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“Why?” I shook my head.
He leaned forward and whispered, “Just imagine what you can think up for us to do in bed.” He winked.
“You’re very confident,” I said.
“You already know this about me.”
“Overconfident, I think I said.”
“That too.”
“You could crash and burn,” I pointed out.
“How could you resist me?” he said grinning. “I’m your sole form of entertainment at this boring old stuffy conference.”
“Wearemeant to be working,” I pointed out.
“We’re working,” he said. “You’re getting to know your audience.”
“A fictitious one.”
He shook his head. “Look over there. See that guy? What do you think he does?”
I stared at the man in question and then looked at the stand he was at.
“Heart valves,” I said.
“Yes,” Michael agreed. “Our competition. So, what do you think?”
“He’s a surgeon.”
“Correct.”
“He doesn’t look happy.”
“Correct.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like those heart valves?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s a possibility.”
“Should we eavesdrop?”
“That would be exciting, but probably not considered appropriate professional conduct.”
“Says the man making up stories about the conference attendees.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “What else can you tell me about him?”
I studied the surgeon and the stand he was at and the way the rep kept talking loudly. Almost over top of the surgeon who kept trying to speak.
“He wants to tell the rep something, and the rep’s not listening. He’s got a story to tell.”
“Let’s try out your theory, shall we?”
Michael stepped out from our stall and casually greeted the surgeon. Then promptly returned to stand beside me.
“What did you . . ?” I started.
