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Staci really hadn’t believed that the San Diego Convention Center would be wall-to-wall foot specialists and their groupies. This was home to the ultra-cool Comic-Con, for God’s sake!
Yet the place was packed. There were vendor booths galore in the exhibit halls. Hospitals, clinics, private practices, and schools all gathered about and thrusting brochures and literature at her as she wove stealthily through the throng of people, making her way to the ballroom assigned for Dr. Hart’s lecture.
Anxiety ate at her. She was running late. The convention was so huge that Courtney had not been able to book a hotel room nearby on such late notice. Not even in the Gaslamp Quarter or Bayfront area. Staci had checked into the Marriott in Mission Valley and had then battled road construction this morning on I-5.
Locating the correct room, she slipped inside and took a place in the back, shocked to find the seats were practically all full. Making it difficult to see anything.
Apparently, there were big doings in the foot world. It was probably a good thing she was here.
Except that she’d missed the keynote speaker, Dr. Hart, and now the moderator shifted into a Q&A session with the panelists while Dr. Hart strode off and disappeared behind the partition, swarmed by his PR people or conference coordinators. Numerous audience members held their hands in the air for a good fifteen minutes while questions were taken and answered. Not everyone got the chance to query the panelists for an opinion on whatever concerned them. The session ended, everyone onstage exited behind the partition where Hart had disappeared, and Staci literally got swallowed up in the mass exodus.
Damn it!
When she finally broke free of the crowd, she stepped outside to get away from the mayhem and consulted the day’s agenda. No more Dr. Hart. He must have had private engagements that required an invitation to get into. She hit the speed dial number on her phone for Courtney.
“Hey, Court,” she said. “Can you do me a huge favor and try to find out where Dr. Hart is staying? Likely around the convention center. Maybe I can catch him in the bar tonight.”
“Sure, I’ll call around and see if an operator tries to connect me to his room.”
“Great, thanks.”
But Courtney had no better luck with her calls than Staci did scouring the conference trying to get a glimpse of the surgeon.
The trip was a complete bust.
Though Staci wouldn’t give up.
Courtney had her on a flight to Seattle the next day and secured her entry into another conference.
Staci felt a zing of exhilaration as she slid into the back of a Town Car outside of Sea-Tac. The driver Courtney had arranged knew to take her to the Four Seasons. Courtney had already discerned that was where Hart was staying—the front desk staff having confirmed it when Courtney had made her round of calls.
If Staci couldn’t make contact with Hart at this conference, she ought to be able to locate him in one of the common areas of the hotel. She didn’t want to stalk him, but running into him would force him to at least hear her out.
Having just read online the night before that he was operating on Regina Hines, Staci was even more convinced that she and Hart were destined to meet and collaborate.
He had to want to partner with her in building a better, safer—though still infinitely stylish—shoe.
It simply didn’t compute in her head that he wouldn’t want to team up to improve footwear so popular that women the world over were willing to risk serious injuries to enjoy it.
As she considered this, Staci composed a very eloquent and compelling email to Hart, imploring him to meet with her for this very reason. She was coming to him—all he had to do was give her twenty minutes of his time over coffee.
She sent off the missive. And planned to leave the hotel extra early the next morning to ensure she didn’t arrive late at the conference.
* * *
It was another packed auditorium, this one tiered for better viewing of the stage area, though she was still too far away to see the entire panel or Hart without binoculars. The coordinator of these lectures needed to invest in projection screens that displayed the speakers, not just their visual aids and PowerPoint presentations.
For God’s sake, Evan Hart was like the rock star of podiatry.
Too bad he’s such a pompous ass…
She listened to him pontificate over foot and ankle bones, tendons, and cartilage. Rattle off complicated afflictions that required extensive surgery and physical therapy. He also spoke of prosthetics and the advancements he hoped to make in that area.
Staci wasn’t sure if she was fascinated or not.
Dr. Evan Hart had a very curious effect on her. She concentrated on his voice, mostly. It was rich and deep, and her skin actually tingled as she listened to him. She shifted a few times in her seat, feeling heat and electricity against her clit just from his studious diatribe, delivered in the most sensuous bedroom voice imaginable.
Oddly familiar, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. His voice being amplified by microphones, it was a little difficult to completely dissect. And she was a little disturbed that it made her think of Nick.
