3. A Confidential Matter
3
A CONFIDENTIAL MATTER
Layla
After lunch I grab coffee witha friend from business school, excited to meet up with Raven so soon after our graduation. We snag a nook in the conference center where we can chat and watch the four-lane traffic in the hallway go by.She lives in my neighborhood in Manhattan, running the site for her fashion upcycling business, so we debate every New Yorker’s favorite topic—the woes of real estate—when a flurry of conference organizers marches down the hall.
The pack moves in lockstep, led by a woman with a short dark bob. The name Valeria shines on her silver name tag.
“Make sure the deck is queued up with the right name. If the wrong deck plays and Mikka’s name appears, I will eat my shoes,” she informs the man by her side.
I turn back to the fair-skinned, freckle-faced Raven, amused. “I’d pay to see that.”
“Shoe-eating at three,” my friend says, but she sounds distracted as she grabs her phone, swipes a few times, then slumps her shoulders. “ This is what she’s talking about.”
She shows me the conference app on her screen where Mikka Halla’s name is gone from the keynote list. Someone I’ve never heard of is replacing him. Nick Adams of Alpha Ventures will talk about opportunity. “Bye-bye, Finnish visionary I wanted to hear,” Raven says with a frown.
Are you kidding me? I sigh, equally annoyed. “He was one of the big reasons I bought a ticket.”
“Want to cut out of here early?”
Tempting.
But the word opportunity lodges in my brain. What if this understudy is better than the lead?
“I think I’ll stick around. You never know,” I say, rolling the dice.
She waves goodbye, and when she’s gone I’m about to google the new guy but my phone buzzes. It’s Geeta, so I take the call.
“So, I had this idea for a fantastic upgrade,” she says, and brainstorming with her keeps me busy for the next hour.
As I queue near the front of the line for the keynote session, I google Nick Adams at last. His picture pops up, and I stifle a gasp.
That’s him.
The man from yesterday. With the dark hair, the trim beard, and the eyes with the crinkles at the corner, showing some age, some maturity. And a delicious sense of power in the way he gazes at the camera with a challenging stare.
When I glance up from my phone, those eyes are looking right at me.
Again.
He’s walking in the direction of the stage door on the other side of the wide hallway. My breath catches as his gaze lingers on my face.
Our eyes lock. There’s a moment when I feel…caught once more by the man.
Then, he swallows, like he’s re-sorting his thoughts, like he knows he shouldn’t stare this long before he’s about to go onstage and give a talk to a packed crowd.
But with the way he luxuriates on my face, it’s like it’s nighttime and I’m at a sleek, low-lit bar, and he’s the man about to stalk right over to me, curl a hand around the back of my head, and press a she’s mine kiss to my cheek.
As he passes, he glances down, but seconds later his eyes are back on mine again, as if he simply had to look twice, so I send him a hint of a seductive smile.
He catches it. I can tell in the slight quirk of his full lips. Then, quickly, he looks away.
I’m in his rearview mirror.
But only for now.
Good thing I’m early. I’m going to find a seat in the front row where I can watch that powerful man fight not to look at me as he talks about innovation and opportunity to the thousand attendees here.
And since I’ve been such a good girl all week, dedicated to business the whole time, I’m going to allow myself a little indulgence for the rest of the day.
Since I’d really like Nick Adams to innovate me.
Good thing Valeria didn’t eat her shoes since those are some cute leopard prints she’s wearing as she enters the stage and introduces the new speaker.
I’m buzzing with anticipation.
“I’m thrilled that so many of you stayed for our closing keynote,” Valeria says to the crowd. “We are fortunate enough to have a wonderful replacement speaker in Nick Adams from Alpha Ventures. He founded his technology venture firm three years ago, and since then, his sharp eye and entrepreneurial spirit have led him to invest in a number of outstanding tech startups.”
She lists some of those companies, many in Europe and a handful in the United States. All are wildly successful. “Without further ado, your new keynote speaker…Nick Adams.”
I’m so glad my conference crush is a venture capitalist because that means there’s zero conflict of interest for The Makeover or for me. Our app doesn’t need venture funding. We’re on the hunt for marketing and growth, for partners in social media and review management, but not for an investment.
Which means I can have fun with him as he talks.
The man of the hour strides in from the wings, thanks Valeria, then heads to the front of the stage. A mic is clipped to his teal-blue tie to capture a deep, gravelly voice that makes me wiggle in my chair.
“When I was swimming in my brother’s pool this morning, the last thing I expected was to be called on to pinch hit for someone as stellar as Mikka Halla. But it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. And that’s what I want to talk about today.” He pauses briefly and scans the audience, his gaze settling to the left side of the front row.
Onto… me .
I flick a strand of my hair. Flirting 101, but it gets my point across. I take notes for the next several minutes. But I’m ready for another round when he says, “Wayne Gretzky famously said I skate to where the puck is going to be , not where it has been . That’s the metric for innovation too.”
He’s looking at the front row, so I nibble on the corner of my lips. His gaze stays on me for a second, then he turns the other way.
There’s more note-taking for me, more visionary thoughts from him, then a little later, when he heads in my direction once more, I uncross my legs.
“Innovation comes from habit. The relentless habit of constantly seeking…” When his gaze lands on me, I cross my legs just for him. “Opportunity,” he says, with the slightest rumble in his voice.
A rumble just for me.
When he’s done delivering a powerful speech about seizing your chance, I do just that. Sure, I’m here for work and only work. But why not have a little fun before my plane trip home?
I’m up and out of my chair in mere seconds, heading straight for the edge of the stage. You’ve got to hustle to get what you want in life, and I’m hustling.
But so are plenty of others.
Dammit. I’m not the only one swarming the man. I’ve got to be faster and I pick up the pace, but the conference organizers beat me. They’re flanking him, unclipping his mic, handing him a glass of water.
He takes a drink as he heads down the steps of the stage, ten feet away from me.
Judging from the phones thrust out, and well, the red ribbons on name tags saying press, I’ll have to fight dozens of eager reporters, podcasters, and journalists wanting a word with him.
And…Valeria.
She’s right by his side, helpfully taking his water, then speaking to the gathered crowd. “We’re so glad Mr. Adams has made time in his busy schedule to chat with the media for the next thirty minutes. There’s a press room down the hall,” she says.
No!
I am not about to be knocked out of line just because I don’t have a press pass. I’m definitely not going to be pushed away when it comes to the first guy—no, man —in ages that I’ve picked.
He’s my choice and mine alone.
“Mr. Adams,” I say, my voice carrying above the dozens of people surrounding him. “I have a question.”
He whips his head toward me, and recognition crosses those eyes—they’re hazel. But the darkest hazel I’ve ever seen. Flecks of gold flicker in them, right along with his dirty thoughts.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t stop. I push on. “You mentioned that seconds matter when it comes to taking a chance, but that you should also not be hasty,” I say and his brow knits, his eyes determined, like I’m the target in his crosshairs. “How do you balance that?”
All I’ve planned is the question. I don’t know what I’ll do or say next. But I want him to notice me. Maybe to see my name tag. To find me. To follow me.
After a thoughtful nod, he says, “That’s not a quick question to answer.” Then, his eyes dip to the tag on my chest. “Lola.”
The way he says my name, in that rough rasp, sends a flush of arousal down my body, straight to my core.
I try not to tremble in the middle of the crowd.
“But I was hoping you’d ask that to follow up on the conversation we had yesterday during the VIP session,” he continues, and holy shit. He’s smooth on his feet. He can improvise. Then he turns to Valeria. “This’ll be a minute. It’s a confidential business matter.”
Confidential is officially the sexiest word in any language.
In no time, he shoulders past the reporters.
My pulse gallops as he parts the crowd with his presence, his strength, his…virility. He tips his head toward a quiet corner of the ballroom, then sets his hand on my elbow as we walk.
My elbow is turned on. What kind of sex sorcery is this?
After we’re a safe distance from the crowd, he stops, then turns to me. “Your question is probably best answered over drinks in the hotel bar. My last meeting ends at seven.”
My breath hitches. This man just asked me out. But I can’t stand here stupidly. I recover quickly from the shock and say, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
A sly smile lingers on his lips. “No. I’ll buy you one.” He tilts his head, studying my face like he’s committing me to memory again. Then he steps closer, mere inches from me, as he touches my elbow once again. “Lola.”
He turns to join the others.
He doesn’t look back.
But he doesn’t have to.
We both know I’ll be there. He probably knows, too, that my elbow is on fire.