“I’m an optimist?” I say, but I grimace. My green silk suit is unlikely to survive even a bolt from the Uber into the conference center.
“We’ll see if you’re still one when you look like a drowned rat in front of a thousand people,” she says.
I shrug. “A lack of vanity puts people at ease.”
“Let me get a few shots of you before you become hideous,” Shanthi says, and I pose by a tall monstera while she snaps away.
Ryan joins us with four long black umbrellas tucked under his arm. “Courtesy of the hotel,” he says, handing them out.
“Our hero,” says Maral, covertly elbowing me.
Since the event at Elevate on Thursday evening, and our conversation in my hotel room thereafter, Ryan seems to have warmed a touch. He’s not quite so forbidding a presence anymore. In fact, he’s not forbidding at all. Still laced-up, sure—he is who he is, I guess—but now I know there’s a human behind all those knots.
Take this chivalry, for instance. These could be patio umbrellas, they’re so huge, keeping not only my hair and makeup dry en route to the conference center, but my entire outfit as well.
The hall is buzzing with entrepreneurs, thought leaders, and professionals. I know before we even check in that this is my crowd—a lot of people recognize me, asking for selfies and expressing their anticipation for my talk. I can practically feel the energy from their positive reinforcement entering my bloodstream, sparking renewed excitement for my keynote. This is going to be a good one. I’m grateful to Mar for getting me on the docket when she learned it would coincide with the time frame of the tour.
Woodsworth arranged to have copies of my book available at the pop-up bookseller station in the concourse, which is where Ryan heads immediately to check stock and displays.
Once we find the conference organizer, Devi, she leads us to a staging area, where Shanthi records me meeting and greeting some of the other panelists and exchanges handles so she can tag them in our stories. I’ll give the keynote during the cocktail hour, after which we’re invited to stay for the banquet dinner and attend evening networking events as we please.
It’s hard to tell if it hits different just because I’m riding the high from Nadia’s email, but on the heels of the not-great vibes at Thursday’s Chicago event, my talk might be the best I’ve ever given. Top five for sure. Cocktail-hour engagements can be tough. People are getting buzzed and chatty; they have spent minds andunspent energy after a long day of meetings. But the crowd is rapt, almost every eye on me despite the catering staff milling about with trays of hors d’oeuvres.
I’ve added a few updated anecdotes to my talk and some subtle suggestions that my book, with more in-depth stories of the same ilk, is available for purchase. Afterward, the applause and cheering resound in the banquet hall, and through the multiple doors at the back I see a line start to form at the bookseller in the concourse.
Maral smiles broadly, standing to the left of the stage next to Ryan, both of them clapping. I swear I see a look flash in Ryan’s eyes that’s reminiscent of our bump-in at Chicago’s hotel gym, when I caught him staring at my bare skin.Heatwould be the most apt term to describe it…before a curtain seems to close over his expression.
Still, it serves to catapult my whirring pulse that much higher.
We spend the dinner hour chatting and networking with conference-goers, my heart like a snowball gaining momentum and heft as it barrels downhill. Connecting with like-minded people is better than any drug.
Once the crowd begins to thin, people heading off to various after-dinner events or calling it a night, the four of us regroup and Maral pulls up her Uber app to take us back to the hotel.
“No,” I whine, “I don’t want to go back yet.”
“Do you want to hit up one of the networking sessions?” she asks, holding up the brochure Devi handed her.
“Nah,” I say. I’m too antsy, pumped with post-show adrenaline and wanting to keep the party going. “Let’s go drinking!”
Shanthi raises her hand for a high five and I slap it hard. Maral’s irises gleam—she’s in too. I turn puppy eyes to Ryan and watch him fold in a matter of seconds.
The rain is pouring in sheets as we race to our waiting Uber, which Shanthi has directed to a bar in Belltown. At a different time of day, the drive would afford us a choice view of Pike PlaceMarket and the Spheres, but as it stands, the darkness and deluge will obscure the sights Seattle has to offer.
Shanthi and Maral pile into the back seat and Ryan goes to open the front passenger door. The driver yells something we can’t make out over the sound of the downpour. He waves at the front seat, which is piled high with insulated restaurant delivery bags.
“Sorry!” he calls. That much we hear.
“Are we ridesharing withfood?” I ask.
“I’ll call another car,” Ryan says.
“It’s fine, we can all fit in the back!” Maral shouts.
The car’s a Civic, not exactly a double-wide—I don’t think Mr. Boundary will appreciate being smushed between us. But it’s a short drive, just a few city blocks, and every second of indecision while the rain batters the pavement means our shoes and pant legs get even more soaked than they already are.
Ryan motions for me to get in first, and I return the gesture.
“You get in first,” Maral says to Ryan. “Ana’s smaller, she’ll be able to squeeze in more easily.”
