“Maybe you need some time. You might want to reconsider a move if I can change it up around here. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I haven’t been assigning you the events you deserve.”
“Javier—”
He held up a hand. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I’ll do anything in my power to help you.”
She nodded.
He gathered his dignity into a semblance of indifference. “And not because of my personal feelings for you, but because of my professional respect.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Thank you.”
“But I don’t want you to go. We may not have a chance again, you and I...” Sadness swamped his eyes. “But I want you to stay. I think it will be better for your career. A few more years here and—”
“Javier.”
“I know. Call me selfish, but I like having you around.” He smiled, and it was a smile from their early days, as though...
The realization stung. As though he still lived there.
Hands to armrests, Javier hoisted himself up and out of the chair. He jerked his head from the tight grip of his collar and said, “I won’t pressure you, Sydney. I’ll honor your decision. Just don’t rush into anything.” He paused and held her in a near fatherly gaze. “You seem like you could use a little time on this one.”
A tear broke free. “I will. Thank you.” She wiped her cheek, then picked up her pen. “I appreciate it.”
“Little smile?” Javier coaxed, his eyes brimming with a loss she hadn’t realized tore at him still. “Just a tiny one?”
She feigned a quick one, but couldn’t sustain it.
“I don’t like to see you this way, Syd. It’s not you.”
No, it wasn’t. But with a little time, it would all be good.
“Anything I can do, you let me know.”
“I will,” she murmured.
Uninterested in lingering or unable—she couldn’t tell which—Javier hurried from her office.
# # #
“You look like hell,” Sam said as she slid onto the barstool next to Sydney.
Several nearby women gave her the once-over as she sat in the coveted spot saved for her. Friday night at Olives meant standing room only and they didn’t appreciate being delegated to the mob of bodies that encircled the oval shaped bar. If Sydney hadn’t grabbed a seat while the grabbing was good, the two of them would be standing too, battling elbows and boobs. She stirred the plastic sword through her drink, whisking pieces of mint through the caramel-tinted rum. “Thanks for noticing. It’s been a rough week” she said, comfortably settled in with her first mojíto of the evening.
“So you quit.”
“I did.” Sydney set the tiny sword on the napkin alongside her glass and picked up her drink.
“Well that’s exciting.”
“Depends on how you look at it, but yes, I find it very exciting.” Sam’s brown eyes held no cheer, a stark contrast to the sunny yellow suit she wore over a bright orange camisole. “Or will.” She brought glass to lips and clarified, “At the moment, I’m not really sure where I’m going.”
“Probably would have been a better plan to line that up before you quit.”
“Yes, well.” She smiled thinly. “I think we’ve seen that I don’t always do what’s best.”
“Are we talking work or pleasure, here?”
“Both. Everything. I’m just not feeling very stellar at the moment.”
“Have you told Clay?”
“Nope.” She hadn’t spoken with him since Wednesday night. Memories of the evening careened into her mind. Any other time the Biltmore would have been the perfect place to spend time with Clay. It was the essence of romance with its Mediterranean architecture, open courtyards and free-flowing fountains. Wouldn’t take much convincing for her to spend a weekend there with him...spa for her, golf for him and then later—
She turned the spigot of thought off. She didn’t want to think about Clay.
“Has he gone back to South Carolina?”
“Wouldn’t know,” she said and downed a hefty swallow.
“Well you’re a bundle of information tonight.” She turned to the bar and summoned the bartender.
“Not here to run the ticker tape.”
“Do you know if his son is okay?”
“Seemed to be.” Seemed to be perfectly fine. Except for the fact that he could have seizures in the future, he was great. Sydney felt the pinch of worry. Clay didn’t have an easy road ahead. If the doctors told Q to stay out of the water, he’d be beside himself. She didn’t know what they would do. Sydney downed another sip of rum, the cold liquid firing down her throat. It wasn’t her concern.
Unfortunately. It was but a whisper from her heart, but she knew it was true. Sydney wanted to be with them, wanted to worry right along with them. She regretted not throwing herself into Clay’s arms. She should have. Then they could have picked up where they left off, at her house, on the couch, and solved life’s problems in the afterglow of lovemaking.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked. Leaning into the bar, his bearing was quick and choppy. He had a full house tonight and no time to waste.
“Gin martini straight up, three olives.”
“You got it.”
“And make it dirty,” she added, absent the first glimmer of flirtation.
Because of me, Sydney mused. Pining over lost love, even Sam was drowning in her misery.
“Coming right up,” he said, then pushed off from the bar and went to work.
“Well, well, well...”
She turned at the voice cutting through the din of the crowd, her senses recoiling. Charlie strolled up with a friendly ease he didn’t merit with her. “If it isn’t two of my favorite ladies.”
“Bad time, Charlie,” Sydney advised, careless to the razors cutting through her tone. Curiosity surfaced in the guy standing next to him, his guard quickly raised as he took note of their interaction.
“Is it ever a good time with you, Sydney?” He stood glib, a sharp edge to his demeanor.
“Not usually.”
“You know, that’s your problem. You should try and be nicer to people. You’d have more friends if you made an effort.”
“I have enough friends.”
“Is there a reason you’re here?” Sam intervened.
Charlie turned to Sam, smug as a man who’d won the lottery but had yet to reveal as much. “Well, I heard my coworker here quit and I wanted to give her my well-wishes.”
Of course he knew. If Morgan knew, everyone knew. “Accepted, now move on.”
“Aw, now—see? That’s what I mean,” he said, more to Sam than her. “If Sydney had been nicer, she wouldn’t have run my good friend off.”
Sam warned, “You’re on dangerous ground here, son. A few more steps and you might get hurt.”
“All I’m saying, is that Syd here missed her big chance. My friend Clay is the big time.” Slime slithered into his smile. “He’s worth millions. Money you could use right about now. But oh no, you blew it.”
She turned to him. Millions? Clay?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“One beautiful martini for one beautiful lady...”
Sydney didn’t acknowledge the bartender as he slid the drink in front of Sam. She only had eyes for Charlie at the moment—eyes that were spewing flames.
“Sydney doesn’t date men for money,” Sam came to her defense. “But then again, why would I expect you to understand something so decent?”
He laughed. “Every woman wants a man with money, Sam. Fact of the beast.”
Breath held tight in her chest, Sydney detested Charlie. With every ounce of her being, she detested him.
“Get out of here, Charlie,” Sam warned. She turned back to the bar and pulled the drink closer to her. The bartender disappeared.
“Hey,” Charlie complained, holding his palms up. “Don’t kill the messenger. I told you, I’m only here to give Sydney my best for her new future. I’m just
sorry to see it won’t include my pal.”
Sydney glared at him. Black hair gelled back, the front combed into the tousle of the latest style, eyes bluer than blue, his skin shaved smooth, his complexion flawless... Loathing thrashed hot through her gut. “Walk away now Charlie, or I will not be able to restrain my actions.”
“As her attorney, I heard her,” Sam said over her shoulder. “She’s given you fair warning.” She tipped her martini glass back for a methodical sip.
Unaffected, Charlie tossed back, “Don’t have to ask me twice.” He glanced between the two, and his position was clear. He felt the same way about her. “Have a nice evening, ladies.”
“I can’t believe Clay and that man were ever friends,” Sydney ground out.
“People change.”
“Some don’t.”
Sam squared her shoulders to Sydney. “I gather you called it quits with Clay as well as your job?”
“In so many words, yes,” she replied, still trying to digest Charlie’s words. Millions? She had no idea...
Sam grunted. “May I ask why you’re on this suicide mission?”
Fresh anger whipped through her and she pulled her drink close. “Already told you. I’m not interested in a long-distance relationship.”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with his ex-wife, right?”
Sydney backhanded her with a glare. “I’m not spending the rest of my life having Clay compare me to that woman.” It was the easiest excuse, the one she could live with, hang her irrationality on.
“What makes you think there would be any comparison?”
“Human nature.”
Sam pulled back and grazed Sydney with a careless inspection. “I’ve never seen you this way. Insecure over a man’s fidelity I get. Your dad cheated, you think all men cheat. Illogical, but understandable. Childhood wound. But insecure over your looks? Why? You’re one of the most attractive women I know, Syd. Why don’t you get that?”
Disappointment filled her as she stared at the rivulets of water forming on her glass, the mojito dissolving into a mess of ice and leaves. She’d love to believe it. Life would be so much easier if she believed it. “I can’t compete with a woman like her.”
“Then don’t.”
“Men want women like her.”
“That’s a load of crap. Men want sexy, confident women. Women comfortable in their own skin.”
“Men want looks.”
“And women want money?” Sam turned away, grabbed her martini glass and griped, “Now you sound like Charlie.”
Sydney met her head-on. “Don’t even go there.” She was not interested in Clay for his money. Hell—she didn’t even know he had any until now! But she didn’t want to subject herself to the barbed wire fence between exes, either. She wanted white picket. White picket, not wrought iron rimmed with spikes. Sydney pulled a long swallow from her glass. She only wished it could have included Clay. “You forget I’m talking from experience.”
Sam swiveled to face her. She slung an arm over the back of the barstool and her eyes glittered with purpose. “Look, your mom was a mess, Sydney. I won’t lie to you. She sucked up to every man who crossed her path for nothing more than a pathetic second glance and a wink. I get that. Your dad fed into her insecurity. Not good. But you’re not her and Clay isn’t him.”
“If he wasn’t attracted to her type, then why marry her?”
“Young and stupid?”
“Cop out.”
“Hey,” Sam defended, “I’m no psychiatrist, but I think you might be projecting here. The men you date are bearing the brunt of your father’s infidelity and it’s not fair. It’s misplaced anger.”
“Clay and I aren’t dating.”
“Entertaining...” she drew out sarcastically. “Is that better? Either way, it’s not fair.”
“I think it’s more a logical ‘guilt by association.’ I’m very familiar with Charlie’s attitude toward women. Makes sense any friend of his would walk similar lines.” Sydney tried to get the bartender’s attention, but he was busy at the far end flinging bottles high in the air, pouring clear vodka in clean streams to the awaiting tumblers.
“You’re neglecting the beauty of the human spirit,” Sam said. She swirled the olive-laden sword through her frost coated glass. “I read people for a living. I met Clay. The energy waves emanating from that man did not indicate cheat. Did not point to superficial. In fact, quite the opposite.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t have to—I can feel him.”
Sydney swung toward her. Normally amused by Sam’s abstract approach to life, she wasn’t up for any “universe” talk of karma and fate. She’d needed to deal in cold, hard facts—the kind she could touch. “You’ve lost your last marble, you know that? Dating Vic has twisted your wiring into a jumble and now you’re getting false ‘energy’ readings.”
Sam laughed. “Oh that man can twist me any way he wants! Doesn’t change the facts.” She gave a quick nod. “My radar is working fine.”
“Doubtful.” Sydney returned to her drink and stared at the melting ice, the alcohol all but gone. At least Sam was becoming upbeat. Softening her focus on the mint leaves, the condensation running over her fingers, she was glad someone was happy.
“Clay may like the ladies, I’ll give you that,” Sam said, a knowing smile in her voice. “But I don’t think he cheats.”
“Kinda like you?”
Pleasure erupted as she exclaimed, “I knew I liked that boy—right from the start!”
Sydney shook her head.
“Let me ask you something.”
Sydney braced herself for what might be coming next. One never knew with Sam.
“Do you think you’re attractive?”
“What?” She smacked her with a cursory glance. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.” She held steady. “Do you think you’re attractive?”
Sydney turned back to her empty drink. “I’m all right. Not gorgeous, not ugly.”
“Are you okay with your looks?”
“I’m big for a woman, not the most feminine creature out there. I have a large rear instead of large breasts. Sure, I suppose I’m okay.”
“Sydney. Be serious.”
“I am being serious.” She turned to her, raised her glass and toasted the air. “I’m being realistic about my looks and on average, except for my oversized ass, I’m okay with them.” Sam looked like she was about to pounce but Sydney held her ground. “Objectively speaking, I’m not an ugly person. I’m fine.” But she was not fine with the absent bartender. Where the hell was he?
Sam bucked at the reply, but said, “Okay, I’ll go with it.” She lifted the olives from their bath of thick, clear liquid and said, “Then let that be enough.” She plucked an olive off the end with her teeth.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” a man mumbled to her left.
Sydney turned, his massive arm bumping against her. “No, problem,” she replied, barely noticing the glint of interest in his black eyes as he looked at her. This was the meat market of choice. It was Friday night. She gave him an abrupt shoulder and returned to Sam. But she was not interested.
Sam looked at her, the guy behind her, and chewed, slow and leisurely.
Sydney hated it when she gloated. “What?”
She swallowed and said, “You need to set your feelings straight. You need to transfer what you feel up here,” she tapped her temple. “To what you feel in here,” she touched the center of her chest.
“That’s it, huh?”
Sam smiled at the skepticism. “It’s doable, Syd. I’ve seen some pretty ugly women with some damn good-looking men. Why? Because they think they’re beautiful. True on the outside or not, they believe it on the inside. It translates into their actions, their outlook, and that’s what the world around them sees. What actually changed? Nothing. Facts on the ground remain the same—except their perspective, their attitude.” Sam pa
tted Sydney on the leg. “You’re a smart woman. Just figure out how to convince your ego you’re a hottie.” She grinned. “I’d say there are more than a few men in here who can help you with that, if you ask.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” she replied, but knew what Sam meant. And that’s where the problem began. What her mind knew, her heart couldn’t acknowledge. She had eyeballs in her skull. She had a mirror. She wasn’t horrible to look at. Her teeth weren’t crooked or yellow, her face wasn’t mottled. Her body wasn’t small, but it wasn’t horrible. But no matter how hard she tried, she continually felt herself lacking, like she was some kind of fraud and her faults would be discovered any minute and promptly thrown to the curb.
And it sucked. It wasn’t like she enjoyed any of this—she didn’t. To know that you’re your own worst enemy? Who wants that? But making the connection, making it real...
That was a totally different story. She couldn’t erase her feelings. She couldn’t magically say, “Okay, we’re all good now. You don’t feel that way anymore. You’re beautiful.” Sam didn’t understand what it was like to grow up with parents who never thought you were good enough, never thought they were good enough. Years of living with those two took a toll on a girl’s self-image. No matter what her mother did to look better, it was never good enough. The poor woman was doomed from the start. Some men simply weren’t cut out for long-term commitment, especially when it came to a woman’s appearance.
In the mirror against the back of the bar, Sydney observed men and women in search of love—or lust. Women dressed to attract a man’s eye, their bodies sculpted from hours at the gym, their faces made up to magazine cover perfection. Some were cosmetically enhanced while others had no need, their twenty-something skin glowed naturally. Men at the bar ranged in age from their twenties to their fifties and it showed in greying temples, hanging chins, abs in need of sit-ups, eyes in need of sleep, but the women? They all sought to appear a youthful twenty-something. Like her, they knew the odds.
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