I adjusted my bag, made sure my crystals were secure, and started walking toward the Strip.
If the universe wanted me to explore, I’d explore.
And if I happened to run into Mr. Grumpy Suit again?
Well, that would just prove that destiny had a sense of humor after all.
Chapter Five
Julien
I didn’t have time for this.
I didn’t have time for lost gypsies who couldn’t watch where they were going. I didn’t have time for apologies about “the lights” and “the energy” and whatever cosmic nonsense she’d been babbling about. I didn’t have time foranyof this.
I had thirteen minutes.
Thirteen minutes to check into the Venetian, drop off my luggage, find the conference room, and deliver a TED Talk that I’d meticulously prepared for. A talk that was supposed to showcase the clinic’s research. A talk that Quinton and the others would never let me live down if I missed.
Thirteen minutes, and no time to spare on lost women.
This was not how today was supposed to go.
Today was supposed to be simple. Straightforward. I’d mapped it out with the same precision I used for surgical procedures: flight from Hartford to Denver at 6:47 AM, layover of exactly ninety-three minutes, enough time to get coffee and review my notes, connecting flight to Las Vegas arriving at 12:15 PM local time. Check into the Venetian by 1:00 PM. Review the slides one final time. Arrive at the conference room by 2:45 PM for the 3:00 PM talk.
Simple. Efficient. Foolproof.
Except for the universe, or more accurately, United Airlines had other plans.
“Mechanical malfunction,” the gate agent said with the kind of apologetic smile that suggested she’d delivered this news a thousand times before and had long since stopped caring. “We’re working on rebooking everyone.”
“When’s the next flight?” I asked, already knowing the answer would be unacceptable.
“Tomorrow morning at 6:15.”
“Tomorrow? I have a presentation today. In Las Vegas. At three o’clock.”
She typed something into her computer with the enthusiasm of someone filing their own death certificate. “I’m sorry, sir. That’s the earliest available flight. Unless you’d like to try standby on the 4:30 to Phoenix with a connection to...”
“That gets me there at midnight.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stood there, feeling my carefully constructed schedule crumbling around me like a sandcastle at high tide. Then I did something I never did.
I improvised.
“Fine. Cancel the flight. I’ll drive.”
The gate agent blinked at me. “Sir, Las Vegas is over seven hundred miles from Denver.”
“I’m aware.”
“That’s at least a ten-hour drive.”
“I’m aware.”
I’d rented a car—a process that took forty-five minutes because apparently, “I need a car immediately” wasn’t a concept the rental company was familiar with—and started driving.
