Page 5 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)

“You look better,” Amanda says as she hands me a cup of coffee. “More like yourself.”

“I feel better,” I say, and it’s mostly true.

After running into Cameron Judd at yesterday’s presentation, it had taken Chinese takeout, a long bath, and a full night’s sleep (although it was a restless one at that), but I’ve managed to put yesterday’s shock into perspective, his reappearance in my life nothing more than a brief disruption in an otherwise perfectly controlled professional life.

No matter our history, Cameron is a client. Nothing more. Everything else is irrelevant.

“Good, because Jennifer Martinez called this morning to confirm they’re moving forward with our proposal,” Amanda says, her smile triumphant as she rocks excitedly on her heels. “Contracts should be ready by end of the day.”

“Did she mention the timeline?” I ask, already mentally organizing the next three months.

Today alone, I have a wedding at ten, a corporate retreat proposal to finalize by noon, and three vendor meetings scheduled for the afternoon.

“Taking over from Morrison Events with only three months to execute is ambitious, but we’ve handled challenging timelines before. ”

The reminder of Morrison’s spectacular collapse still sends a flutter of anxiety through my chest. When their financial scandal broke—something about the owners’ marriage imploding and client funds disappearing—it left several major events scrambling for new planners.

Sterling Industries’ anniversary gala was their biggest contract, and landing it feels like both an incredible opportunity and a test the entire industry will be watching.

“That’s the interesting part. She said we should expect more hands-on involvement from their board chair than usual. Apparently, Mr. Judd wants daily briefings and approval authority for all major decisions.”

I pause with my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “Daily... briefings?”

Amanda nods. “Mmm-hmm. She made it sound like he’s very particular about protecting Sterling Industries’ brand image.” She tilts her head, studying my reaction. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Before I can answer, our receptionist’s voice comes through the intercom. “Lianne? You have a visitor. Mr. Cameron Judd from Sterling Industries.”

My coffee cup shakes in my hand, sending liquid sloshing over the rim. Through my office’s glass walls, I can see him in our reception area, looking perfectly at ease in a charcoal suit that highlights his broad shoulders.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Send him in,” I manage, grabbing tissues to clean up the spilled coffee while trying to look like unexpected visits from billionaire clients are completely routine.

Amanda raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, gathering her things with diplomatic efficiency. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

Cameron appears in my doorway as she leaves, and I’m struck again by how much presence he commands without trying.

“Mr. Judd,” I say, standing and extending my hand for a professional handshake. “This is unexpected. I wasn’t aware we had a meeting scheduled.”

His handshake is firm and brief, no lingering contact or meaningful looks. Pure business. “We didn’t. I was in the area and thought it would be more efficient to discuss the planning parameters in person rather than through intermediaries.”

Planning parameters.

Right.

“Of course. Please, have a seat.” I gesture to the chairs across from my desk, the same setup I use for all client consultations. Professional distance. Controlled environment. My territory.

He settles into the chair. “Impressive space,” he says, taking in the awards on my walls, the portfolio books on my shelves, the framed photos of successful events. “You’ve built something substantial here.”

I can’t tell if there’s surprise in his voice or if I’m imagining it.

Four years ago, I was a junior planner at Morrison Events, scrambling to prove I belonged in rooms full of people who’d inherited their places at the table.

Now I own the table—and I’m about to prove that Morrison’s failure wasn’t a reflection of everyone who worked there.

“Luminous Events has been fortunate to work with clients who appreciate excellence,” I reply, sitting back down and powering up my iPad. “Now, what parameters did you want to discuss?”

Cameron leans forward slightly, his expression shifting into what I recognize as serious business mode.

“Sterling Industries’ 50th anniversary gala is more than just a celebration.

It’s a strategic opportunity to reinforce our position in the market, strengthen relationships with key stakeholders, and demonstrate our commitment to innovation and excellence. ”

I nod, making notes even though this isn’t new information.

“Given the significance of this event,” he continues, “I’ll be taking a more hands-on approach to the planning process than Sterling Industries typically requires.

Daily check-ins to ensure alignment with our strategic goals.

Personal approval for all vendor selections, venue modifications, and design elements.

Direct communication between your team and mine to streamline decision-making. ”

I stop writing and look up at him. “Daily check-ins? Don’t you have other things to do besides micro-managing what we do? Unless, of course, you have no confidence in Luminous Events. And if that’s the case, maybe you need to find someone else.”

As the silence stretches between us, regret hits me. Am I really turning down the biggest opportunity of my career all because some billionaire wants daily check-ins?

Shitshitshit

“You’re right,” Cameron says finally, leaning back in his chair.

“Daily would be excessive, and it’s not about confidence in your abilities.

Your portfolio speaks for itself.” He pauses, seeming to recalibrate.

“What I should have said is that I want to be involved in key decision points. Major vendor selections, venue walkthroughs, design presentations—the elements that will define the event’s success. ”

I set down my pen, studying his face. “How often are we talking about?”

“Two, maybe three times per week during critical phases. Less frequent once major decisions are locked in.” His tone is more collaborative now, less dictatorial.

“I’m not interested in approving every minor detail, Miss Peralta.

I’m interested in ensuring the strategic elements align with Sterling Industries’ brand and objectives. ”

“I understand the importance of the event,” I say carefully, “and Luminous Events is certainly capable of handling that level of scrutiny. However, I want to make sure we’re clear about roles and responsibilities. I don’t work well with clients who want to micromanage the creative process.”

Especially not when half the industry is probably wondering if I can succeed where Morrison Events failed, if the compressed timeline will prove too much for a company that’s never handled an event this scale under this kind of pressure.

Something flickers in Cameron’s expression. “I’m not interested in micromanaging your creativity, Miss Peralta. I’m interested in ensuring that creativity serves Sterling Industries’ strategic objectives.”

Miss Peralta. The formal address should feel appropriate, professional. Instead, it feels like a wall between us, a reminder that whatever we once were to each other is irrelevant now.

Which is exactly how it should be.

“Fair enough,” I say, making more notes. “Two to three times per week for key decisions is manageable. What does that communication look like in practical terms? Scheduled meetings here or at Sterling Industries?”

“A combination. Venue walkthroughs will obviously be off-site. Vendor presentations could be either location, depending on what works better for everyone involved.”

I keep my expression neutral while my mind races through the implications. This level of client involvement isn’t unheard of for events of this magnitude, but it’s unusual. Most executives at Cameron’s level delegate event planning to their teams and show up for final approvals.

Unless there’s another reason he wants to be so directly involved.

“That’s still quite a time commitment for a board chair,” I observe. “Are you sure your schedule can accommodate that level of involvement?”

“I’ve adjusted my priorities,” he says simply. “This anniversary gala is important to Sterling Industries’ positioning in the market.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes me study his face more carefully. His expression is professional, businesslike, but there’s an intensity underneath that suggests this arrangement is about more than just protecting Sterling Industries’ reputation.

But what else could it be? We’re both established professionals now. We have complicated histories and no reason to complicate them further.

“Alright,” I say. “Two to three meetings per week for major decisions. Amanda will coordinate with your assistant to establish a schedule that works for both our calendars.”

“Excellent.” Cameron stands, straightening his suit jacket with movements that suggest this conversation went exactly as he planned. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Miss Peralta.”

He extends his hand again, and this time I notice the way his fingers linger just a moment longer. Not enough to be inappropriate, just enough to remind me that we have a history that extends beyond vendor relationships and corporate contracts.

“Likewise, Mr. Judd,” I reply, pulling my hand back and moving toward the door to escort him out. Professional courtesy. Nothing more.

But as we walk through the main office area, I’m acutely aware of how Amanda and the rest of my team watch our interaction.

Cameron Judd doesn’t visit event planning companies personally.

He sends assistants and attorneys and people whose job it is to handle details he’s too important to worry about.

The fact that he’s here, in my office, establishing a more involved oversight process, is going to raise questions I’m not prepared to answer.

“Is there anything specific you’d like to review first?” I ask as we reach the reception area.

“Venue options,” he replies. “I want to understand why you’ve chosen the locations in your proposal and what alternatives might be available.”

“Of course. Given the compressed timeline, I’ve identified a few additional options that could accommodate us on short notice.

” I pull out my iPad, scrolling to my venue notes.

“The Esperanza Resort in Montecito has excellent facilities and I have a working relationship with their events team. I could arrange a walkthrough as early as tomorrow if that works for your schedule.”

“Tomorrow works,” Cameron says immediately. “What time?”

It’s short notice but I’m not about to let him think I can’t meet his demands. “I’ll coordinate with Erik Andersen, their director of special events, and confirm the details with your assistant. Amanda will handle the logistics.”

Cameron nods, then pauses at the door. “One more thing. I want to be clear that my involvement in this project is purely professional. I have no interest in relitigating the past or creating awkward personal dynamics. We’re both adults, we’re both successful in our respective fields, and we both want this event to succeed. ”

The statement should be reassuring. It establishes boundaries, acknowledges our history without dwelling on it, and frames our working relationship in purely business terms.

Instead, it feels like a challenge.

“I’m glad we understand each other, Mr. Judd,” I reply, my voice cool and professional. “The past is irrelevant. What matters is delivering an exceptional event that exceeds Sterling Industries’ expectations.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, the kind of polite, meaningless expression reserved for business acquaintances and social obligations. “I’ll look forward to hearing from your office.”

As the door closes behind him, I head to the reception area, watching through the windows as he exits the building a few minutes later and walks to his car, a sleek black Aston Martin parked in a visitor spot like he belongs here.

“So,” Amanda says, appearing at my elbow with a quizzical expression on her face. “Two to three meetings per week with the billionaire board chair. That’s... thorough.”

“It’s professional,” I correct, though even I can hear the defensive edge in my voice. “High-stakes clients require high-touch service. It’s what separates us from our competitors.”

“Right. High-touch service.” Amanda’s tone suggests she’s not entirely convinced, but she’s too smart to push. “I’ll start coordinating schedules. Should I block out specific times, or does Mr. Judd prefer flexibility?”

“Start with twice-weekly meetings for now. We can adjust frequency as needed depending on what phase of planning we’re in.

” I head back toward my office, needing space to think without an audience.

“And Amanda? This arrangement doesn’t change anything about how we operate.

Cameron Judd is a client. Nothing more.”

“Of course,” she agrees before I close my office door.

Back at my desk, I stare out the window, trying to process what just happened. Cameron didn’t just inform me about increased involvement—he restructured our entire working relationship. Multiple weekly meetings. Personal oversight. Direct communication.

Three months of seeing him two to three times per week, working closely together, navigating the kind of professional intimacy that made us click four years ago.

He claims it’s purely business, and maybe it is. Maybe he really is just protecting a strategic investment, ensuring that Sterling Industries’ anniversary gala reflects the level of excellence their reputation demands.

Besides, Cameron made his priorities clear four years ago when he chose his family’s approval over what we were building together. I learned that lesson, rebuilt my life around it, and became stronger because of it.

Now he’s going to discover exactly what he gave up.