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She looked at him strangely.
“Can’t go anywhere without getting smashed,” he explained.
Her incredulous groan turned into low laughter, a rich tumble of sound as infectious as it was rare. When her smile faded, the lively light in her eyes had been restored. “Pretty lame, Malloy. Be sure and pass that on to Jake next time he’s in town. He’ll love it.”
Ridiculously pleased with himself, Cameron leaned back in his chair and propped threaded fingers on his stomach. “Why don’t you tell him yourself? He’s driving up from Lake Kimberly in two weeks for the ADDY Awards, along with Dad and Nancy. Travis and Kara are coming, too. Even Seth said he’ll be there.”
“Your whole family’s going?”
Cameron nodded. After Malloy Marketing had received sixteen award nominations, he’d impulsively invited the entire Malloy clan to attend the ceremony. “You can join our table and make it an even number. C’mon, Lizzy. I’d really like you to attend this year.”
Her eyes rounded, then narrowed. “Why?”
Jeez. “We’ve been nominated for ADDY Awards—what?—ten years now?”
“Eight. The Austin Telco introductory campaign was our first shot at a decent production budget.”
So it had been. “Okay, eight. And I’ve tried to talk you into going to the awards ceremony eight years in a row without—”
“Five.”
At his sharp glance, her chin rose. A tide of pink swept up her pale throat.
“Facts are facts,” she said doggedly. “You asked me five years in a row. I’m sure for the past three years you thought, and rightly so, that I didn’t want to attend.”
In truth, he couldn’t remember thinking about her, period.
His foul mood worsened. “The facts are that I dress in a monkey suit every year, and eat rubber chicken and smile until my face hurts, and accept insincere congratulations that belong as much to you as to me. You should sit beside me for once and share all the fun, damn it.”
“But…what about Carol?”
His mind scrambled for footing.
“You do remember Carol? Tall. Gorgeous. Blond. Laughs at everything you say.”
And annoyed him more with each successive date. Cameron made a quick decision to break off his relationship with the well-connected socialite…uh-oh. He vaguely recalled her giggled yes in response to his woozy invitation last night.
Damn, but he hated champagne!
“Not a problem,” he hedged. “The table is round. Carol can sit on my other side.”
Lizzy’s flush reached high tide. “Look, I appreciate the invitation, but you know I hate those stuffy black-tie affairs. I’d much rather stay at home.”
An odd urgency compelled him to change her mind. “Why don’t you invite your folks to come? They’d enjoy seeing their only daughter pick up a slew of gaudy awards. It’ll be a fun evening out for them, and Dad and Nancy would love their company. Besides, with Jerry and Marian sitting at the table, my brothers might actually behave themselves.”
Her thick short lashes fluttered and dropped. She tweaked the crease of her slacks. “My mother’s name is Muriel.”
Real smooth, Malloy.
She lifted a gaze conspicuously devoid of emotion. “She and Dad are in the middle of ugly divorce proceedings, if you’ll recall. An evening together would most definitely not be fun for them. Or for me.”
“Lizzy…” Any excuse sounded weak.
“Don’t worry about it, Cameron. You have more important things on your mind than my dysfunctional family.”
He frowned at her self-mocking tone. “Anything that upsets you is important to me.”
“Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
“But I—”
“Please.” Settling back in her chair, she duplicated his pose, her thumbs lifting to slowly twirl. “You never answered my original question. What’s an ayala shooter?”
He expelled a resigned breath. “French champagne, served in plastic flutes the size of a shot glass.”
“I thought you hated champagne.”
“I do. But the senator cheaped out and nixed an open bar. No boiled shrimp on ice. No prime rib station. No stuffed mushroom caps.” The injustice still rankled. “Since he couldn’t disguise his daughter’s wedding as a fund-raiser and dip into the campaign till, his guests hacked at cheese balls and drank from plastic glasses. Never mind that their generous donations helped get him elected.”
Her thumbs stilled. “So, to get even, you sucked up as much of his expensive French champagne as you could without losing consciousness?”
Damn straight. “After the commercial I wrote and produced for him gratis, he owed me.”
“Wo-o-ow. You really showed him.” This time, her mockery was directed at Cameron. “For someone so smart, you can be so clueless.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
He tried for a careless shrug. “Hey, I’m the high concept front man. You’re the analytical details person.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m missing crucial facts? What are you hiding from me, Cameron?”
A trill of alarm zinged up his spine. “Excuse me?”
She leaned forward and gripped the edge of his desk, her intelligent eyes far too probing. “You’ve been tense and grouchy for months. You’ve come in with a hangover five out of the last ten workdays. You’re wearing a tie right now with a stain on it.”
His gaze jerked down to the pricey strip of silk bisecting his torso.
“Lift your hands. It’s underneath. See?”
Oh, man. How could he have missed that this morning? “Big deal,” he bluffed, resettling his clasped fingers over the offensive sight. “Stains happen.”
“Not to your ties, they don’t. Or if they do, you don’t wear the evidence. You’re meticulous about your clothes. You send your blue jeans to the dry cleaners, for heaven’s sake!”
He bristled. “Does this vicious attack on my wardrobe have a point?”
“The point is, if you didn’t notice a big ol’ nasty grease spot on your tie when you dressed this morning, something is distracting or bothering you, big time.” She flicked a glance at the newspaper in his lap. “Then there’s that photograph.”
Normally he appreciated her honesty. Champagne hangovers notwithstanding. “I told you, that wasn’t my fault.”
She made a disgusted sound.
“For cripe’s sake, Lizzy, the guy barged in without knocking and started snapping pictures! He caught me by surprise.”
“I’m sure the feeling was mutual. He’d just shot an entire roll of Prince Charming’s irresistible grin. That demon frog in the conference room must’ve freaked him out.”
Cameron sat a bit straighter.
“I can’t believe the newspaper printed that pose,” she muttered. “The first roll of film must’ve gotten messed up somehow. That’s the only explanation…” Trailing off, she eyed him warily. “What?”
“Irresistible, huh?”
For the second time that morning, her cheeks turned conch-shell pink. She flounced back against her chair. “Don’t get cocky, Malloy. I was quoting the article, not my opinion. Fortunately, the reporter was a woman, so the interview is slanted in your favor. It might cancel out the damage that portrait did to your Golden Boy reputation.”
His glow of pleasure dissipated.
“I’m not a fool, Cameron. I saw the client billing statements in the photograph. Tell me the truth. Is Malloy Marketing in financial trouble?”
Oh, jeez. He’d rather rip out his tongue than admit his error in judgment. Yet he couldn’t outright lie. “Yes.”
A meteor of shock streaked through her eyes. She opened and closed her mouth.
The sight of Lizzy speechless unnerved him. His guilt swooped back with a vengeance.
“How can that be?” she finally asked. “We’re handling almost twice the volume of work we did last year.”
“Yeah, but the move to new headquarters alone ate up those profits.”
Her stunned gaze turned accusing.
He tossed the newspaper beside his calendar, rose from his chair and walked to the eighteenth-floor corner window he’d paid for dearly. A half mile in the distance, the state capitol’s pink granite dome glittered in October’s sharp unfiltered sunlight. The sight barely registered.
He knew what she was thinking. Six months ago she’d questioned his decision to double the agency’s space and rent, and he’d assured her the company wouldn’t be overextended. He sure hadn’t intended to jeopardize cash flow.
But higher rent was only part of the cost involved. New furniture, leasehold improvements, computer network and server installation, quality art for the walls, upgraded media room equipment, fire code glass lobby doors…one expense had led to another…and another.…
It was either go the whole nine yards, or invite clients to his new upscale address only to hack at cheese balls and drink from plastic glasses. Talk about tarnishing his winner’s image!
He’d had no choice but to overextend.
Still, he wished she’d say something. Anything. Her silent I-told-you-so added crushing weight to the burden constricting his chest.
“When—” She stopped and cleared her throat. “When were you planning to tell me about this little detail? The day you declared Chapter Eleven?”
Unconsciously widening his stance, he turned around. “I didn’t want to worry you for nothing. The check from Austin Telco came in yesterday—enough to cover overhead for the month. As long as I keep current clients happy, there’s no danger of the agency folding.”
The last ounce of color drained from her cheeks. “My God…folding? Things are really that bad?”
The company’s bottom line gave new meaning to the phrase “red-hot agency.” A detail he would keep to himself.
She obviously read the truth in his expression. “Have you gone crazy? You told Mitch just last week he could order a new color laser. Lowering debt should be our priority, not adding to it.”
The pressure against Cameron’s sternum increased. “The old printer broke down every other day. Even when it did work, the quality was poor. And the damn thing was so slow it brought production to a screeching halt. An upgraded printer will pay for itself in the long run.”
“It’s paying the bills right now that I’m worried about.”
“Like I’m not?” His headache shrieked a painful echo. Yelling, bad. You’d think he’d learn.
He uncurled the fists at his sides and tried again. “I did what I had to do to bump the agency up to the next level. Malloy Marketing wouldn’t have made the first review cut if SkyHawk Airlines’ management had toured the old headquarters. They would’ve pegged the agency as small potatoes and handed their launch budget to some fat Idaho spud.” Poised to offer service to thirteen major cities throughout the U.S., the new airline carrier would be a highly visible and profitable account for its agency of record.
“Maybe. We’ll never know for sure, will we?”
The pain in his chest caught up with his headache and grew agonizing. Failure, very bad.
“Oh, well. What’s done is done.” She straightened her spine and set her jaw. “I’ll need to review the balance sheet and client billing statements as soon as possible.”
Panic clawed at his control.
“If we focus on cost-efficiency and revise our growth strategy, we’ll be okay.”
He couldn’t think.
“Cameron?”
He couldn’t breathe.
“Hey, are you all right?”
“No!” Cameron roared, heaving off his unbearable fear and guilt.
He stalked forward to Lizzy’s chair, leaned down and braced a hand on each upholstered arm. “What’s this we business, huh? I don’t see your name on the letterhead, or the bank loan papers, or the building lease agreement, or the payroll checks. It’s my ass on the signature line. My company you’re talking about, not cold facts and figures on a page. So listen up, Lizzy, because here’s our game plan and I’ll only say it once.
“You’ll keep hiding from the real world in your nice safe office, converting real marketing problems into theoretical marketing strategies that other people will keep presenting and implementing. You’ll let me keep handling the agency finances, just like always, without your interference. And you’ll keep the company’s financial status to yourself, because even a hint of trouble would be bad for employee and client morale, wouldn’t it? Especially since Malloy Marketing won’t fail. I repeat, this company will not fail.”
The thud in his ears was loud and frantic, dominating all other sensory input. Gradually his heartbeat slowed. The vise squeezing his lungs loosened. He inhaled deeply and detected the scent of lemons. Good Lord!
Cameron stared down at Lizzy in bemusement as her quick warm breaths fanned his skin.
Her uptilted face was in classic kissing position. Automatically he lowered his gaze to her mouth. Small, plump and pretty. Familiar…and yet not. Sampling those cupid-bow lips would be as natural as taking a sip of Heineken.
And as foreign as swallowing a taste of mam.
“I believe I grasp your meaning, Cameron. You can move aside, now.”
His gaze jerked up to meet wounded Betty Boop eyes. Every malicious word he’d uttered replayed in his head.
He didn’t budge. “Lizzy…God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all that stuff. You know I didn’t.”
“Oh, I think you did. It might’ve taken me ten years to figure out, but by George, I’ve finally ‘got’ it.” Her expression hardened. “This is your company, not ours. You’ll let me share credit for the agency’s awards, but not responsibility for its problems. I shouldn’t overstep my bounds, or even leave my office except at your invitation. Because you’re the high concept front man, right?”
