Page 33 of What Comes Around

Our eyes met for a brief second.

Then we both looked away.

Ethan and Julian discussed yesterday’s panels while Marcus complained about Vegas logistics. Knox listened, responding when necessary, nodding occasionally, issuing the occasional instruction.

We ate while reviewing the day’s schedule. Two conferences, a business lunch, and an industry dinner where Knox would deliver a speech about expansion strategies and future acquisitions.

Nothing about our behavior suggested anything unusual had happened.

And yet I felt the shift in the air anyway. The way his attention returned to me without reason. The way his eyes lingered too long when I spoke. The way his jaw tightened when I laughed at something Ethan said.

“We have two hours free this afternoon,” Marcus said between bites. “After lunch.”

Julian groaned. “Vegas during daylight feels illegal.”

“I plan to explore,” I said.

Knox’s eyes flicked to me.

“Stay in public areas,” he said.

The comment caught me slightly off guard.

“Of course,” I replied.

We left shortly after.

The first conference blurred into market projections and investor optimism. The second dissolved into long-term risk modeling and polite competition between firms.

By the time lunch ended, my mind felt crowded and my patience thin.

So when we were released for our break, I did exactly what I had planned.

I left the hotel and stepped into the heat, the noise, the restless movement of the Strip. Neon signs flashed above the sidewalks. Music spilled out through open doors. Tourists moved in loud clusters while performers in elaborate costumes posed for photos. Everything felt bright and chaotic and alive.

I stayed where the crowds were thick and walked slowly along the Strip, letting the desert heat settle into my skin.

That was when I saw it.

A massive illuminated poster stretched across the side of one of the casinos.

UFC Championship Night.

Two fighters stared out from the poster. One of them I didn’t recognize, but the other made my steps slow.

Leo Hartman.

I stopped in front of the display and studied it. So that was what he meant.

Not just a fight. A championship.

I smiled faintly to myself and shook my head as I walked on. Even frozen in print, he carried the same cocky confidence he’d worn so easily the day before.

Thirty minutes later I checked the time on my phone and turned back toward the hotel.

Soon, I was seated in another conference hall. For the next two hours, we listened to discussions about secondary market casino licensing, luxury entertainment zoning, tax structures, and regulatory loopholes.

By the time the final session wrapped up, it was almost six. I had just enough time to freshen up before dinner.