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