“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-full 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.”
Trailing them as they continued on their way to the office, Sydney was struck by the realization that she had grown accustomed to happy expressions during these events, faces filled with joy and pride, bellies filled with giggles and contentment. But in truth, not everyone won. An obvious fact of life, yes, but one that tended to be obscured during these events. Hurt more, too, when reflected in the eyes of these athletes. If only they could all win...
Which reminded her why she was here. Drawn back to Clay, she was startled to see him staring at her. With a quick squeeze of Q’s shoulder, he excused himself and headed toward her, dodging a few swimmers in his path. “Hey there, gorgeous.”
At the instant smile she received, delight zipped through her veins. Oblivious to the crowd of swimmers around them, it felt entirely personal, meant solely for her. She suppressed a swell of pleasure at the easy compliment. It was always the same with him. With a cursory glance to the currently empty pool, she asked, “How were the scores yesterday?”
“Q won.”
She gaped at him. “You’re kidding me...”
He grinned. “Nope.”
Heartened by the unexpected turn of events, she asked, “So what’s next?”
“Today he’s swimming the freestyle lap of the group relay and then he’s off for a few days. His final swim is Monday, when he races for the championship. But he seems a bit off. I think finishing so close yesterday seems to have thrown him off his game.” He paused in what felt like a purposeful manipulation. “Wanna go say hello? He’s been asking about you.”
“Sure,” she said, guilt hammering. “Congratulations are in order.”
“Maybe you can give him some pointers for his next race.”
“I don’t know how much help I can be in the swimming department. I play volleyball, remember?”
“I remember very well,” he said, a hint of lust deepening the blue of his eyes as he beckoned her to follow. “But you don’t have to know anything about swimming. Just talking to a professional athlete will boost his spirits.”
She frowned and took off after him. “I’m not a professional.”
“You should be.”
She groaned inwardly. Granted Clay was in full flirtation mode, but she understood what was at stake. If Q’s mental state was off kilter, he could absolutely lose the next race. From what she’d witnessed, it was mere secon
ds between first and second, gold and silver. And if Clay was right, winning these games meant a lot to Q. Mulling over her choice of words, she trailed Clay over to the group. “Hi, Q,” she said in an effort to catch his attention. “How’s it going?”
Seated several feet away, he whipped his head toward her and said, “Good. Won yesterday.”
“He’s gonna win the championship.” One of Q’s teammates piped in, matter-of-fact. “No problem.”
She recognized the signs of Down’s syndrome in the taller boy. Did he swim as well as Q? Or was he a beginner, one that was lucky to make it the length of the pool without drowning? A quiver of angst spiraled through her. Watching some of the swimmers made her nervous. “I bet he will, too,” she agreed anxiously.
“It was close,” Q said, but dipped his chin down and to the side.
“Very close,” the other boy added, then pulled a pair of black reflective goggles on over his blue latex-capped head.
“But a win is a win,” she reminded. Both nodded, but Sydney didn’t like the tension swimming in Q’s eyes. While he heard the encouragement, she didn’t think it was sinking in. “Just remember to stay focused on your performance,” she told him. “Don’t think about the other guys, only yourself and what you’re doing.”
He swung his gaze toward her but quickly swung back to the shelter of his friend.
“Q is very focused when he swims,” his teammate informed her. “He will win all his races because he tries so hard.”
“I believe he can,” she said, marveling at the boy’s sense of compassion, his sturdy sense of duty to his teammate.
“She’s right, Q,” Clay added. “And she should know. She wins a lot of volleyball games.”
“Yes, but just like each volleyball game is different, each lap you swim is different. Concentrate on your strokes, each and every one.”
He nodded casually, but she could feel his attention had fully engaged. Though she had to admit it was an odd sensation, the way he looked just to her side rather than center on her face. It felt like he was one head-width off. “Count my strokes,” Q replied, as if reminding her how it’s done.
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