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Magdalena pulls away. Her face twists into a grimace. “Little buggers,” she groans, pressing down on her belly under her breasts. I watch helplessly as she lowers herself onto the mattress.
“You’re sure you—”
“Stirling Cox, get the hell out of my house! I am fine. I have a plan. Ooohhh … But you, my friend, need one.”
My friend? I press my own hands on my chest, over a sharp stab. I can’t tell if it’s sympathy pains or if I’m having another heart attack or if this is what it feels like to be pre-dumped.
I kiss her on the forehead. “Promise me you’ll call if you go into labor.”
She shakes her head. “Promise me you’ll put your phone on airplane mode as soon as you walk into the conference center.”
I shake mine.
“I want all the details. Over dinner. On Monday.”
* * *
I arrive at the conference center and join the line for registrants with last names that start with A to D. There are at least twenty people in front of each table. The place is buzzing with excited energy, people introducing themselves. Overhearing all the consultants sharing their one-line business pitches with each other, I feel like a phony. I keep my hands deep in my business casual dress pants and my eyes on the floor, watching the heels of the woman ahead of me, so I advance appropriately.
It takes less than five minutes to get to the table.
“Stirling Cox.” I hand the young man my driver’s license, as instructed by the huge signs on both sides of every registration table.
He spins his chair to the wall of small cubbies behind him. They look like something a post office might have to keep parcels organized. He pulls a conference bag from midway down, opens it and detaches the lanyard with my name from the handles, handing it to me.
“Check to make sure this is correct, please.”
I glance at my name.
“Perfect.”
“Please keep this visible at all times this weekend. Your seat number is on the back of your name tag. Please don’t sit anywhere else. You’ll find a short list of instructions in your conference bag. Please read those as soon as you find your seat.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for attending Come Into Power. This weekend has the power to Change. Your. Life.”
I stop mid-turn, realizing Mags had sent me on my way with promotional copy. I wonder if she’d written it and, if she had, if that might make the sting any less sharp.
Entering the huge auditorium, I realize Mags had arranged an aisle seat for me. I wonder if she had to pull many strings. I nod hello to several people as I make my way toward the stage, to my seat in the seventh row from the front.
“Excuse me, I believe this is my seat.”
A man in his early thirties is sitting in my designated spot. He stands.
“I am. I hope you don’t mind changing with me. My seat is right in the middle, seat Y. My son is sick … if my wife calls, I’m going to have to leave. I don’t want to disrupt the whole row. I hope you understand.”
An unkind thought flits through my head—I hope his wife calls soon so I get my aisle seat back—but I nod. “Of course. Family first.”
CHAPTER15
Magdalena
Isit in the only place and position that’s comfortable these days—the anti-gravity setting on my bed—and open my laptop to log in to the private server for Will Power Industries. I don’t have any work to do but I need a distraction from the double punch to my heart: the twin who has their foot pressed into my chest and the man who’s managed, against all odds, to find a way to insert himself directly into my bloodstream.
The Come Into Power events are recorded for legal purposes, not to be distributed. The only reason I have access is because, as the marketing copywriter, it helps me to know the language Mr. Power uses when he’s delivering his material, the energy of the crowd, and so on. I don’t review every event—and I’ve never watched live before—since, in sixteen hours of presentation, there are only a few spots that are truly relevant to my work.
The cameras are all positioned in discreet locations off-stage, pointing from either side to capture Mr. Power or into the crowd. They’re controlled remotely, from a space in the hotel or conference center, but outside of the event room.
