Deborah handed him a folder. “I still think you should consider a more interesting décor than a few floral arrangements, but if you’re sure that’s all you want.…”
“I’m sure.” Cam flipped through the folder and felt his amazement grow with every page. He suppressed a whistle.
She’d done a hell of a lot in a short time period. She’d done it well, too, judging by the very organized looking checklists, detailed vendor information and the variety of menu suggestions she included. It was all there, in what seemed to him the minutest of details.
Her chuckle made him look up. Cam found her amused eyes on him, and he realized his surprise must be obvious. To cover his discomfort, he lifted a brow in polite inquiry.
“Go ahead and admit it. You’re floored I can make lists. I assure you, it’s a common reaction. Especially from people who don’t know me very well.” Her smile was gentle but pointed, tinged faintly with challenge.
Cam got the message. And she had a point. He didn’t know her well. In fact, he was beginning to suspect he didn’t know her at all. The thought made him uneasy.
“You don’t seem like a list maker,” he said.
“I’m not, in private life. But details are crucial in my line of work, because people feel strongly about special occasions. When you commit to planning someone’s party, you’ve got to get it right the first time. You owe your client the best event you can possibly produce.” Deborah didn’t look amused anymore.
Cam stared at her. She looked more intense than he’d ever seen her. And her voice sounded unfamiliar. He heard enthusiasm and something else he couldn’t identify.
“What many people don’t understand,” she continued, “is that details make all the difference in the world. They can transform an ordinary event into a truly spectacular one. And when you have the chance to create something memorable, you have to run with it, because you don’t get second chances in event planning.”
She leaned toward him. “It’s not like selling clothes or coffee mugs, which can be exchanged if the customer isn’t satisfied. Events are totally different. Whatever happens, you’ve got to make them right, because if they go wrong, you can’t just tell clients and their guests to come back the following night.”
Cam stared at her. Passion. That was it. That was what he heard in her voice.
“I guess not,” he murmured. He’d never thought of it that way before. He’d also never imagined Deborah could be this intense about any topic, especially a work-related one. The laid-back, free-spirited attitude she usually projected hadn’t prepared him for this kind of emotion.
Nothing had prepared him for his own reaction to it, either. He found himself wondering what it would be like if all her intensity were focused on him instead of work.
Deborah cleared her throat. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes.” She looked away, which was fine with Cam since it gave him more opportunity to study her.
It was strange the way her intensity had given her face a more mature cast. For a moment there, she’d looked fully adult. Deborah Clark was more interesting than he could have guessed. Cam watched her face as she wrote something on a tablet from her desk. She looked uncomfortable, as if she’d said too much. Which wasn’t true. What she’d said didn’t matter nearly as much as the way she’d said it. Now that was interesting.
“Anything else you’d like to discuss?” she asked.
Plenty. But he knew she was talking about his party. “It looks like I can safely leave it all to you,” he said, and found that he meant it. Her job might be the only thing she took seriously, but he couldn’t doubt her dedication to her work.
“Good,” she said, and waited.
It didn’t take much to figure out she was waiting for him to leave. Cam got up. In the lengthening silence, he searched for something else to say. The plain, bald truth was that he didn’t want to go yet. He wanted to hear her talk some more about her work. He wanted to see that peculiar intensity light up her eyes again. He wanted to hear more passion in her voice.
But he shouldn’t be thinking about any of that. Just because she turned out to be seriously, intensely, interested in her work, there was no reason to forget one undeniable fact.
Deborah Clark was an innocent and therefore off-limits to him. Period. End of story.
So he should head on out of here pronto. He should send Barb to lunch, grab a sandwich and a big mug of coffee for himself and get some of that ungodly mound of paperwork cleared off his desk.
“Who are you having lunch with?” he asked instead.
In the beat of silence that followed, Cam stifled a wince. How had that come out of his mouth? He never blurted out things. And he never asked nosy questions. That was Deborah’s province. She was the one who grilled people about their love lives, nailing them to the wall and demanding to know if they’d been ditched. Were her habits rubbing off on him?
Perish the thought.
He wasn’t worried about making her uncomfortable. After all, she’d gotten some definite mileage the other day out of his own embarrassment. And at least he wasn’t pronouncing her commitment-phobic into the bargain. In fact, compared to her grilling, his small question was downright genteel.
No, he didn’t mind embarrassing her a little. Girl or woman, Deborah could take care of herself. But he minded very much knowing that he’d lost control enough to ask a question he’d already decided he wasn’t going to ask. He also minded her knowing about his curiosity.
Deborah was looking at him in almost comical surprise, as if she was just as floored as he was by his question.
“A client,” she said after a moment.
“A client?” His head felt a little strange. Must be the last of the indiscretion-related shock waves reverberating in his brain.
“Well, maybe a client,” Deborah amended. “He’s the owner of a local clothing chain, and he’s looking for someone to plan shareholders’ meetings.” She said it casually, but her eyes glowed with suppressed excitement. Twin dots of pink stained her cheeks. She looked cute again, which was a relief.
“This could be a big deal for your company, then,” Cam noted, ignoring the small voice inside him that said she hadn’t looked cute a few minutes ago. She’d looked vibrant and beautiful.
Passionate.
“It could, yes,” she agreed.
“Congratulations.”
Deborah shook her head. “I haven’t gotten the contract yet.” But she was smiling, and Cam had the feeling she expected to get it. And why shouldn’t she? As far as he could tell, she did good work. She probably had a perfectly good business head on her shoulders.
Cam watched her cross to the sofa and pick up her coat and purse. That was when he noticed that Libby was still stretched out in the same position she’d been in when he arrived.
“Your cat’s not exactly energetic, is she?” he observed.
Deborah surveyed her pet with a small, indulgent smile. “No.”
“Isn’t it time for her morning walk?” It was eleven o’clock, just about the time the cat had shown up in his office. That day seemed a lot longer ago than only five weeks.
She looked puzzled. “What morning walk?”
“I thought she went out every morning,” Cam said.
Deborah shook her head. “No. Libby doesn’t venture out much. In fact, the day you found her,