Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  “Sydney.”

  She stopped mid-motion, awash in light-headedness. “Yes?”

  “I want you to know that I’ve only heard good things about your performance with Special Olympics.”

  “Thanks.” Pulling herself to a full stand, she looked down at him. She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. While it wasn’t earning her any gold stars, she’d rather he hear positive words regarding her job performance than negative. Especially after his little threat.

  “According to their staff, you’ve made quite an impression with the kids.”

  Images of Q and his friends came to mind. The sweet young girl at opening ceremonies. Beyond them, she hadn’t had much contact with the athletes. Did Clay say something? Javier’s warning floated to the forefront of her mind. Did he ask the Special Olympics to call her company? Sydney felt uncomfortable at the prospect. She clasped notebook to her chest. She wasn’t a pity project. With a cursory inspection of his office, the trendy furnishings screaming success and everything she was missing out on, she replied, “Not sure why that is but at least they’re not complaining, right?” She tried to smile.

  A twinkle danced in his eyes. “Perhaps they sense you genuinely care.”

  Seemed kind of odd if you asked her, since she didn’t share a lot of one on one time with any of them. “Well that’s nice of you to say, but it may be a bit more credit than I actually deserve.”

  “You’re too humble.” Javier scooped several papers sideways across his desk and tapped them into a pile. “Me? I’m not surprised. It was the same way with the kids’ charity event you worked on last year.”

  Sam’s kids.

  He laughed and rose from his chair. “It was the first time I ever received fan mail for one of my associates!”

  The assertion tugged a sincere swell of pleasure from her. “Fan mail is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

  He walked around his desk and with a hitch of his pant leg, sat on the edge. “When the letters include things like, ‘I love Miss Sydney’ and ‘She’s the greatest,’ I think I’d consider that fan mail.”

  Sydney felt a burst of fondness. Guess it was nice to receive positive feedback, even if it was from the kids and not the clients.

  “Have you ever considered working for a company in-house?”

  Sydney’s pulse thwacked between her ears. Was he kidding? Was he reading her mind? “Well, um...”

  “Don’t worry, Sydney. I’m not trying to push you out of JL.”

  She eyed him with suspicion. Tread lightly. This could be a trap set by Morgan to boot you out of the way. Hadn’t she promised as much? “It has crossed my mind before.”

  “I bet the Special Olympics would love to get their hands on someone like you.”

  The kick to her gut was quick and solid.

  “It’s something you should consider. While I realize you want to work with the latest and greatest in technology and manufacturing, the edgy atmosphere may not be your best fit. There’s not a lot of stability. What’s hot today is cold tomorrow. Old news, if you know what I mean.”

  Her heart fell. Was he saying no to LBD already?

  “It’s not you, Syd. You’re warm and sincere. You’re authentic. The real deal. The key in any business is to match your talents to the job at hand.” He paused. “It’s one of the reasons I assigned you to the Special Olympics Games. I thought you’d be a good match and I was right. They love you,” he said with a smile, as though he felt the same.

  Her spirits plummeted. This was not what she wanted to hear. Yes, matching your talents with job performance was important, but equally important to success was being happy doing what you were doing. Feeling as if you were meant for the job, that it was all you looked forward to doing. Working with kids was not her gig. Not that she didn’t like them, she did. Kids were great. She didn’t have any of her own but maybe, one day... Visions of Clay swirled into her brain, images of Q and his friends, the pool—

  His ex-wife. She knocked them away. After the childhood she endured, her instinct was to dodge the whole motherhood thing entirely. She wanted to travel the world. See things and go places. She was young, damn it—she had her whole life ahead of her! Maybe one day she’d have children of her own, who knows? But there was zero logic in revolving her life around them now.

  “Your quickest route to success is when a client is happy.” Javier said. “It’s the sign of a job well done.”

  What was the problem? She peered at him, tears welling across her lids. Was she not sexy enough? Glamorous enough? Memories of Morgan and her performance at the boat expo trotted through her brain, Trish traipsing around in her short shorts this morning. Was this what companies wanted? Attractive women who could handle their product and the clientele? Men bought boats. Men invented machines and equipment, made up the majority of engineers and CEOs. The cold disgusting truth swirled deep in her heart. Business was about looks. Morgan never hesitated to use her feminine wiles like a weapon and from what she gleaned of Clay’s ex, Sydney imagined the woman wasn’t much different. Technology was a field driven by men. Women didn’t invent the gadgets. They held them up and looked pretty. Sydney scowled at the imagery forming in her mind. Women turned, smiled, winked and wiggled.

  “I’m just saying you should give it some thought,” Javier said, pulling her out of her miserable reverie. He rapped his hand against the rim of the desk adding, “And yes, I’ll keep you in mind for the LBD show.”

  Sydney nodded dully, consumed by a sense of failure as she plodded out of his office. Would he really keep her in mind? Why would he if he didn’t feel she was suited for it? If he felt she was better suited for kids, he wouldn’t. He’d just lead her on.

  # # #

  Pushing through the garage door into her kitchen, Javier’s suggestion grated on Sydney. It felt like he was pulling her out of the big league and sticking her on the bench. He was encouraging her to be with the kids, because they liked her. She was more suited for the Special Olympics than edgy technology. It was a notion she reviled. While she may not look the part of Morgan or Trish, or act the bimbo, she could damn well do anything a man could do and better. The fact that her boss didn’t think so aggravated her. And she thought he knew her, knew what made her tick, drove her forward, turned her on.

  She snipped the thought. Wrong choice of words. She tossed her keys and phone onto the Formica counter and yanked open the refrigerator. Her stomach growled in complaint. Old juice, leftover black beans and rice, wilting fruit. Sydney shoved the door closed. Clay turned her on, but that was past tense—before she met the ex. At the sound of her cell phone, she snatched it up but noting the 843 area code, set it back down. Appetite soured, mood pinched, she was in no condition to talk to Clay. Though eventually, she would have to. Last night on her sofa they had crossed the line, a line she couldn’t pretend didn’t happen. She couldn’t walk around acting as though she hadn’t let him touch her, feel her, make her react the way she did. Snippets of the evening trickled through her loins in a tingle of memory. From their kiss in the park to the kiss on the couch where he teased her until she was ready to let him do anything—she pressed her eyes closed.

  No. She couldn’t deny it. He knew what happened. Locking arms over chest, she fell against the counter and stared out the window. The banana tree she’d planted when she moved in was huge now, home to fruit in varying shades of green and yellow, a few lined in brown. These bunches were smaller than the grocery store variety but no less sweet. She hadn’t picked any since the tree began blooming over a month ago. Because she’d been busy. Sydney inhaled deep and full, then controlled her breath as she expelled the air from her lungs. Busy with work, busy with Clay...

  Trish immediately came to mind and Sydney tensed. Getting caught between Clay and his ex-wife was the last place she wanted to be. She’d been there before and would not go back. She understood that divorced parents could never completely separate, not so long as they had a child in common. There would always
be times when the two would come together. Whether it was rare or often, pleasant or bitter, they would always stay connected. Clay and Trish would always have Q in common. They’d discuss his events, his future, his triumphs and loss.

  It was a conversation she’d rather not take part in. And the time to move on and away was now. Getting deeper involved with him would only make the end hurt worse. Considering the fact that closing ceremonies were only days away, she should count herself lucky. In a few days, everyone would fly home. Everyone would return to their lives and pick up where they left off. The prick to her heart was quick and sharp. Her gaze darted back out to the tree and tears swamped her lids. Wide flat leaves swayed in the mild breeze, reflecting golden hues of waning light. The soft evening glow warned the sun would set soon and she’d be faced with a solitary evening at home. An evening unlike the one she shared with Clay only hours before.

  Last night she had been fully engaged, fully in tune with him, his body, his touch. She had toyed with the idea of them as a couple, the notion they could share more time together, more conversation, more kissing. Shadows flanked her as the room went dim, a stray cloud cutting the wash of sunlight. Her eyes burned as her gaze remained fixated on the greenery, eyes brimming but not overflowing. Fantasies of her and Clay were silly. They were stupid immature thoughts from the get-go. He lived a life of commitment and stability, one that centered on his son. And his ex, no matter how much he tried to act indifferent, would always play a role. And Sydney? What did her life entail? Freedom and independence and...

  She whacked the countertop, spilling tears onto her cheeks. And work. She lived a life of work—work that wasn’t particularly rewarding at the moment, thanks to Javier and his “helpful” suggestion. Work in-house for the Special Olympics? Was he kidding? She absently rubbed the sting from the heel of her palm, careless to the hot slide of moisture on her cheeks. That was the last job she wanted.

  The phone rang. Sydney eyed it like a cat on a mouse. If Clay was calling again, she had a mind to tell him just what she thought about it—him, Trish, the whole damn situation. She grabbed the cell and checked the number. But it wasn’t. It was Sam. She pressed the talk button. “Hey.”

  “Hey Syd, how’s it going?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine? What’s wrong?”

  Was that the question of the day? What the hell was it anyone’s business what was wrong? It wasn’t. It was nobody’s. “Nothing. I’m tired.”

  “New man wearing you out?”

  “No.”

  “Uh, oh. Things end between you two?”

  “Things never were between us two.”

  The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Maddening. To the point Sydney felt implored to confess, “Things are fine, but they’re ending.”

  “Ending, why?”

  “The man lives in South Carolina.” Why did no one see this fact besides her? “Events end, we end.” Sydney didn’t divulge the part about the ex-wife showing up. Would only complicate matters and give Sam something to argue about. Knowing her, she’d deliver some rah-rah spiel about how beautiful she was and that any man would want her. Well, just because she said it, didn’t make her feel it.

  “I was planning on bringing the kids to Q’s finals. Is this going to be a problem?”

  “Bring anyone you want,” she replied tersely. “He’s set to win the gold so it should be exciting for them.”

  “But not for you, I take it.”

  Sydney shook her head. “Whatever.” She pushed off from the counter and paced the kitchen. “I’m happy for the kid, alright? I’m just frustrated at the moment, that’s all. No big deal.”

  “Anything you care to share?”

  “I had a meeting with Javier today and he suggested I consider working in-house for the Special Olympics.”

  “Wow... Have they asked for you?”

  “No.” At least she didn’t think so. “More like he thinks I have a way with kids, so that’s who I should work for.”

  “Well my kids definitely loved you—but do you really think working with kids is your thing?” Sydney resented the stifled chuckle coming through the phone. “I mean, no offense but you don’t have a lot of experience in this area. Shouldn’t you stick to shiny gadgets with bells and whistles?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “But?”

  “But when your boss thinks you work better with children, he’s not likely to assign you the ‘shiny toy’ events.”

  “I see...”

  Anger welled.

  “But didn’t you mention you may be seeking employment elsewhere?”

  “I did.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Seems to me you should be able to find sweeter pastures with someone new.”

  Easier said than done. Without Javier’s support, she’d be starting from the bottom, cleaning out pig stalls as opposed to chomping from greener grass. Very few companies out there were eager to hand out the cush job to a twenty-six year old. Especially a female twenty-six year old, her subconscious added, though she refused to acknowledge it. “I may have to bide my time at this point.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said, with all the casual confidence Sydney would expect from Sam. “So what time is he racing, do you know?”

  Actually, no. She had no idea. That would require a call to Clay. She pulled the phone from her ear and checked her voicemail. Sure enough, there was a message waiting. From Clay. She pressed the phone back to her ear and said, “I’ll find out and get back to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sydney ended the call and immediately pushed the button for her voicemail.

  “Hi, Sydney. It’s Clay. Sorry about this morning. I didn’t have any warning she was coming and well, I’m just sorry is all. It’s clear you were bothered.”

  He didn’t know the half of it!

  “Q’s racing tomorrow morning. Won’t be first thing, but shouldn’t be too long after events begin. I’d say come by around nine and you should be safe.”

  Sydney checked her watch. Almost eight o’clock now she was going to have to call Sam right back to give her enough time to schedule a pick up for the kids.

  “We need to talk. We can’t leave things this way. You’re too important to me. When you get this message, call me?”

  Her pulse echoed between her ears.

  “Doesn’t matter what time. Call me. We need to talk.”

  Sydney deleted the message and hit redial for Sam. Last thing she was going to do at the moment was call Clay. You’re too important to me. How could he say she was “too important” after only a few dates?

  “Miss me already?”

  Sydney’s eyes shot to the ceiling. “Sam, Q’s set to race in the morning, sometime shortly after nine.”

  “Oh—thanks for the heads up. I’ll call right now and make arrangements.”

  “Figured your kids would need a little lead time.”

  “Nah. These kids are already geared up and ready to go. It’s their foster parents who need the time.” She laughed. “Now, am I going to get special seating with you or am I forced to fend for myself?”

  “I won’t be sitting, I’ll be standing. Floating around the venue as is my job, but I’ll be there to see you get seats.”

  “Oh, pooh. You’re no fun, Sydney Flores.”

  “I’m not the one who took the week off, remember? I’m working.”

  “Working has nothing to do with it.”

  “Work has everything to do with it.”

  Sam ignored her and said, “You have a few days left. If I were you, I’d make the most of them.”

  “Well you’re not me,” she snipped, regretting the curt reply almost immediately. Sam meant no harm. And she was right. Until Trish showed up, she would have made the most of every last second with Clay. But now...

  “Try and ease up, Syd. You’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll save you a few seats, okay?”

&
nbsp; “Speaking of which, Vic will be joining me tomorrow so save an extra one for him, will you?”

  “Better get there early. I’ll do my best, but it’s first come, first served for visitors.”

  “What happened to my VIP status?”

  “Private events only.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Clay’s pulse quickened the minute he saw her enter the pool area. Meandering around as if she had no place to go in particular, he was riveted. And mildly amused. If Sydney thought she looked aimless, she wouldn’t be too happy. Work, having something to do, a goal to achieve... Sometimes it seemed to be all she had. Not the ideal life for a beautiful woman, he thought, but a life nonetheless. And she was beautiful. Today she looked fresh and sporty in her white Polo top, white shorts and tennis shoes. Hair pulled up and away from her face, her cheekbones stood out, lending an exotic quality to her face, the line of her dark brow. A young swimmer walked by her and waved. Sydney smiled and waved back. Charlie walked in behind her and she practically recoiled as he spoke to her. Clay couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t like him. Not one bit.

  As she ventured further in, she looked around the deck. Was she looking for him? Hope surged. After yesterday, it felt like she was trying to end things between them. She left abruptly, didn’t return his call, like she had second-thoughts. Clay continued to watch her until she caught sight of him. He waved. She waved, but hesitated. Clay’s pleasure receded. Was she not coming over? He moved toward her and the initiative caused her to do the same. Meeting each other halfway, he ventured, “I’m glad you could make it.” Her perfume lifted from the V of her shirt calling forth memories of her skin, their ride, the way she reacted to his kiss, his touch. It made him want to reach out and touch her again.

  She slipped her hands into her front pockets and said, “I didn’t want to miss Q’s big race.”

  “So your presence has nothing to do with me?” he asked, wishing he could find humor in her obvious evasion.