Page 38 of Worth the Wait
“No problem,” he says. “These things happen. Now, about the projected timeline for the Arizona facility...”
I engage with their discussion, making appropriate responses about development schedules and regulatory requirements, but part of my attention remains focused on the patio across the promenade. I catch glimpses of Lianne and her companions through the evening foot traffic—people finishing their meals, the relaxed conversation that comes at the end of a good dinner.
Ten minutes later, they get up from their table, ready to head out.
“Gentlemen,” I say, interrupting Morgan’s analysis of federal tax incentive structures, “I need to take care of something. Could we continue this discussion early next week?”
Both men look surprised by the abrupt conclusion to our dinner, but they’re too professional to question a board chair’s decision to end a business meeting.
“Of course,” McNeal says, gathering his documents. “We’ll have our attorneys review the partnership frameworks and get back to you with preliminary agreements.”
“Perfect. Thank you for a productive evening.”
I signal for the check, settling our bill with the efficiency of someone who’s conducted countless business dinners in expensive restaurants. Morgan and McNeal head toward the exit while I step out onto the promenade, the evening air warm against my skin.
Lianne emerges from the restaurant just then, alone now. Maya and Declan must have already left. She’s moving toward what looks like a small boutique at the end of the walkway, probably browsing while she waits for her car from valet parking.
I approach her as she pauses in front of a gallery window, studying the art display with the kind of focused attention she brings to everything.
“Interesting piece,” I say, stopping beside her to look at the abstract painting that’s caught her attention.
She turns, and seeing her face this close, without the barrier of restaurant tables or business associates, sends heat racing through my bloodstream.
“Cameron.”
“Where’s everyone?”
She cocks her head toward the valet. “They left first.”
“And you’re...”
“Waiting for my car. Thought I’d look at some art while the valet sorts things out.” She turns back to the gallery window, but I can see her reflection watching me. “What about you? Business dinner over?”
“Just finished. Though I have to admit, I spent most of it thinking about Tuesday night.”
Her reflection goes still. “Cameron.”
“I know we agreed it was just one time. That we’d keep things professional.” I move closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She turns to face me fully, and there’s heat in her eyes that wasn’t there before we’d been together. “We’re in public.”
“I know. Which is why I’ve been going crazy since that night, wanting to touch you and having to pretend that nothing’s changed.” I drop my voice. “But everything’s changed, hasn’t it?”
“One time was supposed to be enough,” she says quietly.
“Was it? For you?”
She takes a breath, her resolve crumbling. “No.”
“Then come home with me tonight. Or let me come to yours. I don’t care which, but I need to be alone with you.”
“This is dangerous, you know that, right? Mixing business with...”
“With what? With the fact that I’ve wanted you for four years and one night only made it worse?” I step closer, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper. “I need you, Lianne. One time wasn’t nearly enough.”
She closes her eyes briefly, then opens them with decision. “My place. Santa Monica. You can follow me.”
“Are you sure?”
