Page 19 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)

Three days after kissing Lianne in her office and I’m struggling to listen to McNeal, Morgan, and Harrison Gordon as they discuss Sterling Industries’ expansion into renewable energy infrastructure over a business dinner.

Something about strategic partnership blah blah blah regulatory landscape blah blah blah and something about the real opportunity being in the emergency battery storage market.

Blah blah blah.

I nod anyway, making appropriate responses about market positioning and competitive advantages.

It doesn’t hurt that I read their report before the meeting, but I know I have to at least be mentally present.

This isn’t like me; in business settings, I’m known for my focus, for asking the questions that cut straight to the heart of what matters.

I’ve closed billion-dollar deals because I never let personal distractions interfere with professional opportunities.

But nothing about my mental state has been normal since Lianne walked back into my life, since I showed up at her office three days ago.

Since I kissed her with the desperation of someone who’s been pretending I don’t want her. And it isn’t just me. She feels the same way, too.

So why aren’t we taking this further? Why are we letting fear win this round again?

“Cameron?” McNeal’s voice cuts through my distraction. “What do you think about the timeline for the Nevada project?”

“Sorry,” I say, refocusing on the conversation as I clear my throat. “Could you repeat the question?”

“The Nevada solar farm,” McNeal repeats patiently. “We’re looking at an eighteen-month development timeline, but that assumes no regulatory delays—and no policy reversals from Washington.”

“Eighteen months seems realistic if we front-load the permitting process,” I agree, though I’m already calculating how long eighteen months feels when measured against the weeks I’ve been trying to convince myself that what I feel for Lianne is just unfinished business from our past.

“Let’s review the timelines then,” McNeal, scribbling on his tablet though I’m no longer listening, my world tilting sideways the moment I catch sight of a familiar figure on the restaurant patio across the promenade.

Lianne.

She’s sitting at a table on the outdoor terrace of the Italian place directly across from us, separated only by the pedestrian walkway that connects this cluster of upscale restaurants.

The evening is warm enough that most establishments have their patios full, and I can see her clearly through the glass partition that separates our dining room from the promenade.

She’s with Maya Navarro—I recognize her from Declan’s social media posts.

They appear to be finishing their meal, wine glasses nearly empty, the relaxed posture that comes at the end of a good dinner.

Lianne looks beautiful in a black dress, laughing at something Maya has said with genuine amusement.

This is Lianne in her natural environment—not the polished event planner managing corporate celebrations, but the woman who enjoys good food and better company.

“I’m sorry, could we take a brief break?” I ask, setting my napkin on the table. “I need to handle something quickly.”

Both men follow my gaze across the promenade. Harrison glances over as well, his expression sharpening slightly when he spots the group.

“Isn’t that Pierce’s replacement over there? Elliot Walker?” His tone carries a hint of something that might be disdain. “Interesting how quickly boards can pivot when leadership changes, don’t you think?”

I barely register his comment, too focused on Lianne to care about Harrison’s business observations.

“Something like that,” I reply dismissively, already standing and not caring that walking across the promenade to say hello to my event planner would be unprofessional at best, complicated at worst.

But I can’t stop looking at her. I can’t stop thinking about that kiss in her office, about the way she admitted she’d missed me, too, about the promise in her voice when she said she was done pretending this wasn’t real.

I walk through our restaurant and out onto the promenade that’s busy with evening diners, the kind of upscale outdoor dining district that makes Los Angeles feel almost European. String lights create a warm glow overhead, and the sound of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air.

“Excuse me,” I say as I reach their table. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Lianne looks up, and the impact of her dark eyes meeting mine knocks the air from my lungs. “Cameron, what are you doing here?”

“Business dinner across the way,” I say, gesturing toward McNeal and Morgan. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“We were just finishing up,” Maya says, extending her hand. “You must be Cameron Judd. I’m Maya Navarro.”

“Miss Navarro, pleasure to meet you. Declan speaks very highly of you.”

“Please, call me Maya,” she says, then gestures to the man sitting beside her. “This is Elliot Walker, CEO of Pierce Enterprises.”

I extend my hand to shake Elliot’s. “Cameron Judd. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Elliot replies with a firm handshake. “I’ve heard good things about Sterling Industries’ expansion into renewable energy.”

“We’re making progress,” I say, then notice Declan approaching from the restaurant’s interior, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Sorry about that, everyone—client call that couldn’t wait,” Declan says as he rejoins the table.

“No problem, mahal,” Maya says as Declan settles back into his chair.

“Cameron, good to see you,” Declan says, noticing me. “How are things?”

“Very well. We should have some major partnerships locked in within the next few weeks.”

“Would you like to join us?” Lianne asks, and for a moment I consider accepting, sitting down with her and Maya and the others and forgetting about McNeal and Morgan entirely.

“I wish I could, but I should get back,” I say, though every instinct tells me to stay.

“Of course,” Lianne says.

“How’s the anniversary planning coming along?” Declan asks. “Everything going according to plan?”

“Everything’s on schedule,” I reply. “Lianne has been exceptional to work with. Very thorough, very professional.”

“She’s the best in the business,” Maya says. “Her events are always incredible.”

“I’m sure this one will be no exception,” I say, glancing at Lianne. “Anyway, I should get back to my dinner companions. Nice meeting you, Elliot. Enjoy the rest of your evening, everyone.”

I return to our restaurant where Morgan and McNeal are talking about their plans for the rest of the week.

“Sorry about that,” I say as I rejoin them. “Client coordination issue.”

“Event planning seems to require a bit of… personal attention these days,” Harrison says but I ignore him as Morgan clears his throat.

“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?”

“No. But I’m going anyway.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ll text you the address in case we get separated.”

I pull out my phone, seeing her address flash on my screen. “Don’t worry. We won’t get separated.”