Jan Freed - The Last Man In Texas

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.”