Page 104 of Cold Feet
Fan accounts had gone into overdrive analyzing every public interaction Cam and I had ever had. Someone had even created a montage set to James Arthur'sSay You Won’t Let Gothat showed Cam looking at me at various events throughout the years, culminating with his declaration to Zayne.
But it was the Montreal speculation that truly twisted the knife:
Montreal ladies, prepare yourselves! The Hitman might be headed your way!
Who else is booking flights to Montreal for next season? ????
Poor Lana. Imagine finding your soulmate just to watch him move to another country…
And the worst:Breaking: Sources say Cam Murphy already looking at penthouses in Montreal's Golden Square Mile. Moving on FAST.
I knew I shouldn't believe anonymous "sources," but even the thought of Cam house-hunting in Montreal made me physically ill. I set my phone down and pulled Sid closer, burying my face in his orange fur.
"What am I going to do?" I whispered.
The answer, of course, was what I always did: my job. I would maintain my professionalism, help the team navigate this transition, and protect my heart by retreating behind my carefully constructed walls.
Team first. It was the only way I knew to survive.
---
The next morning, I was headed to a staff meeting when Cam appeared in the hallway, clearly waiting for me. My heart did that stupid lurch it always did at the sight of him, even now. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usual effortless charm replaced by tense determination.
"Lana," he said, moving like lightning to intercept me. "Got a minute?"
Every instinct screamed at me to flee, but there were too many people around. Running would create a scene, and if there was one thing Frank Decker's daughter didn't do, it was create public scenes.
"I'm on my way to a meeting," I said stiffly.
"It'll only take a minute." His blue eyes were pleading. "Please."
I glanced at my watch, then gave a short nod. "One minute."
He guided me a few steps away from the main traffic flow, his hand hovering near but not touching my elbow. Once we were relatively private, he took a deep breath.
"I haven't decided anything yet," he said quietly.
I maintained my professional mask with effort. "Whatever you decide, the team will support you, Cam. We all want what's best for your career."
Frustration flashed across his face. "That's not what I'm asking and you know it."
"Then what are you asking?" I kept my voice low, controlled.
"I'm asking if it matters to you what I decide." His eyes searched mine. "I'm asking ifwematter to you."
The question pierced straight through my defenses, but I couldn't,wouldn't, let him see. "What matters is that you make the right choice for yourself."
"Goddammit, Lana," he muttered. "Can you stop being the PR Director for five seconds and just talk to me like a person? The real you?"
His intensity was drawing curious glances from passing staffers. I forced a pleasant, meaningless smile. "This isn't the time or place, Cam."
Before he could respond, I spotted an empty conference room. "In there," I said, nodding toward it.
Once inside with the door closed, I turned to face him, arms crossed protectively over my chest. "What? What do you want from me, Cam?"
"I want you to talk to me! I've been trying for two days!" His controlled frustration finally erupted. "You won't answer my calls, my texts – it's like the other night never happened."
"We slept together. It happens." I shrugged, the casual gesture costing me dearly. "It doesn't change anything."
