Page 86 of Haunted

He nods and gives me a thumbs up.

“That was intense,” Ryan observes in an undertone as Lance goes to sit down.

“Marine Corps,” I answer. “We’ve had a couple of intense days lately.” He sits down and smiles at me.

A man I don’t know welcomes us and rattles off our names. When I glance at Lance, he gives me a wide smile that lifts my whole soul and does silent jazz hands to cheer me on—and it works. Color floods my face and I can’t suppress the grin as I look back down at my notes.

The first speaker takes the podium and I tune him out, trying not to sneak glances at Lance and failing miserably. If I angle my head just right, I can make eye contact while appearing to study my own things. Lance catches on instantly and treats me to a grin that puts me on top of the world.

The organizer crouches beside me, half-hidden by the tables. “Please tell me that you have an extra copy of your presentation on a flash drive.”

“Yes.” I pass it over from where it’s been sitting beside the printout of my speech. “Fairhaven Presentation, central folder,” I whisper back. “How soon?”

“Not long,” he says, with a glance at the tax man now hitting his stride on digital entrepreneurship in the tax industry. “Although it might feel longer.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve had to update everything and we can’t open half the files.”

I try not to agree too loudly. This conference has been a snooze. The opening speaker was a toxic blend of patronizing and underinformed, delivering platitudes about the stunning world awaiting tomorrow’s workers as though he—a mid-level administrator at a mid-level university—had ever once been an entrepreneur. And now the tax man, who is at least earnest, if dull, and isn’t trying to bamboozle anyone.

A scatter of tepid applause tells me the tax man has, if not run out of steam, at least ground to a halt.

“Thank you!” the organizer says. “We’ve got a short break, and then the second half—real-life stories, starting with Jonny Bishop, who built a digital-entrepreneurship business in Indonesia. After that, Ryan Otto, who is here to talk about digital brand building.” I make a note on my speech to gently clarify that I’ve spent no meaningful time in Indonesia. The attendees stand to stretch and try to wake themselves up.

A shadow falls across my notes. Lance crouches to my level. “You need something? Something to drink?”

“I’m fine, my love. Shoo. You’re distracting me.”

“Signal me if you need me.”

I stare at him. “Okay. You’ve got advice and you’re almost coming apart at the seams to give it. What’s your take.”

He smiles and runs his tongue against his teeth. “Lead with expectations versus reality. We’ve had a lot of enthusiasm and not a lot of down-to-earth, this-is-hard messaging. That’s what I noticed, anyway. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right. Thanks.” It feels awkward to fold him in like this. I’m not used to it, but I like it.

Someone drops a book two tables over, and Lance’s neck snaps around. His whole posture goes rigid; I watch his pupils blow wide. His hand comes halfway across the table toward me before he catches himself and reels it back.

“Lance?”

He lets his gaze rest on the source of the noise a beat too long, then turns to me. “Yeah?”

“Lance. We’re in public, a hundred witnesses. Nothing can happen to me here. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He gives me an amused look.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” He flashes me a boyish smile. “Call me if you need me.”

“Wow,” Ryan says. “That’s intense.”

“Jonny?” The organizer says over my shoulder. “It won’t open. I mean, we can get the presentation but we can’t quite get it to work. Our volunteer asks if you have it on the cloud.”

I sigh. “I’ll go and sign in. How long until I go live?”

“About a minute.” The organizer looks up at Dr. Ackerman, who is chairing this half. “Maybe less.”