* * * *
"All right. What happened?” Casey asked as she and Terri hurried through Syd's office door. “Are you all right? You didn't call like you were supposed to. And you didn't go home."
Syd quickly blew out the last two candles, hoping her friends wouldn't notice they were still burning, and hurried and finished buttoning her shirt. “How do you know I didn't go home?” she asked innocently.
"It's six in the morning,” Casey said. “You never come in this early, and look at you. You're lit up like a Christmas tree. A person doesn't need to be a genius to figure out what that means.” Casey picked up one of the candles. “Besides, these are still warm."
"We saw Trevor pulling out of the lot as we were coming down the street,” Terri added. “Now fess up."
"All right.” Syd threw up her hands and paced the floor. “The plan worked. Worked so well that it backfired on me."
"Backfired?"
"I seduced him, he seduced me, and as they say, the rest is history.” Sydnie moaned and plunked down on the couch. “So much for leaving him on the brink of sexual frustration."
"So, now what?” Terri asked.
"You know. I can't believe I have no will power.” Syd buried her head in her hands. “I did exactly what I told myself I couldn't do. And wouldn't do. Why do men have to be as tempting as chocolate?"
"So how was Trevor when he left?” Casey asked.
"Happy as man can be after a night of mind-blowing sex,” she said even though she wasn't quite sure of that fact. He'd seemed distracted. And that scared her. “At least I think it was mind-blowing."
"And you? Are you happy about what happened between you two?"
"Yes. I mean, no! I know this was supposed to be a retribution scheme, but it was so great, I don't know what to feel. It's kind of like having a rebel boyfriend. You can't help but love him, and you can't wait to be with him, but you pray your parents never find out because they'll lecture for hours on how bad he is for you. And deep down inside you know they're right, but you can't help yourself.” Syd raked her fingers through her hair. “Why does this have to be so complicated? I mean, why can't I just meet a guy, fall in love and live happily ever after? Tell me why there has to be so much emotional baggage with relationships."
"Because that's life,” Casey said.
"So, did you find out what he's here for?” Terri asked, refocusing the conversation.
Syd's cheeks warmed, hating like heck to admit to her friends she'd failed in her mission.
"No,” she mumbled from behind the cover of a pillow.
"You mean you don't know any more now then you did last night?” Terri asked in disbelief.
"But, Syd, we went over this. That was the whole purpose, well, part of the purpose, of the plan,” Casey said.
"I know. But things got ... carried away. I kissed him, he kissed me, we started tearing at each other's clothes, and the next thing I knew, we were in the closet."
"The closet?!” Terri said excitedly. “So that explains this mess. I thought maybe you two had an argument and you were throwing stuff at each other. Sex in a closet. That's hot!"
"Yeah, it was.” Syd couldn't help but a grin. “But.” She waved her hands in dismissal. “Before you get ideas to quiz me like I'm on Jeopardy, forget it. I'm not answering any more questions. A girl has a right to some privacy when she's in love."
There, she'd said the four letter word. L-o-v-e. Amazing, but it didn't hurt as badly as she'd thought it would.
Of course, given time, Murphy's Law would take care of that for her.
"I knew it,” Casey said. “You've had that in love look on your face since we walked in."
"I think it's romantic,” Terri said.
It was romantic all right. Tragically romantic.
* * * *
Alfred Mars struggled to focus his attention on the big screen TV and not the ache in his legs as he bulldozed his way through the last quarter mile on the treadmill. Each morning he ran five miles in the comfort of his personally designed workout room and watched Wake-Up, Omaha as the sun came up over the Missouri River.
Keeping up on the latest happenings in the city that boasted some of the world's most famous steaks was as much of a requirement as his power breakfast of oatmeal, fruit and one egg over easy.
The treadmill's computer program shifted into a lower gear and Alfred slowed his pace to a fast walk. At last—he was on the home stretch.
Vanessa Clausen, the co-host of Wake-Up, Omaha returned to the screen after a commercial break, and Alfred couldn't help but smile knowing that under that white silky blouse of hers, she wore some of Stardust Lingerie's finest. Outfitting Omaha's most popular, sexy blond with a vast collection from his Celestial line of lingerie was just another one of Sydnie Riley's brilliant marketing strategies. From the first day Vanessa had started wearing Stardust Lingerie and raving about it on the air, the sales at his Omaha stores skyrocketed.
"This morning during our Omaha Business segment,” Vanessa said with that sultry voice of hers, “we're turning our attention to a new business that promises to make the entire female population of Douglas County and the surrounding areas hyperventilate.
"What could be so powerful, you ask? Is it an aphrodisiac? Well, not in the material sense of the word. It's Studs for Hire. If you are in need of carpentry, electrical, or plumbing work done around your home, Studs for Hire is the number to call. Not only can you get your handyman work done at a competitive price, you get a nice view in the process. What do I mean by a nice view? Let me show you.
"I recently had the opportunity to visit with one of the partners of Studs for Hire and learn more about this innovative company."
The scene switched from Vanessa “live” in the studio, to a taped segment of Vanessa on assignment. “I'm standing in front of an Omaha venture that looks like just another typical business,” Vanessa said on a bright, sunny morning. “But behind this door,” the camera panned to a glass door off to her left, “awaits some of the hottest, sexist handymen you'll ever have the pleasure of calling.” The camera zoomed in on the red lettering covering the top half of the door. “Studs for Hire,” she crooned.
"Here with me this morning is the founder and president of Studs for Hire, Sydnie Riley."
"Sydnie Riley?!” Alfred froze. The treadmill belt pulled beneath his feet and dumped him off the back end of the machine. “Damn,” he said as he waved his arms in huge circles, struggling to regain his balance.
"Good morning, Sydnie."
"Good morning, Vanessa."
Alfred grabbed the towel hanging on the weight machine and wiped away the trails of sweat coating his face. He blinked, then blinked again. Sure as hell, he saw his Sydnie on the television.
"Sydnie, tell us a little bit about how you got the idea for Studs for Hire."
"Sure, Vanessa. My dad owns a large contracting firm here in Omaha, Riley and Sons, so I've grown up around the construction business. After years of being trounced on in the advertising business by greedy, male chauvinistic co-workers, I decided to venture out on my own. I wanted to live the American Dream of being my own boss."
"Own boss?” Alfred mumbled. “What the hell is she talking about?” He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
"So, are you saying that Studs for Hire is a ploy to get even with men? You and your business partners are all women."
"Of course not, Vanessa,” Sydnie said through what looked like to Alfred, a forced smile. “Studs for Hire is a legitimate business that offers handymen who can handle any home repair problem at a fair, reasonable price. Yes, we are targeting the female market, but our reason for doing this is that statistics prove women are more likely to be ripped off by unscrupulous repair people than men are. Women needn't be afraid of paying double, or even in some cases, triple, because they happen to be a female. We just decided to offer an extra bonus for our clients—sexy men."
"Be honest here, Sydnie. Don't you think the name, Studs for Hire mig
ht give people the wrong impression? Aren't you afraid they might think you're running a breeding farm here?"
"This isn't stallion row, Vanessa,” Sydnie laughed. “Our company policy is to deliver quality work at a fair price. What woman wouldn't want her handyman work done by someone she can trust?"
"And drool over,” Vanessa drawled. “Some of the men you've got working for you could easily make the Chippendale cut."
"That's true. But I do want to emphasize that although the plumber fixing your sink might be sexy-as-sin, he'll do the job right the first time and not over charge you."
"Take a look at this one, ladies.” Vanessa held up a black and white photo of Trevor clutching a level. “He could be Mel Gibson's brother. Tell us who this stud is, Sydnie."
"This is Trevor Vanden Bosch, one of our carpenters."
"What the hell?” Alfred did a double take and scurried to the TV to get a better look.
"My! He certainly could check my outlets anytime,” Vanessa said as she fanned herself with Trevor's photo.
"Sorry, Vanessa. Trevor isn't an electrician. He's a carpenter. He can take care of any minor or major remodeling job you have."
"Really,” Vanessa drawled. “He makes me want to move out of my apartment and buy a house so I can hire him."
"I'd like to mention that we're having a grand opening blitz this next weekend. Be sure and stop by to register our drawing. We're giving away some fabulous prizes, including eight hours of free labor with Trevor. That's a great way to get started on that remodeling project you've been dreaming about."
"Dreaming is right,” Vanessa remarked.
Sydnie shot the host a cross-eyed glance and continued. “Also while at our grand opening, you can taste some wine from one of Nebraska's premier vineyards, get home improvement ideas, and meet all the guys."
The scene switched back to Vanessa “live” in the studio. “I know I'll be there,” Vanessa said to her co-host, Matt Price.
"Sounds like an interesting time. Vanessa, do they plan to start a Fillies for Hire, for us men?” Matt joked.
"I don't know. I didn't ask.” The camera switched angles and Vanessa pivoted on her chair. “So remember ladies, hop in your cars and hurry on down to Studs for Hire this weekend. They're located next to the Westgate Plaza on Eighty-Fourth Street."
Alfred switched off the TV, stunned. He ran a hand over his clean-shaven head, totally baffled by what he'd just seen. None of this made sense. Sydnie was away visiting her ill grandmother.
But she wasn't.
Realization hit him with the force of a hurricane. “Damn!” He hit his fist against a bar on his weight machine.
And odds were, she wasn't working on his ad campaign either! That would explain Vanden Bosch's hesitation. And the delays.
"She's off running her own business,” he growled. “She's too busy being her own boss to care about my account.
And what about Trevor? What role exactly was he playing in this? Was he working for Sydnie? Or was he just lending a hand, helping her get started?
Or was there more to it? Maybe they were involved. Trevor's behavior the other day suggested the possibility. Alfred's fists tightened. The thought of Sydnie being with Vanden Bosch ruffled more than a few of his feathers.
Alfred was hopping mad.
He'd been lied to.
He'd been cheated.
And dammit—Smythe and Jones played him for a fool. He couldn't believe he'd been so blind. Their excuse for Sydnie's absence was so obvious now.
Well, thanks to Vanessa, his eyes were wide open.
"Nobody jerks me around and gets away with it,” he growled. Snapping the towel against the TV, he stormed from the room. There was going to be hell to pay at Smythe and Jones.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Trevor nursed a glass of Smythe's prized brandy as he waited for his boss to return from the golf course. After spending the last two hours cleaning out his office and loading his car with his belongings, he deserved one last drink on Smythe and Jones. The company owed him a hell of a lot more than a measly brandy after all he'd sacrificed in the name of the job, but he'd take what he could get.
Well, no more sacrificing for the bigwigs. Today was the day Trevor ceased to be involved in the unscrupulous business dealings of Charles Smythe and his cohorts. Sydnie's courage to fight back in spite of the cost inspired him to do the same. At the time, he'd disagreed with her decision to resign from the agency, but his convictions hadn't affected his admiration for her spunk and fortitude.
The girl had guts. And he'd always loved her for it.
Now, he fully understood her reasons for leaving. He'd learned the feel of the shoes she'd been forced to wear, and he didn't like the fit. Once again Sydnie had reminded him of something that he'd always known, but chose to ignore. Morals and scruples were fast becoming extinct in the corporate business world.
Today marked his turn to leave on his own terms, not those of a boss who cared nothing for the people who served under him.
Being his own boss meant Trevor was only limited by his ambitions, his desires. But it pained him to know that he faced the very real possibility Sydnie wouldn't be a part of his future success. And without her in his life to share his accomplishments, it all somehow seemed pointless.
Vanden Bosch Advertising had a nice ring to it, he thought as he took another drink. And in time, he could give Smythe and Jones a serious run for their money. The idea of putting the agency he'd devoted the last five years of his life to, out of business, was a bittersweet thought.
Trevor glanced around the posh office Smythe coveted so. The physical reminders of how Smythe had risen to such heights, forced Trevor to the brink of nausea. The man had built the agency on ruthless, unfair business practices, not caring who he hurt in the process.
One of the many casualties of Smythe's butchery was Sydnie. And now she could add Trevor as the man who'd inflicted more than one of her battle scars.
Lingering memories of the night they'd spent together filled his mind. The mischievous glint in her eye, the innocent, yet powerful smiles she'd given him, all made his blood simmer as hot as did the feel of her firm curvaceous body against his own.
The sound of a door opening drew Trevor's attention away from his thoughts. Smythe strode into the room, irritation clearly etched in the creases of his face.
"This better be important to warrant yanking me off the golf course, Vanden Bosch. I had a hellish game going.” Smythe glanced at the glass in Trevor's hand and scowled. “Into my private stock, I see. Do we have cause to celebrate?"
"Yeah. I guess you could say that. I figured one last round was in order."
Smythe hustled over to the bar, clearly missing the jest of Trevor's words. He poured himself a glass of the brandy Trevor had left in the middle of the counter.
"Mars loved the layouts, didn't he?” Smythe asked. “We're set to go on another successful campaign, am I right?” When Trevor failed to answer, Smythe took a huge swallow and refilled their glasses for another round.
"He loved the layouts,” Trevor said at last. Watching Smythe sweat gave him a sense of satisfaction. “He loved the whole campaign, in fact. But...” Trevor paused for effect.
Smythe froze and stared at Trevor through slitted eyes. “But what? Tell me you didn't screw up the deal."
"I didn't screw up. You did."
"Me?! What the hell are you getting at?"
"I cautioned you to be straight with Mars from the very beginning. Now it's too late."
"Don't play mind games with me. Tell me straight. What happened?"
"He found out the truth.” Trevor watched the color drain from Smythe's face.
"What truth?” Smythe asked even though he knew full well what Trevor was referring to.
Trevor almost laughed at the man's arrogance. Instead, he downed the last of his drink, then set the crystal tumbler on the cherry desk with a thud. “Sydnie's media blitz for Studs for Hire started today."
Smy
the eased himself into a chair as if he were a frail, old man. “And the account?"
"Lost."
"Lost?! What the hell is the matter with you?” Smythe raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “You could have done something to prevent losing the account,” he accused. “Your incompetence blew the deal and now I'm out a million."
Trevor shook his head in disgust. All that mattered to Smythe was the money. He would never change, no matter the outcome of his schemes. He'd always cheat and lie. And when he failed, he chose to lay the blame on one of the many scapegoats of his universe.
"Mars was bound to find out sooner or later. It was inevitable."
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 01] Page 16
