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The Last Man In Texas
Jan Freed
The Malloy Men: Texas Men, Texas WaysCameron Malloy is handsome, successful and singleBut Elizabeth wouldn't have him if he were the last bachelor in Texas. It doesn't matter that she's loved her boss for years–he takes her for granted. If she's ever going to have a family, now's the time to move on.Of course, that doesn't stop Elizabeth from asking Cameron to help her find Mr. Right. Who better to tell her exactly what men are looking for than a serial monogamist like Cameron? And if, along the way, he starts to realize he'd like to apply for the position, there's nothing wrong with that.In fact, it just might have been Elizabeth's plan from the start…



“My letter of resignation is printing now.”
“Lizzy, it might take you a year to land a comparable position. Are you prepared to give up everything?” Cameron asked.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Then I hope you’ve got cable. That’s a lot of time to spend alone.”
Her fussy movements stilled. “What makes you think I’ll be alone?”
“No offense, honey, but your social life isn’t exactly active. By choice, I’m sure,” he added hastily and much too late.
Ten years she’d waited for him to call her honey, to see his eyes warm with tenderness. But not out of pity.
Deep in that place where insecurity and pride waged war in a woman’s soul, the latter raised a mighty sword and sounded a Valkyrie battle cry.
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Please don’t worry about me. I won’t be alone. Along with finding a new job, I’ll be starting a second career. The most exciting and challenging one any woman can have.”
“And in plain English that would mean?”
That I’m through settling for what I can get. “It means I’m getting married, Cameron. If you really want what’s best for me, you’ll wish me well.”
Dear Reader,
I’ve been an executive in a large financial institution, a co-owner of an advertising agency and a novelist. Each career has provided moments of profound satisfaction, tremendous frustration and everything in between. Sound familiar?
Of course it does. I’ve described the lives of Superromance readers.
Whether you work outside the home or in, own a huge corporation or a mom-and-pop business, you’re required to squeeze too many responsibilities into too little time for too little money and too little appreciation. That’s not a whine. That’s human nature. And life in the world today.
At times, professional goals clash with personal ones, and difficult choices must be made. I hope each and every hardworking one of you enjoys Cameron and Elizabeth’s romance and personal journey. As they learn to redefine “success,” perhaps you’ll be reminded of a truth easily forgotten during hectic stressful days. It comes from a poster hanging in my office, and I share the words with you gladly:
“Happiness is not based on possessions, power or prestige, but on relationships with people we love and respect.”
Warmly,
Jan Freed
Jan is a recipient of RT’s Reviewer’s Choice Award, and a multiple RITA Award nominee. She loves to hear from readers, and invites you to write her at: 1860 FM 359, PMB 206; Richmond, TX, 77469. Or visit her Web site at: www.superauthors.com.
The Last Man in Texas
Jan Freed


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Lesa and Steve Moller,
orange-blooded Austinites, master raconteurs
and my favorite twin sister and brother-in-law.
Hook ’em Horns!

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ue1a00b97-007d-54c4-b51c-daca4f41a709)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua66cee23-f6aa-5b5b-8b99-b798d234e044)
CHAPTER THREE (#u31a8b7a6-6f91-5153-bf43-b2cabc65831c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u1e978490-4ad2-53d3-928d-63d47f1e25ea)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
WELL, HELL. He looked more like one of America’s Most Wanted Criminals than one of Austin’s Ten Most Eligible Bachelors.
Cameron Malloy snapped open the newspaper wider—and really wished he hadn’t.
Sharp movements, bad! Slow movements, tolerable. Hangover 101 basics a worldly thirty-two-year-old bachelor shouldn’t forget.
As pain reverberated inside his skull, he cursed last night’s wedding reception. And champagne. The fact that he’d even touched the fizzing stuff, Queen-Mother-of-morning-after headaches, proved he wasn’t as unaffected by months of stress as he pretended. Unclenching his molars, he relaxed by degrees.
Okay. The pain was receding. He just might live, after all. Forcing his attention back to the double-page feature article, he concentrated blearily on the other nine photographs. Informal poses all, taken of each interviewed subject “on the job.” Not a threatening face among them. At least, not in the escaped convict mug shot sense. He supposed one could argue subtle nuances of definition and make a case against bachelor number two.
The poor schmuck had been caught with his eyes three-quarters closed, transforming his slight smile into a sleazy leer. Less than reassuring in any physician. Downright creepy in a pediatrician.
And bachelor number eight wasn’t much better. Behind that startled scarecrow expression, there had to be a brain. The guy was top dog at S-mart Computers, the cutting-edge leader in built-to-order computer hardware manufacturing. Still…he looked like he’d stayed a leee-tle too long in the poppy fields on his way to Oz. Cameron’s spirits lifted.
He swiveled toward his desk and reached carefully for his coffee. Maybe he’d overreacted. He did that a lot, according to Lizzy. Taking a sip, he re-studied his own photograph through a mist of rising steam.
His wince had nothing to do with the scalding liquid, and everything to do with his hot-tempered image on the page.
The lens had captured him leaning over Malloy Marketing’s conference room table, his braced arms straddling an accordion stack of client billing statements, his murderous expression yelling loud and clear “Get out before I break that camera and your nose!”
Damn. Even the lech and dimwit came across better.
Of course, they hadn’t been ambushed by a sneaky photographer intent on one last “candid” shot. Considering the balance sheet Cameron had reviewed seconds before the shutter clicked, who could blame him for appearing upset?
His office door swung open.
I had to ask.
Letting the newspaper fall to his lap, he braced himself and tried to look healthy.
Elizabeth Richmond, senior vice president and second in command of Malloy Marketing, walked briskly toward his desk, her aura crackling with purpose and the crisp light scent of Lemon Mist body spritz. The fragrance, courtesy of his annual birthday gift, suited her analytical mind, tart humor, and the sweet nature underlying it all. She’d dressed comfortably as well as professionally in one of her usual pantsuits.
This morning’s was a dull pin-striped gray. Incongruous next to her mop of curly dark hair, wide-set brown eyes, and Kewpie doll lips. Betty Boop meets G.I. Jane, his youngest brother had once described the woman most men underestimated or overlooked.
For someone who joked his way through life, Jake could be surprisingly perceptive at times.
Cameron watched his colleague sink uninvited into a guest chair, then mustered his best smile. “Morning, Lizzy. You look extra nice today.”
“You look like roadkill.”
So much for idle chitchat. “You know,” he said dryly, “it’s customary to thank a person who compliments you. Maybe even say something nice in return?”
“Okay. I like that navy suit you’re wearing. It brings out the lovely shade of red in your eyes.”
Jeez.
Her teasing gaze moved to his newspaper and sobered. “Aha. No wonder the aspirin hasn’t kicked in, yet. You’ve seen your Most Eligible Bastard portrait.”
Guilt pricked his foul mood. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“What wasn’t? Drinking too much last night, or losing your temper last week?”
“Neither.”
“Neither,” she repeated, lifting a straight dark brow.
“Yes, Mother Teresa, neither. Do I have to say it again, or is three times the charm?”
She waited just long enough to make him feel three years old. “Charm appears to have deserted you, but I think I’ve grasped your meaning. You aren’t in the least bit responsible for your bloodshot eyes or surly mood this morning, correct?”
Despite the headache intensifying with each second, he suppressed a smile. “And people say you’re slow.”
“Yes, well—” her mouth twitched “—I have my moments. Next you’ll say that Carol tackled you in front of the groom’s cake last night and forced free Scotch down your throat.”
“Now, now, no need for sarcasm. That’s a gross exaggeration.” He raised the coffee mug toward his lips. “It wasn’t Scotch.”
She snorted. “Rum and Coke, then.”
Swallowing, he shook his head.
“You mean they served Heineken at a swanky wedding reception?”
Startled, he lowered his forearm and mug to the desk. In all their years of working together, he could count on one hand the number of times she’d attended a business-related social function or client dinner. Yet she’d just named his favorite schmooze booze in order of preference.
“Cameron?”
“Huh? Oh. No, no Heineken.”
“Then what were you drinking?”
“Ayala shooters.”
She blinked. “Gesundheit.”
He barked out a laugh, then sandwiched his skull with both hands. Oh, man. Oh, jeeez! Loud noises bad! Eyes squeezed shut, he massaged the pain battering his temples.
“Good grief, Cameron, what’s in an ayala shooter?” Equal parts fascination and sympathy rang in her tone.
“Poison,” he said in a near whisper.
“Really?”
Lowering his hands, he cracked open his lids. Sure enough, her distracted expression said she was scanning her encyclopedic memory.
“There’s a traditional liquor in Japan that’s produced by taking live venomous snakes, mashing them into a fermenting potion, then collecting the runoff. But I don’t think it’s called ayala.…” Her unfocused gaze lit with triumph and snapped to his. “Yes, mam!”
“Yes, ma’am, what?”
She smiled indulgently. “Mam is the name of the liquor I told you about. Spelled m-a-m, shortened from poisonous snakes called mamushi. They’re indigenous to the Pacific islands, but related to our copperheads in North America. Remember that oral report on Japanese customs that I gave in Mrs. Conner’s class?”
Actually, her red-faced stumbling delivery was one of the few things he did remember about Lizzy from their high school days. He struggled for a tactful answer.
Her enthusiasm dimmed. “Stupid question. It was a long time ago.”
His heart squeezed. “O-o-oh, yeah, mamushi. I remember, now. Crazy party animals, right?”
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?”
Damn. “You’re twisting my—”
“I’m only the back office details person.” She overrode his protest, G.I. Jane on a roll. “I’m handy with textbook theories, but have no useful practical experience. I couldn’t possibly help you in the real business world. Isn’t that right, boss?”
“No! You’re way off base. I’ve been under a lot of pressure, and I took it out on you. That was my temper talking, not me. C’mon, Lizzy, you know how I get. I’m not proud of lashing out when I get mad, but that’s the way I am.”
“No, Cameron. That’s the way you choose to be.”
The icy contempt in her voice chilled his blood. He suppressed a shiver of premonition. “Okay, you’re right. I should never have blown up in your face. I’m sorry, okay? Tell me what I can do to make you forgive me.”
“Move out of my way.”
He loosened his grip on the chair arms.
“I need to go type my letter of resignation.”
His elbows straightened and locked.
“What’s the matter, Cameron? Are those instructions too detailed for you? Well, here’s a high concept.” She raised her palms and flattened them against his chest, “I quit!” she yelled, and gave him a mighty shove.
He staggered backward and hit the edge of his desk, his rump coming down hard.
She erupted from the chair and crossed the carpet so fast a trail of static snapped in her wake.
Dazed, he blinked at the empty doorway, wondering how the situation had escalated so completely out of his control. He’d had many lively debates with his vice president since founding Malloy Marketing, but never a true fight. An ugly fight, complete with insults and bruised feelings.
His fault. His goddamn temper’s fault. All his life it had spoken before his brain could counsel caution. All his life he’d been forgiven due to a face and abilities he’d been born with, that made others seem to think he was special. A regular Golden Boy. And now, one of Austin’s ten most eligible bachelors to boot.
He raised the heels of both palms to his eye sockets and pressed. Yeah, he was a born winner, all right. Everyone thought so. He’d managed for years to scam them all.
All but the one person whose opinion he trusted and respected most.
Lowering his hands, Cameron conceded he’d pushed the boundaries of his friendship with Lizzy to the breaking point. Wounded pride had demanded her dramatic response. She hadn’t actually quit, of course. They were a team. A one-two punch. His creative campaigns and her marketing plans had knocked many an agency out of the competition for choice accounts.
Despite his mean-spirited reference to “my company,” she knew he appreciated her contributions. Hell, her salary almost matched his, solid proof of how important she was in the food chain. Still, she obviously wanted him to grovel a bit longer.
Cameron slid off the desk, smoothed his trousers and straightened his tie. No problem.
He’d hurt her, and for that, no penance was too harsh. He would give her the pound of flesh she deserved, even though they both knew she had no intention of resigning. Not to be cruel or anything, but…please. Malloy Marketing was her whole life.
Without it, what would she do?

CHAPTER TWO
SHE’D GO TO NEW YORK, that’s what she’d do. Madison Avenue, here I come!
Elizabeth marched down the long hallway, her vision blurred, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Ten years she’d given to that man and his company. Ten years of blood, sweat and tears to help him fulfill his dream. And for what?
Had he thanked her for offering to help bail him out of this—or any previous crisis?
No.
Had he appreciated her arriving early and staying late day after day, year after year?
Not hardly.
Did he realize why she’d followed him from high school to the University of Texas, why she’d majored in advertising, why she’d chosen to work at a fledgling agency headed by an inexperienced owner fresh out of college?
He didn’t have a clue.
Any more than he knew she’d turned down three lucrative job offers from competing agencies in the past year alone!
“Elizabeth?” a deep voice boomed from an open doorway on her left.
She whizzed past. Tim’s complaint du jour about Mitch could hold. Better yet, Cameron could deal with the fueding account executive and art director. After all, they were his problem now.
“Hey, where’s the fire?” Susan called from the office on Elizabeth’s right.
She sped by without turning her head. One sympathetic look from the agency’s media director would turn on the faucet, and she had to stay tough. She had to stay mean.
She had to stay mad.
Firming her trembling lips, she hit the spacious tiled lobby at a near jog. From behind the curved receptionist counter, perpetual phone pressed to her ear, Rachel smiled her dear smile and motioned Elizabeth to come there.
Instantly her nose burned and her throat thickened. She never slowed.
Entering the second hallway, she focused on the fourth doorway up ahead. Almost safe. Just a few more seconds.
“Yo, Elizabeth!” Pete called from her left.
Not my problem, she told herself sternly. He was a copywriter. Let him write an interoffice e-mail if he couldn’t ask in person. Cameron was a jerk, but he wasn’t a monster. He’d let the man leave early for his son’s T-ball game.
The next two offices were blessedly empty.
She veered inside hers, slammed the door and slumped gratefully back against wood. Hallelujah. Peace and quiet. No curious eyes. She was safe at last.
Hiding from the real world in my nice safe office…
Elizabeth’s eyes slid closed against the sting of fresh tears. Despite Cameron’s intimidating verbal explosions, he wasn’t a violent man. His hot temper burned out quickly, leaving him rational and ready to deal with whatever had set him off. She’d grown proficient at dousing many of his flare-ups before they occurred, and failing that, had learned not to take them personally. His anger was usually about small stuff, not worth sweating over in the scheme of life.
But this stuff was big. A huge hot cauldron of seething emotion. Heaven knows how long this stuff had simmered inside Cameron before boiling over and spilling free. Without the added fuel of tremendous stress, he might have kept the lid on his true feelings forever. But he hadn’t. Intentionally or not, he hadn’t.
Bottom line, she was only another employee to Cameron. One he clearly didn’t consider a partner in any way.
She dragged in a shuddering breath and forced her tempestuous emotions to calm. Could she really abandon the agency—or Cameron—during the most serious crisis to date? No one else knew the company’s infrastructure or its leader half so well.
He’d been her first market-research study. A high school project she’d updated yearly. Once she’d inoculated herself against his physical beauty, she’d been able to observe him objectively. By now she knew his strengths and weaknesses, his habits and quirks, the name of every revolving-door girlfriend, every Malloy family trait—
He called your mother “Marian” an inner voice jeered. He didn’t remember your parents are getting a divorce!
Elizabeth flinched, then opened her eyes.
Financial worries could consume a person’s thoughts to the exclusion of all else. Her father was a prime example, and she’d forgiven him, hadn’t she? Did Cameron deserve any less?
What about you? Don’t you deserve more?
Of course she did! But…never again to walk through those lobby doors?
Always to go home to an empty apartment?
But…never again to be called “Lizzy”? Never again to see Cameron’s irresistible grin?
Never to be the center in a man’s universe? Never to be a wife and mother?
But—
He’ll never love you! Accept that and move on. Do it.
But—
Do it now, before you get the hots and need estrogen therapy more than sex!
Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. Oh, God, reality sucked.
Pressing a fist between her breasts, she bled for the June wedding that would never be, the golden-haired babies she would never hold, the happily-ever-after she would never live with the man who directed her actions each day, and starred in her dreams more nights than not. When the last fairytale hope drained from her heart, she waited, curiously detached.
Nothing. Not even the tiniest blip of life.
So be it.
She lifted her chin and pushed away from the door. It was past time to get a life. Preferably her own, this time.
At her desk, Elizabeth booted up her sleek Macintosh PowerBook computer and glared at the newspaper folded carefully beside her telephone.
“Don’t scowl at me,” she told bachelor number six. “You’ll land on your feet. You always do.”
Sniffing, she focused on the screen and composed the most difficult letter of her life. Short, but definitely not sweet. Sweet was the old Elizabeth. The good sport, the team player, the referee and cheerleader rolled into one. The new Elizabeth was head coach of her own game, with her own rules. As of now, Cameron would sit on the bench.
She’d just written “Sincerely” when a soft knock sounded on her door.
“Go away,” she ordered, still typing.
Silence, then three sharp raps.
“Not my problem,” she yelled louder, saving the document.
The door rattled open. Elizabeth looked up. Cameron stood hesitantly in the threshold.
Maybe it was knowing she wouldn’t see that timber wolf stare in the future that weakened her immunity now. Whatever the reason, she desperately needed a booster shot.
The former heartthrob of Lake Kimberly High had matured into a major heart attack.
His extraordinary golden eyes gleamed beneath thick sable lashes, the contrast still as unexpected—the impact still as thrilling—as during her first day in Mrs. Connor’s English class. But today he wore expensive designer duds, not hand-me-downs from Travis. Chosen, she suspected, like the agency’s decor to show that its owner wasn’t “small potatoes”…as if anyone would make that mistake. Whether wearing Armani or Salvation Army, Cameron would exude a confidence impossible to miss. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.
But his hair had darkened over the years from sunny blond to antique gold. His jaw had hardened, his shoulders broadened, his legs lengthened, his muscles thickened. He’d reshaped an otherwise classically perfect nose while helping Seth worm a fractious mare. The tiny white scar bisecting one eyebrow was courtesy of Travis. A miscast fishing lure, as she recalled.
Watching him walk to her desk, she admitted the imperfections only enhanced his masculine appeal. The rough edge to his polish turned females of all ages into drooling simpletons.
As he pulled out one of her guest chairs and made himself comfortable, Elizabeth swallowed hard.
I have to stay mad. “What don’t you understand about the words ‘go away’?”
He tilted his head. “What’s ‘not your problem’?”
“Anything to do with you, that’s what,” she lied.
In point of fact, everything about him threatened her future happiness.
His expression shifted into puppy dog contrition. “Aw, Lizzy, don’t stay mad. You’re the one I count on around here to stay rational and calm.”
“A doormat usually does.”
“Doormat?” His brows lifted. “You’re nobody’s doormat. But I did steamroll over you back there in my office. I’m really sorry.”
“Yes, you are. A sorry SOB.”
He looked startled, but recovered quickly. “You’re right. I deserved that, and more. I was a total jerk. A complete ass. A stupid idiot…you name it. In the past ten minutes, I’ve run out of foul things to call myself.”
“Insensitive moron? Immature hothead? Controlling dictator? Let’s not forget compulsive liar—”
“Liar?”
Ah, finally. She couldn’t have held out much longer against humbleness. “What else would you call a business owner who, for months, hides his company’s true financial status from its highest ranking officer?”
“How about ‘thoughtful’?”
She could only gape.
“That’s right, thoughtful. You have a ton of pressure on you to develop SkyHawk’s marketing plan. I didn’t want to add worry to your full plate.”
“Bull. You didn’t think I could handle more stress. After all, I might’ve jumped out the window of my nice safe office.”
He smoothed his tie, a habit signaling either uneasiness or a grope for patience. “Would you please forget the lousy things I said? We’re a team. A pretty damn great one, in case you’ve forgotten what’s really important.”
She reached for her computer keyboard and pressed a button with flourish. “My letter of resignation is printing out now in the copy room. By noon, the whole agency will know I’ve quit.”
“Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy. You’re overreacting.” His sigh fanned the embers of her anger.
“No. I’m simply acting on what my instincts have told me for years. It’s time for me to explore new options and accept new challenges, before I stagnate completely.”
His humoring expression grew strained. “Then help Malloy Marketing climb out of debt. That’s a hell of a new challenge. I promise you won’t be bored.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not in my job description even if I still worked here.”
“Je-e-ez,” he said on a groan, looking away.
Presented with a view of his heartbreaker profile, Elizabeth quickly followed his gaze to the large oil painting he’d purchased for her office. A garden landscape. Peaceful and lovely. So skillfully rendered one could almost smell the lush summer blooms, hear busy insects hum, feel the heat radiate from a wrought iron table and two fan-back chairs in the midday sun. The bucolic scene usually calmed her nerves. Today, it only frayed them more.
Cameron never should’ve bought the painting, good cause be damned!
Last month he’d passed a UT art student beside Town Lake peddling canvases and a hard-luck story, then wound up funding the kid’s books and tuition for the next semester. Thoughtless generosity. Charity should begin at home. Most of his thirty-six loyal employees had families to support, and losing their jobs would be devastating.
“Lizzy?”
She met his gaze and steeled herself when it softened persuasively.
“The last thing I wanted to do was hurt your feelings. I don’t know what else to say, except that, deep down in your heart, you know I’ve always understood and appreciated how important you are to Malloy Marketing.”
“And how would I know that, Cameron? I’m not telepathic.”
“Telepathic?”
“During the ten years I’ve worked for you, did you ever once tell me I was vital to the agency’s success?”
He stiffened. “Of course I did.”
She could see he believed his claim. Somehow that made her feel worse.
“Besides,” he continued in a wounded tone, “I would think your compensation package speaks for itself.”
God, she’d been such a fool. “I rest my case.”
“Case?”
“That’s right, case. As in, evidence submitted and reviewed.”
“Pardon me if I didn’t realize I was on trial.”
“Actually, the trial is over. I’ve already reached a verdict.” She switched off her computer and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty.”
“Guilty?”
“You heard me.”
His face might’ve been carved from granite, but for the telltale tic of a muscle in one cheek. “Mind if I ask of what charge?”
“False advertising.”
“What?”
The old Elizabeth would’ve scrambled to defuse his rising temper. “You really should get your hearing checked,” the new Elizabeth said.
“Try speaking in English instead of riddles this time.”
“Okay. You aren’t the man you pretend to be. In other words, Cameron, you’re a fraud.”
He turned chalky beneath his tan. A dramatic response to her theatrical pronouncement, but not the one she’d expected. Was that fear clouding his eyes?
She studied him closer.
Good grief, it was fear! Shockingly vulnerable. Desperately defiant. Why on earth did Cameron feel so threatened? Elizabeth wondered, shaken at her lack of knowledge. She’d never seen the wolf backed into a corner before.
His upper lip curled in a near snarl. “You want to translate that into plain English this time?”
She struggled to collect her thoughts. “You’ve purposely deceived me since college, when you talked me into ‘joining’ the start-up of a new business on the ground floor level. When it suits your purpose, you’re big on the concept of teamwork, and delegating responsibility to the employee trained for the task, and rewarding staff through stock options as well as promotions. The sad thing is, I fell for the whole spiel. I even believed I could one day own a piece of the company, like you implied.
“But that won’t ever happen, will it, Cameron? Because in the real world, you can’t tolerate sitting back and giving me, or any other staff member, autonomy to make decisions that might affect the future of Malloy Marketing. My title of vice president is mere window dressing.”
His relief was obvious, dismissive and insulting. “That’s ridiculous. You’re the best analytical marketing mind in the business.”
“Forgive me if I doubt your sincerity, since you won’t let me analyze this company’s financial data.”
“So analyze it! Hell, review the accounting reports until you go cross-eyed, if that’ll make you stop this nonsense about resigning.”
Unbelievable. “It won’t. I’ve made my decision. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”
He eyed her warily for a long, tense moment. “But…you can’t quit.”
“Watch me.”
A thunderous scowl rolled onto his face and gathered force. “Who will finish the SkyHawk marketing plan?”
And there, at long last, was her true net worth to Cameron. “Farm it out,” she said in a dull tone.
“With the final selection meeting four weeks away? Jeez, it would take that long just to get someone else up to speed on the research! You know Ad Ventures will pull out all the stops during their presentation.”
“Just like I know you will, Cameron. And the selection committee will be dazzled.” Unlike some agencies, Malloy Marketing only sent one person to represent the account team in final presentations. Cameron needed no backup. Men responded to his charisma as much as women. It really was true that all the world loved a winner.
“Lizzy, if Malloy Marketing goes in with a half-ass analysis of the airline travel market, we can kiss that account goodbye.”
“What’s this we business? My name’s not on the letterhead, remember?”
“Would you forget what I said, goddamn it, and listen to what I’m saying!”
“You’re the one going deaf, not me. Read…my…lips. You have two weeks to hire my replacement. Unless, of course, you prefer that I leave immediately.”
Feigning indifference, she busied herself with straightening the towering contents of her in box.
“Lizzy, think. It might take you as long as a year to land a comparable position. Are you honestly prepared to give up a VP title, top salary and cush working conditions on the basis of one stupid fight?”
She thought of the headhunters eager for her call. “Yes.”
“Then I hope you’ve got cable TV. That’s a lot of time on your hands to spend alone.”
Her fussy movements stilled. “What makes you think I’ll be alone?”
“No offense, but your social life isn’t exactly active. By choice, I’m sure,” he added hastily and much too late. His expression gentled. “I’d worry about you, honey. I only want what’s best for you. Won’t you please forgive me and stay where you belong?”
Ten years she’d waited for him to call her “honey,” to see his eyes warm with tenderness, to hear his voice soften to a bedroom croon. But not out of pity. Oh, God, she couldn’t bear his pity.
Deep in that place where insecurity and pride waged war in a woman’s soul, the latter raised a mighty sword and sounded a Valkyrie battle cry.
Responding, Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I do forgive you. But you were absolutely right. I have been hiding in my nice safe world—” she lifted a forestalling palm “—no, don’t apologize again. And please don’t worry about me when I leave Malloy Marketing. There’s no need. I won’t be alone with my cable channels. Along with finding a new job, I’ll be starting a second career. The most exciting and challenging career any woman with no previous experience can have.”
“And in plain English that would mean…?”
That I’m through settling for what I can get. That I’m going after what I want. That from this moment on, you’re going to see Elizabeth, the woman—not Lizzy, the girl Friday.
“It means that I’m getting married, Cameron. If you really want what’s best for me, you’ll wish me well.”
AT HER POST behind the lobby reception counter, Rachel Rosenfeld punched the last blinking light on the telephone console. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Richmond, but Elizabeth is still unavailable. Would you like me to interrupt her meeting?”
A long-suffering sigh whuffled in Rachel’s ear.
“No. Just tell her I called again, and that it’s important. You won’t forget, now, will you?” Her tone implied that her messages in the past had never been relayed.
Rachel suppressed a peeved sigh of her own. “No, Mrs. Richmond, I won’t forget. But if you’re worried that I will, she checks her voice mail regularly if you’d like to leave a personal message.” Hint, hint.
“Well…” For an amazing few seconds, Elizabeth’s mother seemed to consider dipping a toe into the current century. “No, I hate using that thing. The beep always cuts me off before I’m halfway finished. It’s so rude.”
Rachel mentally counted to five, a trick she’d found useful when dealing with her twelve-year-old son, Ben. “I’ll see that Elizabeth gets your message the moment she’s free.”
“Thank you. I need to talk to her as soon as possible. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her call.”
Oy! “Yes, I’ll tell her. Goodbye, Mrs. Richmond.” Rachel hung up before the woman could kvetch some more.
Poor Elizabeth. All she needed now was for her father to call, though he usually waited until after lunch. As the divorce settlement battle between Muriel and Jerry Richmond intensified, they sought Elizabeth’s counsel more and more often. The nud-nicks had been draining their daughter’s reserves of strength and patience for weeks. She must have finally run dry about ten minutes ago.
That’s when, according to Tim’s panicked news flash, she’d quit her job. Loudly. As in “She yelled like a fishwife.” Elizabeth. Then she’d stormed past his office, followed minutes later by Cameron, looking meek and worried. Susan and Pete had reported the same Twilight Zone sight.
Talk about role reversal. No wonder they’d freaked!
Elizabeth was not only the driving force behind new business acquisition, the lifeblood of the agency, but also a calm buffer between the boss’s notorious temper and every tochus in the place. Beyond that, she was genuinely loved by everyone, and interested in their personal lives and aspirations…though she shared very little of her own.
Rachel supposed since she’d worked here the longest—seven years and counting—she understood being asked to interpret the high drama. It was no secret she and Elizabeth had become close friends. Rachel’s co-workers had wanted reassurance that all would return to normal. Still, she wasn’t a mind reader.
A schlemiel, yes.
A psychic, no. She couldn’t even predict what her husband of fifteen years would do. So why had she told the trio not to worry, that Cameron would smooth things out? What if her instincts were wrong?
Frowning, she recalled Elizabeth whizzing through the lobby earlier with flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. Eyes that had studiously avoided Rachel’s. Eyes that could’ve been bright with unshed tears as well as fury.
Maybe Elizabeth had truly and finally had it with the brilliant mercurial Cameron Malloy. Maybe the way she looked at him when she thought no one watched—the same way Rabbi Levitz looked at the Torah on Shabbat—didn’t mean she secretly loved him. Maybe his gentler temper around her, his use of the pet name “Lizzy” when he thought other employees couldn’t hear, wasn’t a subconscious response to feelings he wouldn’t admit.
And maybe you shouldn’t kibitz in their relationship when your own marriage is no rose garden, Rachel Rosenfeld.
The beloved voice had delivered countless tender scoldings and unsolicited advice throughout Rachel’s life. Her heart squeezed.
“Mama?” she whispered.
A jangle from her telephone answered. Blushing, she glanced quickly at both hallway entrances to the lobby before picking up on the third ring. She connected a freelance photographer to the art department, dealt with a subsequent incoming call, then sank back in her chair, still embarrassed by her earlier delusion. Mama had died of a stroke three years ago.
Funny, Rachel mused, how her mother’s “meddling” used to make her crazy. Now she’d give anything to soak up all that love and wisdom. She was a schlemiel, all right. Only a fool would fail to treasure loved ones until after they were gone.
She ripped off her glasses, gathered a pinch of the broomstick silk draping her thigh and briskly rubbed the lenses. If only she hadn’t focused all her energy and attention on Ben’s schoolwork, his baseball and swimming, his upcoming Bar Mitzvah celebration—his needs and wants. They’d left her little time for Steven. And in her diligence to be a good mother, she’d neglected to be a good wife. So easy to see in retrospect.
But three months ago, when Steven had moved abruptly out of the house, needing “time and space to think,” she’d been as shocked as their sweet little boy.
She’d told no one of their separation. Not even Elizabeth.
Rachel’s vigorous rubbing slowed. And now her sweet little boy bristled with hostility. He wasn’t so little anymore, either. The last time he’d let her hug him, right after his father moved out, she’d been able to prop her chin on the crown of his shorn black hair. This morning, she’d rushed out of the kitchen as he rushed in, and they’d collided nose-to-nose.
She blinked rapidly and shoved on her glasses. Enough self-pity!
Rising, she put the phones on forward, then grabbed a bulging folder from her desktop. The agency vendor invoices wouldn’t file themselves.
The instant she entered the left hallway, her gaze jumped ahead to Elizabeth’s office. Pete and Mitch stood eavesdropping shamelessly outside her closed door. At Rachel’s sudden appearance, the men snapped to military attention, saw who she was, then resumed their straining cocked-ear poses.
Squelching a powerful desire to join them, she ducked into a large room filled with file cabinets, office supplies and two photocopy machines. What were her co-workers hearing? she wondered. Probably he was talking himself back into Elizabeth’s favor. Cameron could charm the coat off a freezing person.
But he was more likely to offer that person the coat off his own back.
Four years ago Steven, a victim of downsizing, had lost his job and insurance coverage for the whole family. Soon afterward Cameron had walked in on Rachel crying because she’d forgotten to reorder nondairy creamer for the coffee room.
Next thing she knew, he’d added not only her, but also Steven and Ben to Malloy Marketing’s group insurance policy. It had taken Steven nine demoralizing months to land a comparable management position in the oil industry, and two more for his new insurance coverage to kick in. In the meantime, his emergency appendectomy and Ben’s bout with influenza drained Rachel’s emotions, but not her family’s savings account.
There was much more to Cameron than charisma and a face to die for. He was a mensch. A good man. Though sometimes, like today, he was as big a schlemiel as she’d ever been.
Rachel moved to a long worktable against one wall and laid her folder next to the humming network laser printer. The output tray was full. A paper jam waiting to happen. She snatched up the offending sheets and began slipping each one into wall folders bearing the appropriate employee’s name.
Halfway through the stack, she scanned the top page and froze.
So much for her instincts. So much for Cameron’s legendary charisma and powers of persuasion. So much for a buffer between his temper and everyone’s tochus.
Oy!

CHAPTER THREE
CAMERON STARED ACROSS Lizzy’s desk, his mind struggling to process her stunning revelation.
Did not compute.
He must, indeed, be going deaf. “You’re what?”
A fiery blush belied her frosty glare. “Is my getting married so impossible to fathom?”
Damnation, the woman had a talent for twisting his words! “Did I say that? No, I did not say that.”
“Then why are you so shocked? Because my social life is obviously more ‘active’ than you thought?”
Yes! “No. Will you stop answering your own questions and let me finish?”
She pursed her mouth and examined a short unpolished fingernail.
Now what? “Look, you can’t blame me for being surprised. You’ve never talked much about your personal life. But I figured if you ever got involved with someone, you’d at least tell me.”
Her gaze sliced up. “I figured if you ever got interested in my personal life, you’d at least ask questions once in a while.”
They exchanged a righteous wounded look.
Cameron rallied first. “I respected your privacy. Besides, I thought you were completely committed to your career at Malloy Marketing.”
“You know I was. But I also want more from life than a satisfying career. Most people do. At some point in their lives, they want to meet their soul mate, settle down and raise a family. And that includes men people, no matter what they say or others think.”
She’d found her soul mate?
“Your brother Travis is a perfect example,” she continued, warming to the subject. “He’s so excited about Kara’s pregnancy he’s like a little kid waiting to open a present. But when he was single, you told me he never wanted to remarry, much less have children.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And look how great your dad is doing? Not so long ago, you worried about him being lonely. You were convinced he would never marry again. Then he fell in love with both Nancy and her son, and now they’re a happy family.”
“True, but—”
“What about Rachel and Steven? Fifteen years, and they’re more in love than ever. You can’t deny that marriage has changed the lives of a lot of people who are close to you for the better.”
“No, but—”
“A husband and wife can form the greatest team of all, Cameron. Haven’t you ever wanted, even for a moment, to experience that kind of love and commitment yourself?”
He opened and closed his mouth.
She looked so hopeful, so wistful and innocent, her luminous brown gaze like a child’s wishing upon a star. Of course, she hadn’t witnessed Travis’s bitter divorce, long estrangement from Kara and bruising, bumpy road to remarriage. Or, for that matter, John Malloy’s twenty-year mourning period after Cameron’s mother lost her long battle with cancer. Their pain had been devastating. And devastatingly painful to watch.
But did he want the kind of blissful marriage his brother and father enjoyed now? Sure he did. He’d be a fool not to.
And a bigger fool not to wait until the odds on having one were stacked high in his favor.
He managed a credibly careless shrug. “I’m a realist, not an idealist.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that at my age, it’s hard enough to meet attractive and interesting single women. The chances of meeting my one perfect soul mate aren’t very good.”
Lizzy’s eyes dimmed.
He smoothed his tie, struck with the sense that he’d somehow failed her, or himself—or them both. Before he could analyze his reaction, her eyes rekindled with a mocking gleam.
“Poor Cameron. Having one foot in the grave must be a tough handicap to meeting women. Then, too, being one of Austin’s ten most eligible bachelors is such a turnoff.”
Jeez. “All I’m saying is that I don’t bet on long shots. It’s a documented fact that half of all marriages in this country end in divorce.”
“Documented?”
Uh-oh. She’d taken on the look of Seth’s bird dog sifting through multiple scents in the air.
Cameron saw the exact instant she pinpointed her covey of information, and braced himself for a flurry of facts.
“Actually, the fifty percent divorce rate quoted by the media is wrong. The Census Bureau calculated the marriages and divorces in one year without including the fifty-four million marriages already in existence, and—presto! A totally inaccurate, but highly quotable, divorce rate appeared in the hat like magic. Lazy journalists all over the country yanked it out with regularity. But when divorces are tracked by the year in which a couple married, the correct rate is closer to between eighteen and twenty-two percent. Not too terrible, really…and I can see that you’re fascinated.”
He blinked the glaze from his eyes and found hers narrowed. “What? I’m listening.”
“Good. Because you need to hear this. The chance of you finding your ideal soul mate would improve considerably if you took more time getting to know a woman. More than six dates’ worth of time, that is.”
Indignation prodded him fully alert. “I’ve dated women more than six times.”
“Cameron, you’ve dated women more times in the past year alone than the average man does in his entire bachelorhood. I was referring to spending time with one woman, not sharing your charms with a harem.”
Jeez. “You sound like my brothers.”
“Thank you, but flattery won’t change the fact that you’ve never made it to a seventh date with the same woman.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Dead sure,” he stated, ignoring the red flag waving madly in his brain. “I’ve been seeing Carol for at least three months.”
“Seeing her exclusively?”
Frowning, he backpedaled mentally through a succession of forgettable evenings, only five of which included a giggling blonde.
The flag lowered to half-mast.
“I didn’t think so,” Lizzy said.
He reached up and yanked the knot of his necktie looser. “How’d we get so off track, anyway? We were talking about your love life, not mine.”
“You were talking. Whatever happened to respecting my privacy?”
He’d found out she had a love life, that’s what happened! She wasn’t bluffing about quitting. He was actually going to lose his second in command to some bozo he’d never met!
Shaken, he reached for an acceptable emotion and clung to outrage. “You’re a fine one to lecture me about keeping financial secrets, Lizzy. When were you planning to tell me you’re engaged, huh? After the wedding invitations were mailed?”
“Please lower your voice.”
“Or maybe you planned to wait and send me a birth announcement after Junior was born? You know, kill two birds with one postage stamp. Yeah, that sounds more like the Miss Cost-Efficiency I know.”
“If you can’t discuss this in a civil manner, kindly leave my office.”
“It’s not your office anymore, is it?”
Her nostrils pinched. She looked away, obviously seeking patience.
Following suit, Cameron focused on the large canvas dominating one wall. He’d paid the artist’s hefty asking price, not only to help out a talented student strapped for cash, but also because the garden scene reminded him of Lizzy. Her calming presence, that is. She was the eye of the storm in a swirl of agency activity that, more often than not, reached hurricane force. Not once had the painting’s vivid roses ever reminded him of Lizzy’s flushed complexion.
Until today.
“You’re right,” she said, drawing his attention to her icy dignity. “It’s not my office, anymore. Goodbye, Cameron. Have a nice life.”
“Wait!” he ordered, halting the backward roll of her chair. “Answer my question, first. Why would a woman who’s never peeped a single word about having a steady boyfriend suddenly announce she’s getting married?”
“Shh!” She flicked an embarrassed glance at the closed door.
But he couldn’t seem to control either his volume, or the territorial possessiveness goading him on, preventing him from letting her go with grace. “Why all the secrecy about your soul mate, Lizzy? What are you hiding? Tell me. And while you’re at it, explain how you can abandon the company that’s built your career just when it needs you most!”
She paled, but thrust out her chin. “How dare you try and make me feel guilty.”
“Pardon the hell out of me for thinking loyalty should still count for something these days.”
“You’re not being fair.”
“You think it’s fair to drop your little bombshell and leave me to rebuild the SkyHawk marketing plan from scratch? You could at least stay until the presentation. You owe me that much, damn it!”
Lush roses bloomed in her cheeks. “I don’t enjoy being manipulated, Cameron.”
“And I don’t enjoy being betrayed.”
“Oh, please. Who’s overreacting now? If anything, you betrayed me. I gave one hundred and ten percent of myself to you and this company for very little return on my investment. I needed…” Trailing off, she shook her head, rose from her chair and raised her palms. “Forget it. I don’t owe you a thing. Even an explanation.”
“Wait!” Desperation harshened his voice. “If this is about owning a piece of the company, let’s talk options. I’m willing to negotiate an agreement—”
The smack of her palms on the desk made him jump.
She braced her weight and leaned forward, her eyes spitting bullets. “I meant an emotional return on my investment. Don’t insult me with an equity offer at this late date. You can’t buy back my loyalty. You wouldn’t even want it back if you weren’t so obsessively competitive. No, don’t roll your eyes. Admit it. You can’t stand to lose, whether it’s a game of tennis, or a client’s account, or a vice president whose title is mere window dressing. You’ve fired plenty of employees over the past ten years, but I’m the first one who’s ever quit, aren’t I?”
“You tell me. You like to answer your own questions.”
The roses darkened a shade. “At least I ask questions! I’m not so self-centered I think the world revolves around my problems and needs. I don’t think everyone owes me their help. I don’t charm or manipulate or throw a tantrum to get it. I’ve worked damn hard for everything I’ve ever gotten.” Unlike you, her silent thought rang loud and clear, an echo of her earlier sentiment.
You aren’t the man you pretend to be. In other words, Cameron, you’re a fraud.
Grimacing, Cameron closed his eyes and massaged his temples. There was enough truth in her accusations to bring his headache back full force. She’d never pulled any punches with him, but he hadn’t realized she thought this poorly of him. The wonder was that she hadn’t resigned sooner.
Then again, she wasn’t a quitter by nature, like he was.
“I have some aspirin in my purse,” she said brusquely, unable to disguise the worry in her voice. “Why don’t you take two more?”
Ah, Lizzy. Sweet, tough Lizzy.
“Thanks,” he said without opening his eyes. “But I’ve already taken about six.”
She made a small sound of displeasure. “Last night it was champagne, today it’s aspirin…hey, I know. There’s some spray adhesive in the art supply closet. Wanna sniff that next?”
One corner of his mouth tipped up.
He opened his eyes. “Nah. I spotted a pan of Rachel’s to-die-for blintzes in the coffee room. Figured I’d try to OD on five or six of those rich suckers in a little while.” Why French fries would clog his arteries, according to Rachel, but rolled crepes filled with cream cheese wouldn’t, only she knew. “Wanna join me?”
Lizzy pressed a hand to her stomach. “Just the thought of two makes me feel queasy. But you go right ahead. I wouldn’t want to spoil your food hangover.”
Despite the encouraging hint of her smile, she did look a little green at the gills. For the first time, he noticed how physically exhausted she seemed. Those bruised half-moons under her eyes hadn’t developed overnight. She’d either been losing sleep consistently, or she’d been ill, or…
A disturbing possibility jarred him.
“Are you pregnant?” he blurted.
Her eyes widened.
A half-dozen emotions bombarded him. His usual glibness fled. “If you are, well…that’s great, honey.” The careless bozo should be horsewhipped “I mean, there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You’re getting married, right?”
A choked sputter escaped her throat.
He scowled. “You are getting married?”
Her yelp of laughter turned into a string of violent coughs, punctuated by a final chuckle. “Relax, Pa, I’m not pregnant. You can put away your shotgun now.”
Wiping a thumb over water-spiked lashes, she met his gaze. Whatever she saw in his expression killed the last trace of merriment in hers. “I’m sorry for laughing at your concern, Cameron. I’m a little punchy. I haven’t been getting much sleep, lately. I’ve been staying with Mom off and on the past couple of weeks. She has insomnia. The divorce has been pretty rough on her.”
“Sounds like it’s been no picnic for you, either.”
Lizzy shrugged, as if it went without saying any daughter would sacrifice her own sleep in order to comfort her mother.
Humbled, he studied her a long moment. “You’re something else. I’m way too late in offering, but is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Yes. Please don’t make it harder for me to leave the company than it already is. I care about what happens to Malloy Marketing. You can’t possibly doubt that. And I’ll complete as much of the SkyHawk marketing plan as possible in the next two weeks. But my priorities have shifted. I want to have a baby. Several babies, if I’m lucky.”
Warmth stirred in his heart and groin simultaneously. Jeez. She wasn’t the only one who was punchy.
“I always envied other children who had siblings,” she confessed. “Being an only child is a drag.”
He made a face. “Being one of four brothers can be a real pain in the ass, too.”
“Maybe. But most of the time it’s fun. No, I want a big family. And I am thirty-one years old. The sooner I get started trying, the better. So…do we have a deal?”
God, he would miss her.
“Deal. I hope your fiancé knows how lucky he is. When do I get to meet him?”
Her gaze veered off to land somewhere over his shoulder. “Um…soon, I hope. You know, if I’m going to cram four weeks of work into two, I’d better get cracking.”
The red flag in his brain slowly rose. “A few more minutes won’t make a difference. What’s his name?”
“Whose name?”
The flag fluttered. “The man who’ll father all those babies you want. The one who offered you ‘the most exciting and challenging career any woman with no previous experience can have.’ That man’s name.”
“Oh, you mean Larry.” She grabbed the ceramic mug sitting next to a folded newspaper, then drew it to her breast like a waif begging for coins. “I need more coffee.”
“Larry,” he repeated.
“That’s right. Larry. Have you tried to OD on caffeine, yet? Beats aspirin, hands down. Want me to bring you a cup?”
“Does he have a last name? Or is he just Larry? Like Fabio, or Sting?”
She stood. “I’m headed that way. It’s really no trouble—”
“Goddamn it, Lizzy! Do I have to buy a vowel to fill in the blanks about this guy?” Her cheeks matched the red flag flapping like hell in Cameron’s brain.
“His name is Larry Sanderson. He’s brilliant. He’s kind. And he never yells.” After a pointed look, she marched toward the door in a huff.
Larry Sanderson, Larry Sanderson…Cameron stiffened.
His gaze zeroed in on the folded newspaper, then flew to the furious woman nearing the door.
“Lizzy, wait!”
She grasped the doorknob and sighed. “What now?”
“You can’t marry the dimwit.”
Two heartbeats passed.
The stare she directed over her shoulder could’ve shriveled a grape into a raisin. “Don’t worry. There’s only one dimwit I can claim to know personally. And I wouldn’t marry you, Cameron Malloy, if you were the last man in Texas!” With a toss of her dark curls, she flung open the door.
Mitch, Pete and Rachel staggered forward into the room, their heads twisted in identical awkward positions.
Lizzy growled in disgust, shoved her way through the flame-faced group and disappeared from sight.
Cameron leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. He’d been called a lot of things he deserved in his life, but dimwit wasn’t one of them.
Something funny was going on. Something besides the Three Stooges currently backing out the door. If his suspicions were true, then his deal with Lizzy was off.
Which meant he still had a chance not to fail.

CHAPTER FOUR
AT SEVEN-THIRTY the next night, Elizabeth drove into the parking garage of Capitol Tower, the high-rise condominiums where Cameron lived, and willed her jittery stomach to calm.
This was insane. She’d known the man since high school, for heaven’s sake. There was absolutely no reason for her to be this nervous.
Relaxing her white-knuckle grip, she swung into a visitor’s space and cut the engine of her Taurus.
Her heartbeat tripled.
Who was she kidding? She’d known Cameron half her life, true, but she’d never actually socialized with him, never sought to be more than his friend and colleague. In high school, the All-State quarterback and senior class president had been hounded by more popular and beautiful girls. When he’d noticed Elizabeth at all, he’d been nice…but he’d been nice to everyone—that was part of his genuine charm. To him, she’d been a studious girl in his English class, as easily forgotten as her stammering oral reports.
In college, she’d gained Cameron’s first focused attention as a fellow team member in an Advertising Campaigns course. They’d carried the other four students on their backs to an A for the term. The beginning of a beautiful relationship, but one that had never ventured outside of classroom or office walls.
Which was why she’d accepted his invitation to grill her a steak dinner tonight.
She had no illusions about his motive. It wasn’t, as he wanted her to believe, to kick off their truce and cheer them both up after their unprecedented “fight.” And it sure wasn’t to get her alone in his bachelor pad and have his way with her—though, with luck, one day soon that’s exactly what he’d want.
Unfortunately, what he sought now was uninterrupted privacy to question her about Larry. The steak was a decoy. Cameron was a master at hunting for the Achilles’ heel of his opponents, and the instant she’d resigned from Malloy Marketing, she’d joined their ranks.
Elizabeth unbuckled her seat belt shakily. It was his fierce competitiveness, his inability to resist a challenge that had sown the seed of a Valkyrie idea in her mind. For years she’d watched other women try to “snare” the hunter. Of course they’d failed. If she could take a lesson from the master and decide that the means justified their happily-ever-after end, her impulsive marriage announcement might be the smartest dumb mistake she’d ever made.
She grabbed her purse and briefcase, slid out of the car, then locked and slammed the door. Hard.
No guts, no glory. Given the slightest indication tonight that her strategy might work, she would step to the front of the class and, for the first time since joining Malloy Marketing, present her own plan…hopefully without stammering. Head held high, Elizabeth marched across the parking garage toward Capitol Tower and her uncertain fate.
Minutes later, after receiving clearance for takeoff from the security desk, she rocketed twenty-four stories in a mahogany-paneled elevator so smooth and quiet, she was startled by the soft ding! of arrival.
The hushed atmosphere of luxury continued in the small waiting area outside the elevator. Cameron had moved into his condominium about six months ago, but this was her first visit. She consulted a wall plaque and entered one of four hallways.
Underlying the stately quiet, the driving pulse of a bass guitar sounded out of place. The closer she drew to 24C, the louder it got, along with drums, lead guitar and frenzied vocals. Vibrations from the blast of a song she didn’t recognize seeped under the door and literally buzzed her feet.
She set her briefcase on the floor, fished a compact from her purse, checked her face in the mirror—and snapped the sight closed. Egad, what a shock! She’d changed outfits a half-dozen times before deciding on rust-brown jeans and a matching lamb’s-wool sweater. The rich autumn color had seemed to require more makeup than she normally wore. But cinnamon-red lipstick made her mouth look so…red.
No guts, no glory.
She picked up her briefcase, squared her shoulders, raised her fist and knocked.
Instantly her heartbeat hammered her ribs.
She shouldn’t have come here! This was a big mistake. She should’ve stayed gutless on safe, familiar ground.
Maybe he hadn’t heard her knock.
The stereo cut off abruptly. “Hang on,” Cameron called, his bass voice vibrating a part of her the music hadn’t touched.
This was devious. She wasn’t a devious person. She should’ve stayed guileless and alone.
A dead bolt clicked.
She should’ve stayed passive.
The door swung open.
She should’ve stayed pitiful.
Cameron’s welcoming smile faltered.
Oh, God, she should’ve stayed in the lavender outfit!
His gaze swept down her body, came up more slowly and glowed. “Good evening, Lizzy. You look extra nice tonight.”
He’d said much the same thing the day before, but oh, what an exhilarating difference it made to believe him!
“Thank you, Cameron. You look quite…fetching, yourself.”
Glancing down, he loosed a bark of laughter, then yanked off the white dish towel tied apron style around his waist. His jeans and black polo shirt appeared fresh from the dry cleaner’s bag. Even so, they were a drastic change from business suits.
She tried not to ogle.
“Come on in,” he said, stuffing a corner of the towel into his back pocket as he pulled the door open wide.
Elizabeth entered a small enclosed foyer with a hardwood floor, her nose rising with each step, and sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm.”
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” she admitted, only just then realizing it was true. “What smells so delicious?”
“Could be the mushrooms in wine sauce simmering on the stove. Or the squash casserole in the microwave. Or the chocolate brownies cooling on the counter.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh! Did I mention the French bread warming in the oven?”
Elizabeth gaped. “You cooked all that since you got home?”
He rocked smugly back on his heels. “Yep.”
“For me?”
“Well, I was kind of hoping I could have some, too, if that’s all right.”
Her face heated. “I meant, I hadn’t expected you to go to so much trouble—I mean, I didn’t want you to put yourself out.”
“Lizzy, relax. I know what you meant. Cooking is a form of stress relief for me. I do it to unwind, even when I don’t have company.” He glanced at her briefcase and frowned. “Speaking of relaxing…you can leave that thing on the bench. This isn’t a working dinner.”
Unnerved, Elizabeth deposited the offending article along with her purse on a parson-style bench upholstered in raw black silk. Above it, a huge beveled mirror in a striking mosaic tile frame reflected her flustered expression.
Calm down. He didn’t mean this is a date.
The hopeful hum in her body refused to quiet. Whatever else her resignation from Malloy Marketing had failed to accomplish, it had succeeded in shocking Cameron out of complacency. She sensed his sharpened alertness, as if he didn’t quite know what to expect from her.
It was a heady feeling for someone used to indifference.
She turned and smiled. “I know this isn’t a ‘working’ dinner, but surely there’s something I can do to help?”
“No, I think I’ve got everything under control. But you can keep me company on the terrace while I grill the steaks. Follow me. I’ll give you the ten-cent tour first. It won’t take long.”
He led her into a living area that seemed the size of a basketball court to Elizabeth, an illusion reinforced by the varnished oak floor and soaring vaulted ceiling. Only three pieces of furniture occupied the floor: a black sofa in the same fabric as the entryway bench, a large overstuffed chair in a red-and-black checkerboard print and a big-screen television.
She noted the frenzied images flashing on screen. “So that’s what I heard blaring through the door. The MTV channel.”
He looked sheepish. “Sorry about that. Sound really echoes in here with it being so empty. I’m not letting myself buy anything on credit, so it’ll take a while to furnish the place.” He caught her surprised glance. “You’re not the only one who can be prudent, Lizzy.”
She arched a brow at the mammoth television. “Your self-restraint is admirable.”
“Hey, do you see any JAMO 55 watt rear-channel surround speakers with overload protection?”
Like she’d know what to look for.
“Okay, then,” he said as if vindicated. His expansive gesture encompassed a loft on the far left overlooking where they stood, and a kitchen to the right. “This is basically the beginning and end of the tour. After living in matchbox apartments for so long, I wanted a place that didn’t make me feel claustrophobic.”
Elizabeth swiveled toward the right. Eight bar chairs upholstered in checkerboard fabric surrounded a granite-topped island counter, the only divider between the kitchen and her wide-eyed gaze.
Suspended lamps resembling flying saucers beamed light on red laminate cabinets, sleek black appliances, black granite-topped counters and red porcelain double sinks. Surfaces gleamed or sparkled. Despite the mouthwatering smells proving that he’d cooked, not a single flour fingerprint or mixing bowl defiled the magazine-worthy picture. No surprise there.
Moving her gaze to the place settings laid out on the island counter, she noted cloth napkins, wineglasses and a floating candle centerpiece. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Pitiful woman. This isn’t a date.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Cameron said. “What are you thinking?”
Composing her expression, she turned to see him perched casually on one arm of the sofa, watching her reaction.
“I’m thinking I’m a slob and a bad cook and my house is a dump. Thanks for inviting me over and cheering me up.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You had me a little worried.”
“Don’t be. I assure you I’m thoroughly depressed.” She focused behind him on the far side of the room and found herself moving in for a closer inspection.
She’d noticed it earlier, of course. Painted bright red, the wrought iron spiral staircase curling up to the loft was hard to ignore.
Approaching the intricate pattern of intertwined ivy, she reached out and trailed fingertips over the beautiful workmanship. “This is beautiful, Cameron. More like a sculpture than a functional staircase. Did you have it custom-built?”
“No, Kara spotted a guy hauling it off from an estate sale just as she pulled in. She chased him down, got me on her cell phone, and we struck a deal for him to bring it here.”
“Kara’s got a good eye for design. This draws attention away from the kitchen and visually balances the room.”
With a final rub of the cool metal, Elizabeth turned around and scanned the entire condominium, an idea formulating. “You should consider hosting the office Christmas party here. Capitol Tower is centrally located, exclusive, and you’ve got enough open floor space to handle whatever Mitch comes up with this year.”
Last year at The Banana Tree Restaurant, he’d led a giggling conga line of Malloy Marketing employees from their private room into the cramped main dining area. When the piped-in Brazilian music had abruptly ceased, the line had staggered to a stop and swayed into adjacent tables. Only Rachel’s quick thinking prevented disaster, her impromptu rendition of “Havah Nagilah” spurring the dancers safely back to their tables.
Elizabeth met Cameron’s amused gaze and knew he’d remembered the same scene. “You wouldn’t have to lift a finger. A caterer could do all the work. You could OD on all the prime rib, boiled shrimp on ice and stuffed mushroom caps you could hold. We’d save enough money on the party room rental fee alone to go first-class on the catering.”
“We would, huh?”
“I mean, the agency would.”
His eyes warmed to burnished gold.
A forewarning she ignored in favor of watching straight white teeth flash in a lean bronzed face, transforming mere handsomeness into blazing glamour.
Dazzled and despairing, she wrenched her gaze away before she saw sunspots.
“Well—” slapping his thighs, he recaptured her attention “—I know you’re starving, and I hate to keep a woman hungry. Whaddaya say let’s get those steaks out of the fridge and onto the grill?”
He stood and waited for her to reach his side before walking with her toward the kitchen. And damn her pathetic hide, she could not stop the thrill of hope his simple courtesy produced.
She stole a peek up at his tall form. “So what has Kara picked out for your next purchase?”
“Huh?”
“To fill all this empty floor space. Isn’t she helping you decorate?”
“Kara spotted the staircase, yeah. But I planned the space build-out and chose everything that’s in here.” He stroked the island countertop as they passed. “This is one solid piece of granite. Took me days to locate enough from the same quarry to cover it and the kitchen counters.” He approached the sleek black refrigerator possessively. “Got this baby at an auction on the Internet. Thirty-six-inch side-by-side model, through-the-door water and ice dispenser. One year parts and labor warranty.”
Wrenching open the right door, he crouched down, waved her closer and pointed out features. “Adjustable spill-saver glass shelves. Over twenty-five cubic feet of storage space. Good air circulation so mold doesn’t set in. Look—” he pulled open a bin filled with vegetables “—this stuff is over a week old, but it’s still crisp.”
Leaning over his dark blond head, she caught a scrumptious whiff of sandalwood cologne. “Very nice. Obviously you don’t need Kara’s help on the home front. Sorry if I offended you.”
He closed the bin, reached for a plate wrapped in aluminum foil on the lowest shelf. “No problem.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you were such a…nester.”
Hand on the plate, he paused. “A what?” Suspicion laced his voice.
“Maybe a better word is domestic.”
“Domestic? What the hell does that mean, domestic?”
She bit back a smile. “I believe the Webster’s definition that most closely applies is—devoted to home duties and pleasures. That’s a compliment, by the way. So few men are…confident enough to express that side of themselves.”

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