Page 7 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)

“How long have you two been working together?” I ask, the question coming out before I can stop myself.

Lianne and Erik exchange a glance that I can’t quite read.

“About three years,” Erik replies. “Since Lianne started Luminous Events. We’ve collaborated on maybe eight or nine major events.”

“All successful,” Lianne adds, her tone carefully professional. “Erik understands the level of service our clients expect.”

Three years. Eight or nine events. Enough time and shared experience to build the kind of rapport I’m witnessing. Enough history to develop personal as well as professional connections.

“And before Luminous Events?” I press, though I’m not sure why I need to know.

“I was working for Morrison Events, as you’re aware,” Lianne says, her voice taking on a slight edge. “Though I’m not sure how my career history is relevant to venue selection.”

She’s right, of course. Her professional background has nothing to do with whether the Thorne Estate can accommodate Sterling Industries’ anniversary gala. But something about the dynamic between her and Erik bothers me in ways I’m not ready to examine.

“I like to understand the relationships involved in major projects,” I say, which sounds reasonable even if it’s not entirely honest. “Clear communication channels, established working protocols.”

“Our working relationship is entirely professional,” Erik says, though there’s something in his tone that suggests it wasn’t always that simple. “Lianne is one of the most talented event planners in the city. The Thorne Estate is fortunate to work with her.”

The praise is genuine, delivered with the kind of respect that comes from direct experience. But there’s also something else—fondness, maybe even lingering attraction—that makes my jaw tighten involuntarily.

“I’m sure you appreciate her... talents,” I reply, my voice cooler than intended.

The silence that follows is charged with tension. Lianne’s eyes narrow slightly, while Erik looks like he’s trying to decode the subtext of our conversation.

“Perhaps we should see the outdoor spaces,” Lianne suggests, clearly trying to redirect the discussion. “The terrace might be suitable for cocktail reception.”

“Good idea,” Erik agrees, leading us toward glass doors that open onto a landscaped terrace. “Weather permitting, this space adds significant capacity and visual appeal.”

The terrace is spectacular—manicured gardens, strategically placed lighting, views of the golf course that extend to the Santa Ynez Mountains beyond.

It’s the kind of space that makes events memorable, that encourages the kind of networking and relationship building that matters at corporate celebrations.

“This is perfect for the cocktail hour,” Lianne says, moving toward the stone balustrade that frames the space. “Guests can mingle outdoors, then move into the ballroom for dinner and presentations.”

“The acoustics work well for background music,” Erik adds, positioning himself beside her as they survey the space. “We can provide heating if the evening gets cool, lighting that transitions from natural to artificial as the sun sets.”

Again, they’re working in sync, building on each other’s ideas with the kind of collaborative energy that produces excellent results. Professional chemistry that could easily translate into personal attraction.

I hate it.

“Security considerations?” I ask, though it’s not really my primary concern.

“Fully addressed,” Erik replies. “Private access, controlled entry points, discrete staff positioning. We’ve handled events with high-profile guest lists before.”

“What kind of high-profile events?” I press.

“Celebrity weddings, political fundraisers, corporate celebrations for Fortune 500 companies,” Lianne answers, her tone suggesting she finds my questions unnecessary. “The Esperanza has an excellent reputation for discretion and security.”

“I’m sure they do. I’m just curious about your specific experience with these types of events.”

Lianne turns to face me directly, her expression carefully controlled but her eyes flashing with irritation.

“Mr. Judd, if you have concerns about my qualifications or the venue’s capabilities, perhaps we should discuss them directly rather than through leading questions.”

Erik looks between us with the cautious expression of someone who’s walked into a minefield without a map.

“I think there might be some miscommunication here,” he says diplomatically. “Why don’t I give you both some time to discuss the venue options privately? I’ll be in my office when you’re ready to talk logistics.”

He disappears back into the hotel, leaving Lianne and me alone on the terrace.

“What exactly are you doing?” she asks, her voice low but fierce.

“I’m evaluating a venue for a multi-million-dollar event,” I reply, though we both know that’s not entirely true.

“No, you’re being territorial and unprofessional. Erik is one of the most respected event coordinators in the city. If you have a problem with my choice of vendors, say so directly.”

She’s right, and I know it. My behavior has been out of line, driven by feelings I don’t want to acknowledge and instincts I thought I’d outgrown.

“I don’t have a problem with your vendor choices,” I say finally. “I have a problem with...”

I stop, because finishing that sentence would require admitting things I’m not ready to face.

“With what?” Lianne demands, stepping closer. “With the fact that I have professional relationships that don’t include you? With the fact that I’ve built a career without your approval or involvement?”

Her accusation hits closer to home than I’m comfortable admitting. Four years ago, I was part of her professional world, someone she consulted about venues and vendors and client preferences. Now I’m watching her work with other people, seeing the easy collaboration that used to be ours.

“You’re right,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “My questions were out of line. Erik seems competent and professional.”

“He is competent and professional. He’s also someone I trust, someone who’s helped me build Luminous Events into what it is today.”

There’s something in her voice when she says it—gratitude, respect, maybe something more—that makes my chest tight with an emotion I don’t want to name.

“Were you involved?” I ask, the question coming out before I can stop myself. “Personally, I mean.”

Lianne stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “That’s none of your business,” she says finally. “My personal relationships are not part of our professional arrangement.”

She’s right, of course. But her non-answer tells me what I suspected—there was something between them, something that didn’t work out but left them comfortable enough to maintain a working relationship.

“You’re absolutely right,” I say, though the admission doesn’t make me feel any better. “I apologize for overstepping.”

“Good,” she replies, though her voice is still cool. “Now, can we focus on whether this venue meets Sterling Industries’ requirements, or do you need to interrogate more of my professional contacts?”

The sarcasm in her voice is well-deserved. I’ve behaved like a jealous boyfriend rather than a professional client, and we both know it.

“The venue is perfect,” I admit. “The ballroom, the outdoor space, the private dining options—everything Sterling Industries needs for a successful anniversary celebration.”

“Then we’ll move forward with the Esperanza?”

“Yes.”

She makes a note in her portfolio, her movements sharp and efficient. “I’ll coordinate the contract details with Erik and have everything ready for your review by next week.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I have other events to plan, Cameron,” she says, the sound of my name leaving her lips making my stomach clench. “However, if you need this by tomorrow, I can have?—”

“Next week is fine, although I will be in Europe then but?—”

“Next week is perfect then.”

“Lianne,” I say as she turns to leave.

She pauses, looking back at me with a carefully neutral expression.

“For what it’s worth, you’ve built something impressive. Luminous Events, your reputation, your relationships in the industry. I... I’m glad you found your place in this world.”

Something flickers in her expression—surprise, maybe confusion—before the professional mask slides back into place.

“Thank you,” she says simply.

She disappears back into the hotel, leaving me alone on the terrace with the uncomfortable realization that seeing Lianne comfortable with another man bothered me far more than it should have.

Three years ago, I wouldn’t have cared who she worked with or what relationships she’d built. Three years ago, Lianne Peralta was a pleasant memory from a strategic decision I’d made about priorities and timing.

But watching her collaborate with Erik, seeing the easy familiarity between them, realizing that she’s built a professional life that doesn’t include me at all—it triggered something I thought I’d buried.

I don’t want to be just another client in her portfolio. I don’t want to be the business arrangement she manages with careful professionalism.

I want to be the man she trusts with her vision, who knows her preferences, who can anticipate her needs.

I want to be the man she chooses to work with, not the one she’s obligated to tolerate.

Because somewhere between the first time I watched as she commanded that boardroom presentation with ease and today’s venue walkthrough, I suddenly want things I have no right to want from Lianne Peralta.

Starting with her.

All of her.