Page 10 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)

“Excellent. I’ll coordinate with the florist to ensure proper quantities and delivery timing.” She’s back in professional mode, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. “Is there anything else you’d like to review while you’re here?”

I should say no. Should let her get back to her work while I go home and sleep off the jet lag that’s making me say things I have no business saying.

Instead, I find myself fighting back a yawn that threatens to crack my jaw.

Lianne notices immediately, her expression softening from professional courtesy to something that looks almost like concern.

“You really don’t have to be doing this, you know,” she says. “I mean, personally reviewing floral arrangements? Most executives at your level delegate these kinds of decisions to their teams.”

She’s giving me an out, a graceful way to step back from the hands-on involvement that’s forced us into each other’s orbits. A chance to return to the kind of arm’s-length business relationship that would be easier for both of us.

The smart thing would be to take it.

“I want to be here,” I say instead, the words coming out with more honesty than I intended.

“Not because I don’t trust your judgment or your company’s capabilities.

You’re the best at what you do, and I know that.

But I want to be involved in this. I want to be part of creating something meaningful. ”

Lianne stares at me for a long moment, her dark eyes searching my face for something I’m not sure I’m brave enough to let her find. “Why?” she asks quietly.

It’s a simple question with a complicated answer.

Because I’ve spent four years wondering what might have happened if I’d made different choices.

Because seeing her again reminded me of what it felt like to want something more than money or family approval.

Because watching her work, seeing the passion and creativity she brings to everything she touches, makes me remember why I fell for her in the first place.

Because I’m starting to think that walking away from her was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

But I can’t say any of that. Not yet. Not when she’s looking at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m worth the risk of letting her guard down.

“Because this matters,” I say finally. “The anniversary celebration, yes, but also... working with you again. Seeing what you’ve built, who you’ve become. I missed that.”

The last sentence slips out before I can stop it, too honest and too personal for a business meeting about floral arrangements.

Lianne’s breath catches, and for a moment I think she might say something that changes everything between us. Something that acknowledges what we used to have, what we might still have if we’re brave enough to reach for it.

Instead, she looks down at her notes, her professional mask sliding back into place with practiced efficiency.

“I think we’ve covered everything for today,” she says, her voice carefully controlled. “I’ll have the final floral specifications to you by tomorrow, along with updated timeline documents. And don’t forget we have the wine vendor meeting in Santa Barbara on Thursday.”

It’s a dismissal, polite but firm, though the mention of Santa Barbara sends an unexpected jolt of anticipation through me.

Even though she insisted we drive separately, it means spending time alone with Lianne away from the careful professional boundaries of her office.

And maybe it’s for the best that we’re ending today’s meeting here, given that I’m operating on minimal sleep and even less self-control.

“Of course,” I agree, standing despite the protest from my jet-lagged body. “Thank you for accommodating my schedule.”

“It’s what we do for our clients,” she replies, but there’s something in her voice that suggests I’m not just another client, even if she’s not ready to admit it.

I’m halfway to the door when she speaks again.

“Cameron.”

I turn back, surprised by the use of my first name. She’s standing by the conference table, one hand resting on the surface, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Get some sleep,” she says quietly. “You look like you need it.”

There’s concern in her voice, genuine care that she’s trying to hide behind professional courtesy. It’s the first time since our reunion that she’s let her guard down enough to show that she might still care about my well-being, even if she’s not ready to explore what that means.

“I will,” I promise, though what I really want to say is thank you for noticing, thank you for caring, thank you for letting me see a glimpse of the woman who used to worry when I worked too late or forgot to eat lunch during busy days.

“Good,” she says, then seems to catch herself being too personal. “Sterling Industries needs you at full capacity for the final planning phase.”

Sterling Industries. Right. Because this is about business, not about the way her eyes soften when she’s concerned about someone she cares about.

“Of course,” I agree. “Have a good evening, Lianne.”

“You too, Cameron.”

I leave her office with the taste of her name on my lips and the memory of peonies in my head. Somewhere between the jet lag and the floral arrangements, I managed to crack open a door that’s been closed between us for four years.

I just hope I’m strong enough to walk through it, and that she’ll be brave enough to let me.