Page 14 of Worth the Wait
I glance around to make sure we’re not being overheard. The other volunteers are busy with their own balloon animals and decorations, chattering in a mix of English and Tagalog that reminds me why I love these community events. There’s something comforting about being surrounded by people who understand the complexity of straddling two cultures, who know what it’s like to belong and not belong at the same time.
“It’s complicated,” I finally admit.
Maya’s eyebrows rise. “Complicated how? Like, difficult client complicated, or...” She pauses, studying my face with the intensity of someone who’s learned to spot emotional landmines. “Oh. Oh no. Please tell me you’re not talking about Cameron.”
The balloon I’m holding deflates with a sad little squeak. “How did you?—”
“Lianne.” Maya’s voice carries the particular combination of affection and exasperation reserved for best friends who are being deliberately obtuse. “You’ve been weird all week. And you just got that same look you used to get whenever his name came up.” She sets down her balloon supplies and turns to face me fully. “Cameron is your client?”
I nod miserably, abandoning any pretense of balloon artistry. “He’s the board chair. Primary investor. The person who has to approve every major decision for the anniversary gala.”
“Wow!” Maya runs a hand through her dark hair, a gesture I recognize as her processing something unexpected. “No wonder you’ve been acting like someone who’s been hit by a truck. When did you find out?”
“Last week. After Morrison Events collapsed and left several major clients scrambling, we were invited to present for Sterling Industries’ anniversary gala—only three months to pull off what should take a year to plan. I walked into what I thought was just another high-pressure pitch meeting and there he was, sitting at the head of the conference table.”
The memory still makes my stomach clench with a mixture of mortification and something I don’t want to examine too closely.
Maya winces sympathetically. “That must have been a shock.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I pick up another balloon, this one purple, and begin the therapeutic process of inflating it. “But I handled it. Professional boundaries, clear expectations, no personal drama.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
The question hangs in the air between us while I consider how to answer honestly. The truth is, maintaining professional boundaries with Cameron has been like trying to hold water in my bare hands—technically possible, but requiring constant attention and ultimately futile.
“He’s... different than I expected,” I admit.
“Different how?”
I think about the way Cameron asked detailed questions about our vendor relationships, how he seemed genuinely interested in understanding the strategic thinking behind our event design choices. The way he looked when I explained our approach to creating meaningful experiences rather than just expensive parties.
“He actually listens. Like, really listens to what I’m saying instead of just waiting for his turn to talk.” I pause, realizing how that sounds. “Not that he didn’t listen before, but... I don’t know. He seems more mature, I guess.”
Maya nods knowingly. “It’s been four years, right? A lot can change in four years.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Cameron’s name flashes on the screen, and my heart does something complicated that I pretend not to notice.
“Speak of the devil,” Maya says, reading my expression correctly. “Answer it.”
I stare at the phone for another ring. “But what if?—”
“Take it,” Maya says firmly. “But remember—you’re not the same person you were four years ago. You don’t have to accept whatever terms he offers. You get to decide what you want and what you’re worth.”
I answer on the fourth ring, aiming for professional courtesy. “Lianne Peralta.”
“Miss Peralta.” Cameron’s voice is warm but formal, the same tone he used last week. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Just volunteer work,” I say, glancing at Maya, who’s pretending not to eavesdrop while creating what appears to be a balloon elephant. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to discuss the entertainment options for the anniversary gala. I know we’d talked about a string quartet for dinner music, but I’ve been reconsidering the approach for the cocktail reception.”
I sit up straighter, surprised he’s calling about this personally rather than having his assistant handle it. “What did you have in mind?”
“Something more contemporary for the pre-dinner hour. Maybe a jazz ensemble or acoustic duo that can provide sophisticated background music without overwhelming conversation.” He pauses. “I’ve been thinking about the guest demographic—we’ll have clients from diverse industries, different age groups. The entertainment should appeal broadly while maintaining the upscale atmosphere.”
Maya is watching me now, her balloon elephant forgotten as she takes in my side of the conversation.
“I can put together some options,” I say, making mental notes.
