12 A Conference
A Conference
I never finished school. It had been impossible for me, considering I’d had to live on the streets for a while after fleeing home that night ten years ago.
But I’d never stopped learning, reading whatever I could get my hands on, from discarded newspapers and books found in the trash in those early days, on to the internet, later, when I could afford it, and to books I actually bought for myself.
During my homeless days in Dallas, I’d spent my nights in front of an electronics store. They used to leave their large TVs on at night, and I’d sit on the sidewalk leaning against a tree and watch movies and shows, too afraid to fall asleep until the light of dawn. Watching, I learned things.
And then, as my chosen lifestyle evolved and my goals became more clearly defined, I studied everything I needed to know to be successful. In the case of Winston, that was solar energy, and I was truly fascinated by it.
But it turned out to take more than a glimpse of my low-cut dress back, my plunging V-neck, and a sway of my hips to make him pick up the phone. That would’ve been too easy. His silence frustrated me, but I respected him for it.
He just needed another nudge, and I was ready to deliver.
For ten days, while I waited for the Solar Future Shining Bright Conference to start, I took care of a few things.
My two-week stay at ARIA ended, and I had to give up the convenience of having messages taken for me and people knowing where to find me.
Moving into my rental house was both enjoyable and scary, given that there’d be no hotel security to call if I needed help—nothing to keep good old Jack from barging through the front door to do whatever he had in mind.
Because he was still out there, showing up whenever I finally dared to hope he was gone.
Never saying anything else. Never doing anything but staring at me, his eyes chilling me to the bone.
He wasn’t going away. In fact, he seemed to be the only person in town who still remembered who I was.
Because people were starting to forget about me.
I’d left my new address with the hotel, but there were fewer messages and fewer invitations forwarded each day.
Making matters worse, the solar energy conference organizers had not invited me to speak or attend.
I’d been invited to dozens of other events, but not the one I needed, which Winston would attend as sponsor and keynote speaker.
For a while, I considered doing another news piece.
But then, gritting my teeth, I decided to keep my face and my name from showing up in the news again, thinking more on what Jack had said. That I should leave Vegas. That I wasn’t safe there.
Out of options, I volunteered to help with the conference, framing it as something I cared about deeply and wanted to champion.
People like me, with means and a charitable agenda, often give their time to causes they believe in, and this should seem no different.
Winston would see commitment and passion in my gesture, nothing else.
Yet having to knock on doors and ask left me a little upset.
It reminded me of when I’d had to rely on the kindness of strangers to survive.
I worked with the organizers the entire weekend before the start of the conference. By the time people started arriving at the Las Vegas Convention Center on Monday morning, I’d memorized the names of the panelists and devised a game plan.
This time, I was the one wearing the business suit and heels, standing by the door with a clipboard in hand.
I checked in speakers, quick on my feet so that I’d be available to welcome Winston when he finally arrived.
I helped give everyone badges with their names and photos, color coded by function.
Green for keynote speakers. Blue for panelists.
Yellow for attendees. I wore a purple one, like the other organizers.
The participants had a choice of a clip or a personalized lanyard with the conference logo embroidered on the strap.
I had Dr. Newhall’s badge in my pocket, on a lanyard.
He was a panelist, an engineer from San Francisco.
I’d read a couple of his papers the night before, but the reason I’d singled out his badge wasn’t related to solar energy or his work.
He looked somewhat like Winston, and he was also going to be late; I’d made sure of that with a call to his hotel advising of a schedule change.
I got rid of an attendee quite unceremoniously when I saw Winston approaching, and abandoned my clipboard on a table by the wall. I rushed to greet him, my heels clicking loudly on the floor.
“Finally,” I said when I reached him, ignoring his intrigued smile. “You’re the last one in, Dr. Newhall, but we have a few minutes to get you situated.” I took Dr. Newhall’s badge out of my pocket and hung it around Winston’s neck, the gesture bringing our bodies close enough to touch.
“I’m . . . sorry I kept you waiting,” he replied, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Tell me what I need to do.”
I hadn’t expected that. I’d thought he’d just say, You have me confused with someone else. Now I had to play along, pretending he was Newhall.
“Well, you’re on the desalination panel.
You’re leading that.” I showed him the way with a wide gesture, pointing toward one of the panel rooms, then started walking.
He matched my pace, not taking his eyes off me.
“By the way, your application of solar power in desalination is so intriguing. Especially for here in Nevada, a desert state depending on the Colorado River and groundwater for survival.”
“And California, too,” he added, playing along with my little charade.
“Yes! So, the pipes are already built. Water flows from here to there already. We could build some more and pump Pacific saltwater instead, and with this sun? Do you know what I see when I look at this sun? Possibilities. Endless potential!”
That phrase got his attention in a different way.
His gaze shifted. His eyes sharpened, the weight of his attention settling fully on me—not just seeing, but recognizing.
The flicker of curiosity deepened into something else, something keener, as if he were reevaluating me in real time.
No longer an outsider. An equal. Someone he was starting to find irresistible even if he didn’t know exactly why .
. . a kindred spirit in the slender body of a beautiful blond half his age. Just like I’d intended.
“Exactly,” he said quietly, touching his mouth in passing as if subconsciously refraining from saying more. “How would you put it to work?”
“Nevada could be green tomorrow, with the right solar-energy architects at the forefront. The California Dust Bowl could become a thing of the past, a forgotten nightmare, and farmers could flourish again.”
“Oh, I agree,” he said. His eyes narrowed, the flicker of curiosity deepening. “Did you read any of my work?”
“Of course,” I replied, veering slightly toward a table with several coffeepots lined up against the wall. It was out of the main traffic pattern and thankfully deserted. “I read ‘Revolutionizing Water Supply,’ and your book, The Future of Freshwater. It was amazing.”
“Oh? My book, too? You’re one of the ten people who read it?” He laughed heartily, poking merciless fun at Dr. Newhall. “Please don’t tell me you returned it afterward. I need my royalties. And I’d be happy to sign your copy.”
I laughed along, gesturing toward the coffeepot. “I’m sure there were more than ten people who read it. Your ideas are brilliant. Makes me wonder why it took us so long to look at the sun.”
He poured coffee into a small paper cup and offered it to me.
I nodded and thanked him in a whisper. Our fingers brushed slightly when I took the cup from his hand—a fleeting touch, barely there, yet it sent a pulse of warmth up my arm.
I expected nothing from it. A moment, a necessary move in the game.
But the air between us shifted, humming with something I couldn’t quite name.
His gaze held mine, steady and searching. A hesitation, the smallest beat of silence, as if he felt it, too. I told myself this was just another step, another carefully placed moment designed to draw him in. But, then, why did my pulse betray me, skipping once, sharp and unplanned?
This wasn’t supposed to feel real. And yet, for a breath, it did.
He looked straight into my eyes as we sipped our coffee, and didn’t say anything. I respected his choice for silence, resisting the urge to speak more, to blab away. Then, without warning, he threw his cup into the trash.
“Let’s go,” he said. I abandoned my paper cup on the table. “I believe they’re getting ready to start.”
He seemed to know exactly where he was going. That surprised me a little, but it probably wasn’t his first conference at this venue. Keeping up with his long stride in heels on the slippery terrazzo floor was a challenge, but I didn’t fall behind.
As we neared the panel hall, a commotion by the check-in table caught my attention. A tall man with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair was gesticulating wildly, his voice rising over the hum of conversation.
“I’m supposed to lead the desalination panel! I don’t care why you can’t find my badge! I’m telling you who I am.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr.—”
“Dr. Newhall,” the man replied, accentuating his title with visible annoyance.
I slowed, instinctively drawn to the confrontation, and Winston followed suit. He turned toward me with a slow grin spreading across his face, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Oops . . . Busted!”
I turned to him, frowning, staring at the badge hanging from his neck and then at him, feigning confusion. “Um, I don’t understand—”
He took off the lanyard and gave it to me. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low, intimate voice. “I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to speak with you, Ms. Taylor.”
He’d recognized me. I couldn’t think of anything to say at that moment, with Dr. Newhall, several guests, and the other hostesses watching so intently. I just looked at him with a slight head tilt and the hint of a lopsided smile on my lips.
Winston walked over to Dr. Newhall and patted him on the back. “Hey, Pete.” They shook hands. “Seems I took your badge by mistake. Sorry, old pal.”
“Ah, it’s okay,” Dr. Newhall replied, blushing a little.
Without a word, I held my hand out. The registration assistant, flustered, handed me Winston’s own badge, color coded green. He was the keynote speaker of the morning, and instead of rushing in to deliver his speech, he’d kept wasting time.
With me.
I looked at the badge as if only now learning his name. “Will it be a clip or a lanyard, Mr. Donovan?”
“Lanyard, please,” he said with a glint in his eyes, then he lifted his chin slightly, spreading his arms just enough—an unspoken invite for me to slip it over his head myself.
“And it’s Winston.”
“Olivia,” I whispered, only for him. Smiling and looking straight into his eyes, I attached the lanyard to the badge and then repeated the earlier moment, only just a little slower.
Closer. More intimately. The tips of my fingers touching his neck when sliding the lanyard over his head.
My breasts brushing against his chest for a split second before I pulled away.
He shook my hand, holding on to it a moment longer than necessary, and then said, “Will there be another coffee in our common future?”
Defense Attorney Blake: Detective Stanek, in your professional opinion, was the evidence sufficient to conclusively prove the defendant’s guilt?
Aaron Stanek: Given the circumstances, I must admit that the burden of proof was probably not met.
Defense Attorney Blake: So, there’s something missing?
Aaron Stanek: Yes, there is.
District Attorney Mitchell: Objection! Leading the witness.
Judge Thomas Antunez: Overruled. Nice try, Mr. Mitchell.