Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Since I’d really like Nick Adams to innovate me.
Good thing Valeria didn’t eat her shoes since those are some cute leopard prints she’s wearing as she enters the stage and introduces the new speaker.
I’m buzzing with anticipation.
“I’m thrilled that so many of you stayed for our closing keynote,” Valeria says to the crowd. “We are fortunate enough to have a wonderful replacement speaker in Nick Adams from Alpha Ventures. He founded his technology venture firm three years ago, and since then, his sharp eye and entrepreneurial spirit have led him to invest in a number of outstanding tech startups.”
She lists some of those companies, many in Europe and a handful in the United States. All are wildly successful. “Without further ado, your new keynote speaker…Nick Adams.”
I’m so glad my conference crush is a venture capitalist because that means there’s zero conflict of interest for The Makeover or for me. Our app doesn’t need venture funding. We’re on the hunt for marketing and growth, for partners in social media and review management, but not for an investment.
Which means I can have fun with him as he talks.
The man of the hour strides in from the wings, thanks Valeria, then heads to the front of the stage. A mic is clipped to his teal-blue tie to capture a deep, gravelly voice that makes me wiggle in my chair.
“When I was swimming in my brother’s pool this morning, the last thing I expected was to be called on to pinch hit for someone as stellar as Mikka Halla. But it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. And that’s what I want to talk about today.” He pauses briefly and scans the audience, his gaze settling to the left side of the front row.
Onto…me.
I flick a strand of my hair. Flirting 101, but it gets my point across. I take notes for the next several minutes. But I’m ready for another round when he says, “Wayne Gretzky famously said I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been. That’s the metric for innovation too.”
He’s looking at the front row, so I nibble on the corner of my lips. His gaze stays on me for a second, then he turns the other way.
There’s more note-taking for me, more visionary thoughts from him, then a little later, when he heads in my direction once more, I uncross my legs.
“Innovation comes from habit. The relentless habit of constantly seeking…” When his gaze lands on me, I cross my legs just for him. “Opportunity,” he says, with the slightest rumble in his voice.
A rumble just for me.
When he’s done delivering a powerful speech about seizing your chance, I do just that. Sure, I’m here for work and only work. But why not have a little fun before my plane trip home?
I’m up and out of my chair in mere seconds, heading straight for the edge of the stage. You’ve got to hustle to get what you want in life, and I’m hustling.
But so are plenty of others.
Dammit. I’m not the only one swarming the man. I’ve got to be faster and I pick up the pace, but the conference organizers beat me. They’re flanking him, unclipping his mic, handing him a glass of water.
He takes a drink as he heads down the steps of the stage, ten feet away from me.
Judging from the phones thrust out, and well, the red ribbons on name tags saying press, I’ll have to fight dozens of eager reporters, podcasters, and journalists wanting a word with him.
And…Valeria.
She’s right by his side, helpfully taking his water, then speaking to the gathered crowd. “We’re so glad Mr. Adams has made time in his busy schedule to chat with the media for the next thirty minutes. There’s a press room down the hall,” she says.
No!
I am not about to be knocked out of line just because I don’t have a press pass. I’m definitely not going to be pushed away when it comes to the first guy—no, man—in ages that I’ve picked.
He’s my choice and mine alone.
“Mr. Adams,” I say, my voice carrying above the dozens of people surrounding him. “I have a question.”
He whips his head toward me, and recognition crosses those eyes—they’re hazel. But the darkest hazel I’ve ever seen. Flecks of gold flicker in them, right along with his dirty thoughts.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t stop. I push on. “You mentioned that seconds matter when it comes to taking a chance, but that you should also not be hasty,” I say and his brow knits, his eyes determined, like I’m the target in his crosshairs. “How do you balance that?”
All I’ve planned is the question. I don’t know what I’ll do or say next. But I want him to notice me. Maybe to see my name tag. To find me. To follow me.