“Cam?” Val prompted. “You okay?”
Before she could give more than a jerky nod in response, the phone at Val’s desk out in the reception area rang.
“I’m on it,” Val said and rushed from her office.
Saved by the bell. Cam turned from the window and settled in her chair behind the desk. She had to focus. The New York building issue wasn’t the only problem demanding her attention right now. She still had to write her speech for the Awards Dinner next week, a task she routinely put off ‘til the last minute because of the tornado of emotions it engendered. Maybe she should work on it now. Maybe, if she concentrated on something besides Jordan, an answer to how to deal with the Jordan issue would organically develop. Her fingers brushed her keyboard, waking up her screensaver—a photo of a dozen children of various ages and ethnicities showing off their art projects at a festival a few years ago—when Val’s voice intruded into her thoughts yet again.
“Cam? Your mother’s on line one.”
Well, crap. Her already dismal mood spiraled straight down into the fiery pits of hell. Much as she’d love to have Val tell Mom she was in a meeting and unreachable, Cam could never bring herself to lie to her mother—even through proxy.
On a deep inhale and a muttered, “Give me strength,” she picked up the receiver and popped a finger on the blinking light.
“Good afternoon, Mother. How are you today?”
“Cameron, darling, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
Every time her mother intruded was a bad time, as far as she was concerned. Nonetheless, Cam forced the lighthearted air her mother always expected from her. “Of course not. What’s up?”
“Have you picked up your gown for next Friday yet?”
Ha. Next Friday. Sometimes her mother’s parental intuition scared the crap out of her. The gown her mother referenced was for the same event she needed the speech for. The annual Duke Delgado Awards ceremony, complete with a five-course dinner and lots of schmoozing, was a major fundraiser for the foundation, as well as one of the sports world’s biggest social events. If not for the money that poured into the foundation’s coffers, thanks to the many wealthy guests in attendance, Cam would skip the pomp and circumstance for an evening at home with a pint of ice cream and a cheesy television sitcom rerun.
“I just got a call from Elaine that my dress is ready,” her mother continued, “and I thought maybe we could do our final fittings together, then go to lunch afterward—my treat. We can make a day of it. I’d love to see what you plan to wear. Who knows? I might have the perfect piece of jewelry you need to finish off your look.”
Cam clicked on her schedule, opened to today’s agenda. “I wish I could, but my calendar is filled up solid until the night of the gala.”
Not a hundred percent truthful, but she’d barely steeled her emotions for the endless hours she’d have to spend listening to her mother’s disparagements on Friday night. Any additional time spent under her mother’s critical eye would batter her ego to the point she’d be unable to leave her apartment for a month.
“Oh?” Even through the phone, Cam honed in on the disappointment in that one syllable uttered by Mom. “Well, did you pick up your dress already? If not, I can always swing around and grab it for you when I go to my fitting.”
No way. First of all, this whole “I’ll be happy to help you out” shtick was a way for Mom to get a sneak peek at Cam’s dress so she could list all the reasons it was inappropriate or unflattering or too short or too long or too...whatever. Then she’d insist on dragging her daughter to her designer for something Cam would find too tight, too boxy, too stiff, too plain or too...whatever. Not to mention, Cam didn’t want to admit she’d bought a dress off the rack at her favorite boutique a week ago. Mother would have a dozen fits over the very idea of her daughter wearing a garment a hundred other women might also wear to an entirely different event on an entirely different evening.
“My dress is already hanging in my closet at home, just waiting to be slipped into on Friday night, but thanks for offering.”
“All right, then. I guess I’ll have to go by myself. Do you want Andrew and me to shoot by and pick you up that night? It might be nice to arrive together as a family.”
And have to stay until they were ready to leave, when they were the two people she’d prefer to avoid most? “No, thanks,” she said—a bit too quickly and with too much fervor. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I may be coming straight from the office, so I’ll just use the car service.”
“You work too hard, Cameron.”
“I like what I do, Mother. Don’t you feel the same way about your jewelry?”
“My, yes! Why, when I’m working on a particularly intricate piece, I’d probably go days without eating if Andrew didn’t remind me. That’s why you need a husband, sweetheart. Someone besides me to tell you when you’re working too hard.”
And that’s the game. Time to end the call. “I’ll keep that in mind. But right now, I have a meeting to get to. I’ll see you Friday night.”
“Oh. All right then.” Her mother’s tone flattened to defeat. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Mother.” She hung up the phone and returned her attention to her computer. An image of a blank document mocked her, and with an angry pecking motion, she typed her opening greeting.
Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Delgado Foundation, welcome to the
