She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her chin on top of them. “Not much. Ever since I got here, I’ve pretty much just been working. I have my own business, sort of, on the side. And I fill in the extra hours helping out Reese. She’s pretty much my person right now. My mom’s in Florida with my…um, I guess you’d call him my stepdad. Technically. Only met the guy once. At the wedding but…”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs. “It was one of those quick romances. She met him about a month after my dad died. People do that you know?” She says it like she’s trying to convince herself. “They look for someone to fill the void. I was pissed at first. But I got over it. Moved out here and never looked back.”
“From Texas.”
“Sweetwater.”
I clear my throat, reluctant to bring it up, but too curious not to. “Your dad died?”
Sydney’s gaze darts from the seat of the booth, up to mine and she blinks her eyes once in silent confirmation.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
I should tell her I feel her pain. That she’s not alone. That I know what it’s like. But I can’t bring myself to talk about it. It’s selfish, but I hold onto it anyway.
“Your business. What is it?” I ask, instead.
“I’m a P.I. Totally amateur. I mean, like, I don’t have any real qualifications or anything. Just one online certificate that isn’t worth a damn. I’m mostly home trained. But I’m good. I mean, not at everything. I am just one girl, but I…you know...I like it. Wish I could do it full-time.”
“You’re a private investigator? Seriously?”
She shakes her head. “Yes, and that’s the response I usually get, which is why most people don’t know.”
“What do you mean? What response?”
“Disbelief. Amusement. Skepticism. ‘That girl can’t be more than sixteen, what does she know?’ That response.”
I put my hands up in defense. “No way. I just think it’s really cool. I mean it’s an actual job. You provide a service. You help people.” Which is more than I can say for myself. I provide mindless entertainment.
“Well, let’s not get carried away. I helped one lady track down the cat her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend stole. I helped a man catch his wife in the act. And I help Reese track down potential clients, at the gym, at church. Oh, and did I forget to mention every client I have was referred by my cousin too? I’m good at what I do, but I’ve still got a ways to go before I’m legit.”
“So you’re a home-trained P.I. and assistant to the best agent in the industry. And I’m just a lowly football player. A jock. Damn.”
She laughs. “From what I hear you’re a football god. Not lowly at all. And me? Well that’s past tense,” she says. “I was an assistant to the best.”
“Miss Clarke is still the best.” I place my hand on the side of her leg. “And you’re still a pretty damn good assistant. She’s going to pull through. I know it. You just have to have a little faith.” I let out a heavy sigh and clasp both hands on top of my head. “Why do you think I haven’t signed with anyone yet? I had my heart set on her. Had it all planned out. Then, just like that she…sorry,” I say. “Wow, that makes me sound like an ass. She’s your family and I’m acting like she’s some kind of prize.”
“Trust me, I get it. She’s the one that helped me get on my feet when I got here. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent, I wouldn’t be doing what I love. I wouldn’t be living here in this city at all. I’d probably be back at home, living at my grandmother’s. Being prepped to marry some cowboy with a savior complex. When people we love leave us, or come close to it, we start missing the things we take for granted. It’s completely normal. My dad taught me everything I know and sometimes I can’t help but think if he were still here life would be so much easier. I wouldn’t be an assistant at all. I wouldn’t be struggling; I’d be working alongside him. On real cases. I’d get some real respect.”
I stare back, her words echoing in my mind. And I can’t help but think of all the things I’ve taken for granted in the past. If Aunt Sheila and Uncle Dave were to die today, I’d be crushed. They’re all I have. And I need to start treating them like it. I don’t need any more regrets. I was given a second set of parents. That’s more than most people get.
She swings her legs in front of her. “Well, it’s been nice getting to know you, but I really should go home and sleep this off. I’ve got an early morning ahead of me and dinner at the Carlson ranch. I’m going to need to bring my A game to persuade that guy.”
I ease out of the booth and offer her a helping hand. Once she’s on her feet again, she holds her grip, pumping it once.
“You okay to get home?”
She nods.
“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say. “If you need a ride. Just let me know.”
“Will do.”
I sit back down, watching her as she walks out the pub doors and a sense of relief washes over me. I am not an ass. I’m a good guy. And my instincts about Sydney Bucco are just as sound as my ones regarding her cousin. She will wake up. She has to. I need to do this my way, or not at all. I nod to myself. I’m doing the right thing. All she has to do is convince my family.
CHAPTER NINE
Sydney
I remove my rubber boots and carry them gingerly, down the hallway and toward the bathroom. As grateful as I am, I need to stop taking these kinds of jobs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my cousin’s ex was just making shit up. Ever since her accident, he’s hired me on three separate occasions. One more ridiculous than the other, all paying an overly generous five hundred dollar fee. Enough to pay rent, enough to keep my nose above the surface at least. But I still feel like I’m drowning.
I turn on the hot water full blast and watch, as it turns brown, swirling its way down the drain taking the muck from my boots with it. This has charity written all over it. He knows I won’t take five bills to find a runaway dog, so he sends me to freaking New Castle to spy on some man’s daughter’s boyfriend.
I’m a country girl, but I’m not a nature person. I hate nature. I hate trails, and leaves and mud. I’d rather sit on the bench at a golf green park in the city, than trek through an actual forest.
I carry my boots out to the balcony and turn them upside down, then head back into the bathroom and turn on the showerhead.
I sigh as I peel out of my tights and tank top. I’ve got only two hours before this dinner at the Carlson’s and I’m exhausted. Every ounce of me wants to blow it off. It’d be a relief to snuggle under my comforter and get lost in a Netflix marathon. I should just go down to the corner store, grab a pack of doughnuts and bottle of root beer and call it a night. But I can’t. Miraculously, I’m still in the game. Ray Carlson is warming up to me and I need to take advantage of that. It’s what Reese would do. It’s what she’s done almost every night of her life for the past two years. From one party to the next, dressed to impressed and always ready to go. I don’t know how she does it. I wonder if she ever will again.
I stand outside of my open closet, ten minutes later, staring at the monotone blacks, navies and grays hanging in front of me. I don’t have a clue what to wear, I realize. And I don’t have anything nice. I’m about to go to dinner with a potential client and I don’t even own a pair of heels.
I should have stopped by Reese’s place again. Aunt Paola would have found me something decent. But I don’t have time now. I’m going to end up sitting at the table looking like a kid. I eye the pantsuit from the other day, but think better of it. Ray didn’t tell me whether or not it was formal. It’s at a ranch. These people are country folk, just like me. And it’s better to show up in something casual than something I wore the day before.
I reach for a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a navy tank top and a pair of patent leather navy flats. I still have the silver chain and earrings I got for Christmas last year. I’ll pull my hair up, put on a little eye make-up and lip-
gloss and I’ll be good to go.
Regret. The six letter word that always shows up late to the damn party. Just like I should have. I have Ray's number. I could have called him. Told him I was running behind. Grabbed a decent dress from Reese’s closet. It would certainly beat showing up to freaking mansion looking like this.
I’ve never heard of Woodinville until today and there’s a damn good reason. A girl like me has no business in a place like this. I observe the scene before me. The house stretches so far across I have to swivel my body to take it all in. It looks like an oversized log cabin. I stand in the middle of a gravel driveway, surrounded by red wood chips and shrubs. The grass on either side of the house is as green as a golf course and just as perfect. Behind the house I can see the tips of evergreens and not a single neighbor in site. My comments last night about Ray getting a payday, thanks to my cousin’s skills, seem ridiculously misplaced now. These people clearly don’t need the money. Maybe it really is just about the game.
“Sydney,” Ray's voice breaks into my thoughts. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wow,” I say, side-glancing him before focusing my attention back on the house. “Shouldn’t you say something like ‘welcome to Carlson manor?’”
Ray laughs and I take step forward as he beckons for me to follow him. “Trust me,” he says. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think I’m in Seattle anymore. That’s for damn sure.”
He leads me around the side of the house and I follow along, cautiously. I can’t see anything past his broad frame and, try as I may, I also can’t keep my eyes off the way his ass looks in those jeans. Are guys even supposed to have asses that tight? I mentally picture my own, deciding a diet’s worth of doughnuts and soda and a strong aversion to anything that involves strenuous activity probably aren’t doing me any favors. Then again, he’s a football player, isn’t he pretty much required to have a body like Thor?
Wait a minute. Jeans. He’s wearing jeans. Relief washes over me and I turn my attention back to Ray two seconds too late and smash right into his back.
“Shit.” It’s not like I’ve screamed it or anything but I’ve apparently said it loud enough to garner a tightened jaw from his aunt and a wide-eyed stare from a girl I’ve never seen before.
“Sorry about that,” Ray says, in a low voice. “Sydney’s here, everyone. Let’s eat.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Baker, for having me over today. It’s very kind of you,” I paint on my brightest smile as I trail behind Ray up the steps to the massive cedar deck.
She smiles back, probably just as fake. “Actually it’s Carlson, sweetie.”
“Pardon?”
“I kept my last name.” Her gaze shifts to Ray.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I…didn’t realize.”
“Well, we’re not exactly the kind of people who broadcast our lives. Of course a simple search would have revealed as much.” Mr. Baker clears his throat and she smiles a little wider. “But that’s okay. It’s an honest mistake.” She rests a tray of fancy looking cheese and weird looking crackers in the center of a large oak table and tucks a lock of shiny dark hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you sit here, beside Reverend Baker? Ray, I put you over there, beside Kristen.”
I smile at the curly-haired blond in a yellow sundress. She’s either overdressed, or knows her place, because she’s almost a Sheila Carlson doppelganger. Same stiff smile, same manicured nails, uncomfortable looking shoes, Cover Girl makeup. I stick out my hand. “Hey, Kristen. I’m Sydney. Are you Ray’s sister?”
“No she’s—”
“His girlfriend,” Kristen cuts Ray off then taps her hand to her forehead. “Sorry, force of habit. Ex. Ex girlfriend.”
“And friend of the family,” Ray adds. “Didn’t realize you’d be here today, Kris.”
“You know how I love those blue cheese burgers of yours. Couldn’t resist the invite.”
Ray casts a look on his aunt. Then he pulls out a chair and smiles at me. “Have a seat.”
I comply and he sits down next to me.
“How are you, Sydney?” Reverend Baker asks, easing into the spot at the head of the table. The rest of them follow suit, settling down into their chairs. Kristen on the other side of me and Mrs. Carlson on the opposite end.
“I’m good. Thank you. And, you know, thanks for inviting me. You have a lovely home.” I reach for my water, paying close attention to my coordination this time around.
“Honey, why don’t you say grace?” Sheila leans across the table and pats Ray on the arm.
“Uh, sure.” He clears his throat.
Beside me Kristen clears her throat, but it sounds more like a snicker. I rest my glass down, wishing the stupid ground would open up. Right now.
I barely register Ray's words and join quietly in the chorus of Amens, a few seconds too late. For the first ten minutes, dishes of corn on the cob, barbecued steak, ribs, chicken wings, burgers and grilled veggies are passed around the table. I don’t want to be rude, so I take a little bit of everything. But, by the end, my plate is filled so high I don’t know what to do with it. I’m the only one with that dilemma, it seems, because everyone else just digs right in.
Dainty little Kristen has twice the amount of food as me and inhales her chicken wings in five minutes flat without a single stray drop of sauce. Why I was brave enough to put those in my plate in the first place, I don’t know. I’m not even going to attempt it. I’ve made a fool of myself around these people enough in the first few encounters.
“How old are you, Sydney?” Ray’s aunt asks, as she leans over my shoulder and fills my glass with tea.
“Uh, twenty-two. Twenty-three in June.”
“Oh, my. Don’t you look young for your age.”
I force a smile. “Get that all the time. Good genes, I guess.”
I glance at Ray and he offers an encouraging smile.
“And, you never mentioned, what’s your alma mater again?” She asks as she serves Kristen.
“My what?”
“You’re school, dear. Where did you get your certification?”
“Oh…I didn’t. I’m, I guess you could say, home-trained.”
She stares hard at Ray, over the Reverend’s head. “Any plans for the future?”
“School?” I ask. “Not unless I win the lottery.”
I laugh. Ray and Reverend Baker join in, as Kristen and Sheila exchange glances.
“Or, if your poor cousin wakes up, you can sign Ray,” Kristen says. “I’m sure that’ll come with a nice bonus.”
“No doubt,” I reply.
“So,” Reverend Baker’s voice booms across the table, just as I’ve finally managed to cut a piece of steak and pop it in my mouth. “Why don’t you tell us more about Miss Clarke’s work at Baldwin & Mahr, Sydney. Why should my boy take your deal?”
I wash the chewy piece of meat down with a several swigs of sweet tea and pat the corners of my mouth with a red-and-white -checkered napkin. “Reese has worked with the best,” I reply. “Rick Jones, Farley Stuart, Joey Nichols. Those are some of the top guys in the league. Not to mention Lamar Carmichael, Reggie Wilder and Shanice Richards. The biggest NBA and WNBA contracts in years. She makes sure every deal is airtight, matches every client with the right endorsement—you never have to worry about compromising your integrity. Like she always says, if she has to sew a gold star on your ass, she will.”
Shit.
Mrs. Carlson lets out a dry cough and Kristen stiffens beside me. When I catch a glimpse of Ray, he’s doing his best to hide a smile behind an ear of corn.
“I apologize,” I lick my lips and turn to Mrs. Carlson. “It’s just a thing she says. That was rude. I’m very sorry.”
“See what concerns us, Sydney,” Reverend Baker continues, seemingly unaffected by my guffaw. “Is Reese’s inability to preform at all right now. I’ve met her and I’ll be the first to tell you I like her style. I think she’s great for Ray, here. But that doesn’t change the fact that s
he’s…unresponsive.”
“She’ll get better.” It comes out sounding more like a plea. “I know she will. She’s been improving everyday and the doctors say—”
“While I appreciate your confidence in her recovery,” his mom cuts in. “There are no guarantees. William Mahr has already begun to dissolve her roster. He sees the importance of ensuring B and M clients get the best they have to offer. While she may have maintained that position for quite sometime, Miss Clarke simply isn’t the best right now. She’s nothing.”
There is heaviness in my chest that I can’t push away. I am quickly growing tired of a fight I cannot seem to win. And truth be told, when I put myself in their shoes, when I hear things from that perspective, I can’t help but agree. From where she lies, Reese can’t do a thing. No matter how good she is, no matter what she promised. She can’t. I believe she’ll wake up. I believe deep in my heart she’ll bounce back but, like she said, there are no guarantees.
I stare down at my barely touched plate, then back up at Ray. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I know how much this means to you. Guys like you work very hard to get to where you are and your family’s right. Jeopardizing it, based on a gut feeling, isn’t worth it.” I push my chair back and rise to my feet. “If I could just use your washroom first, I’ll let myself out.”
Mrs. Carlson looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. The worry lines on her forehead are completely smoothed out and a faint smile plays on her lips as she sips her glass of tea, before resting it quietly on the table. “Right through there.” She points to the double glass doors behind me. “Straight down the hallway, third door on your right.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Typical, Sydney. Typical.
I sigh, glancing behind me in search of anything that looks remotely like a hallway. I’m lost already and I’ve only been looking for thirty seconds. The inside of the house is pretty much open concept, like one big studio apartment. There are barely any walls and let alone hallways. There are windows at every corner and everything is covered in the same immaculate cedar as the outside. Every piece of furniture is either oak or leather. There are literal moose heads on the walls and a rifle, which I’m hoping isn’t loaded, rests atop a mantel on proud display.
Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1) Page 6
