfortable. Personal. “You still sore at me?”
“No,” she replied automatically, tightening the grip on her pen. Javier knew the assignment she wanted to be overseeing this month, knew he was showing preference for Morgan Price over her on this one.
“If it’s any consolation, Morgan is stressing.”
Ignoring the twinkle in the black of his eyes, she shrugged. “Sorry to hear that,” she lied and tamped back the familiar resentment. Morgan wasn’t stressing. She was making a show of it for Javier, appealing to his ego. She was playing to the protector in him. Consulting her notes, Sydney continued, “Athletes will begin to arrive at Miami International about seven thirty Saturday morning, whereby I’ll greet them and streamline their contact with the media and subsequent transportation to housing.” Athletes and coaches were scheduled to stay in the dorms on campus, while their families were relegated to area hotels. Some families would be hosted by area residents, though how many she couldn’t be certain. “Initial events are scheduled for Sunday morning first thing, continuing until noon whereby athletes will return to their housing and prepare for opening ceremonies.”
“Did you consult with staff at the arena regarding their concerns over seating?”
“I assured them they’d have a full house, nothing more. It’s a ticketed event and the numbers are limited.” Which reminded her. She jotted down a quick note. Her friend Sam Rawlings needed four more tickets.
Javier leaned forward in his chair. “Speaking of opening ceremonies, the Mayor wants you to join the escort for Team Florida.”
“What?” Alarm fired through her pulse. “Why me?”
“Seems he caught sight of you on the beach and thinks you’d be perfect.”
The appreciative leer she received was so unexpected, Sydney drew back in embarrassment. “But I’m a nobody, Javier. I don’t belong in that role. Besides, I’m needed behind the scenes.” That was her job, organizing details, making things happen, not parading into the Miami Arena with a bunch of strangers.
“You’re a local athlete celebrity which makes you the perfect choice.” Javier’s grin turned smug. “And didn’t you say the SO handles most everything on its own? You’re ancillary at best. You’ll have plenty of time to take part.”
Sydney bristled. Was Javier insulting her?
“Listen, Brooke Simpson cancelled last minute and the Mayor needs another pretty face to take her place. He suggested you and I agreed. I told him you’d be honored.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“What?” He chuckled. “I thought you’d be pleased. Besides, they’re lucky to have you. You’re much better looking than Brooke.”
Sydney’s chest constricted. What next—did he have her uniform steamed and pressed?
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to wear your uniform.”
Staring at her notepad, she mused sourly, gee, thanks.
“Only suits will be on the politicians,” he said. “You’ll be in some good company, too. Governor’s gonna be there, US Congressmen, both senators—and that singer, what’s her name.” Sydney raised her head up to look at him and he frowned at his inability at recall. With a quick wave of his hand, he relegated the notion as insignificant. “Anyway, these ceremonies are a very big deal. A lot of very important people will be there, including your sponsors. Just wear something sexy,” he added with a flickering gleam, “to make us proud.”
Staring at him across the desk, Sydney ground her jaw. The man never quit.
“And prepare a few nice words to say to the crowd.”
Her heart stopped. “Javier—you know I don’t do public speaking.”
“I know,” he said, his tone assuming a placating intimacy. He picked up the pen from his desktop and held it suspended above his paperwork. “But the Mayor made a personal request. Think of this as your big opportunity, Syd. You’ll be sharing the stage with some famous people. Think of the exposure it will bring to you.”
She didn’t care about famous people. She cared about looking the fool.
“Hey, you want the promotion, don’t you? I’m giving you an opportunity here.”
She stared at him. Her breathing grew tight and shallow. What she ever saw in the man escaped her at the moment.
“Now listen,” he continued, heedless to the untenable position in which he was placing her. “After all the athletes are seated, the Mayor wants you to join him on stage and give a general welcome to the audience, sort of a rah-rah Miami spiel.” He gave her a genial smile, one she wanted to rip from his face. “I know public speaking isn’t your thing but you can say a few words, keep it brief, let the people see you.” Javier tried to lighten her mood with an encouraging smile. “You’re a local celebrity around here, one of our very own VIPs.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
“Me? Stretch?” He shook his head as though she were being ridiculous. “Aw Syd, you know you’re a celebrity to me and always have been.” Javier’s demeanor softened, but if he were trying to soothe her ego, he was failing. Miserably. “With your recent volleyball win, you’re a perfect fit. And if you ask me, the Special Olympics people are lucky to have you.”
“The focus should be on the athletes, not me,” she protested, ignoring his paltry attempt at kindness. “Don’t you think my presence will only serve to take away from them? After all, these are their events, not mine.”
“Not at all. All the teams are bringing famous people along with them, many of them athletes. Some are even gold medalists. You’ll be in very good company, trust me.”
Sounded more like pressure, to her.
“And think of the visibility you’ll gain. It will do a lot for your career.”
Straight for the jugular. The man took no shame in using her own ambition against her, despite knowing how much she hated being in front of a crowd. “Is this mandatory or optional?”
“Why Sydney...” Javier’s eyes flicked toward his office door. “You don’t want to disappoint the Mayor, do you?”
“Disappoint me?”
Sydney whirled at the sound of the incoming male voice. “Mayor Cortez,” she blurted. She quickly rose to her feet, the notebook nearly tumbling to the floor. Clutching the pen and book, she held them to her chest. What was he doing here?
“Sydney and I were just discussing your appearance at opening ceremonies this weekend,” Javier told him.
The Mayor came to a stop and extended his hand toward her. She swapped hands with her pen and shook his, keeping her barrier firmly in place.
“I heard the word ‘disappoint’.” His chubby chin dipped as he peered at her over his glasses, black hair slicked straight back over a balding head. H
e maintained firm hold of her hand and asked, “Is there a problem?”
At six-two, she stood taller than him in heels, but legs locked rigid, all nerve fled the scene. “Uh, well...” She referenced Javier with a glance, “We were just discussing my contribution and...”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said smoothly. “How could I not with a beautiful woman by my side? An athlete of the utmost skill.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Sydney recoiled inwardly at the manipulative touch. “Am I right?” He checked with Javier.
Her boss smiled. “Absolutely.”
Glancing from man to man, she felt like a piece of meat sandwiched between the two. She pulled her hand away and took a step back, her calf hitting the chair cushion. Suddenly her legs felt brittle and thin beneath her as she cleared her throat. “I’m sure there’s someone more qualified for that honor than myself,” she deferred, hinting for a way out.
“Oh, you are too humble, my dear. Having the Special Olympics in my city is a great honor, yes, and you are one of our best and brightest athletes.”
She was an amateur beach volleyball player. That’s it. “I’m no big deal” she wanted to tell him, but suspected his true intention for including her had nothing to do with her volleyball talents. The Mayor had a reputation in town—and it had nothing to do with honor.
“I’ve submitted your name to the committee,” Mayor Cortez said. “They’ll announce us as we enter the arena and once the athletes find their seats, you and I will head to the podium. Team Florida will be the last team to enter, so festivities will begin upon our arrival,” he said, pulling the cuff of his white shirt toward his wrist—pinky extended—so it extended fully past his coat sleeve. “You and I will say a few words of welcome to the visiting athletes and visitors, and touch upon some of the finer points of our city.”
The muscles in her shoulders tightened.
Javier rose. “No problem, Manny. We’ll write something up and submit it to your office by Friday.”
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