Page 15 of Worth the Wait
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll let you get back to your volunteer work. Have a good evening, Miss Peralta.”
“You too, Mr. Judd.”
I end the call and stare at my phone for a moment, trying to process what just happened.
“Well,” Maya says, her voice carefully neutral. “That sounded like more than vendor confirmation.”
“He wanted to discuss entertainment options for the cocktail hour.”
“Hmm.” Maya picks up her balloon elephant, examining it with knowing attention. “Executives at his level don’t personally call about background music. They have assistants for that.”
The flutter in my chest intensifies as I realize Maya’s point.
“You think he’s strategizing?” I ask.
“I think he’s being careful. The last time he moved too fast, it ended badly. This time, he’s probably trying to prove he’s changed without overwhelming you.” She pauses, her dark eyes serious. “The question is—what do you want?”
It’s the question I’ve been avoiding all week. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Four years ago, I wanted him to choose me over his family’s approval, to fight for us instead of taking the easy way out.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t need his world. I’ve built my own.” I gesture around the community center, encompassing everything it represents. “I have work I love, friends who accept me as I am, a community where I belong.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Maya’s voice is gentle but persistent. “Do you want to belong in his world? Or do you want him to belong in yours?”
I stare at the half-finished balloon in my hands. The truth is, I don’t know if I want to belong in Cameron’s world, though I’m starting to suspect I might want Cameron to belong in mine.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly.
“I know. That’s how you know it matters.”
Around us, the community center continues its transformation into a celebration space. Families work together to hang decorations, teenagers practice traditional dances, elderly volunteers share stories while they weave flowers into garlands. It’s beautiful and chaotic and perfectly imperfect, full of people who’ve learned to create belonging wherever they find themselves.
“What if I let myself get drawn in again and he hurts me worse than before?” I ask.
Maya sets down her balloon creation and reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Then you’ll survive it, just like you survived it before. You’ll pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep building the incredible life you’ve created.” She pauses. “But what if you don’t let yourself find out? What if you spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you’d been brave enough to see who he’s become?”
6
The stairsof my Gulfstream fold down onto the tarmac at Van Nuys Airport, and I force myself to move despite every muscle in my body protesting the transition from pressurized cabin to California afternoon heat.
Forty-eight hours touring solar manufacturing facilities across Germany and Denmark, followed by an eight-hour flight that did nothing to cure the exhaustion settling into my bones.
But the renewable energy expansion for Sterling Industries had been worth the trip. The German facility’s efficiency ratings exceeded projections, and the Danish wind-solar hybrid technology could revolutionize how we approach sustainable infrastructure development. Numbers that would have impressed me more if I hadn’t spent half the flight thinking about Lianne instead of profit margins.
My driver waits beside the black Mercedes, engine running, ready for the ninety-minute drive back to Los Angeles through traffic that’s guaranteed to be hell at this hour.
“Straight home, Mr. Judd?” Harry asks as he opens the rear door.
“Actually, change of plans.” I check my watch—three-thirty PM, which means Lianne should be wrapping up her afternoon meetings. “Luminous Events. Downtown.”
Harry nods without question, though I catch his glance in the rearview mirror as I settle into the leather seats. He’s worked for me long enough to know when I’m making impulsive decisions, and showing up unannounced at an event planning company after an international business trip definitely qualifies.
I should have rescheduled this meeting. Should have told Lianne that reviewing floral arrangements—even though I told her I didn’t want to micromanage—can wait until I’ve slept for more than the four hours I managed between Frankfurt and LAX. But after a week of back-to-back negotiations and facility tours, the thought of seeing her again was the only thing that kept me functional during the endless flight home.
Too bad jet lag is a particular kind of hell when you’re trying to look professional and alert because right now, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
I also look like hell, my shirt wrinkled despite my best efforts, and my hair doing that thing it does when I’ve spent too many hours in recycled airplane air. Because private jet or not, it’s still the same air.
