Free Fallling for the Prodigal Son by Julia Gabriel Page B

speaker?"
    Lucy snorted. "Right. My reputation as a marketing expert isn't that lofty around here at the moment. No, Sterling and his paid minion believe I need some remedial coursework in marketing 101."
     

Chapter 12
     
     
    Lucy's cell phone vibrated on the pristine white tablecloth of the hotel ballroom. She silently prayed that it wasn't some business emergency back at the Inn—or Sarah calling with the news that John's condition had taken a turn for the worse. She closed her eyes for a moment, giving them a rest against the harsh, overly bright lights of the ballroom. Behind a lectern at the far front of the room, a speaker droned on and on about market ing in the age of distraction.
    When she opened her eyes, she swiped her finger across the screen of her phone. It was a text from Douglas that had triggered the vibration.
    How's San Fran?
    Dont know. Trapped in hotel.
    Bummer. Go 2 Lombard St. Promise?
    Will try. Time not my own.
    Outside the hotel was San Francisco, a famous city Lucy had heard much about but had never visited. She doubted she was going to see much of the city on this visit. Elle Scott-Thomas waited for her in the hallway after every session, to review the business lessons Lucy was supposed to be learning. Lucy was more than mildly insulted that they had insisted she come to this event. She wasn't clear on Elle's professional background but Sterling certainly didn't have as much marketing experience as Lucy did. She wasn't sure he was even seriously considering her ideas anymore. He just wanted the Kids Kamp gone, pure and simple.
    She hadn't seen much of Sterling this week, and it was Thursday already. For all she knew, he wasn't even staying in the hotel. Maybe he had left Elle to lurk around every corner and monitor her. Were her phone and room bugged, too?
    She wished she knew what Sterling was doing while she was being followed around the hotel. Conspiring with more bankers? Negotiating a big sale? He hadn't said anything to her about his trip to New York, either. Not that Lucy particularly wanted to see him, but his mysterious absence was preventing her from paying much attention in the conference sessions. It worried her. Sometimes no news was good news and other times, it just gave one's imagination a longer leash. Maybe this conference was really a cover for something else he was doing out here, something he didn't want anyone else to know about.
    Sheesh. My imagination is getting the best of me. The less she saw of Sterling Matthew, the more, it seemed, she thought of him.
    Her phone vibrated again. This time the text was from Derrick Jones.
    Big news. Call me.
    Lucy glanced at her watch. Call u in 15.
    Lucy's stomach rumbled loudly; she hoped no one sitting near her heard it. A city filled with great restaurants just outside and Lucy was stuck eating standard hotel fare. The salmon entree one day. Chicken the next. Sugary continental breakfasts. Reception finger food. Working at the Inn had spoiled her. She was used to grabbing lunch or dinner from the great chefs who worked there. Gina had printed out a long list of restaurants in San Francisco that she recommended; Lucy would have to stay here six months to try them all.
    The speaker was finally, mercifully, winding down. A young woman dressed in an ill-fitting suit was walking through the audience with a microphone, taking questions for the speaker. Lucy looked anxiously back toward the exit. She needed to get out of here without Elle seeing her so she could call Derrick back. She needed to know exactly when his first story was going to hit the street. She had to read it before Sterling or Elle did.
    Fortunately, a few other people were quietly slipping out of the ballroom already. Lucy slipped her conference handouts and netbook into her purse and followed suit. The large open area outside the ballroom buzzed with conversation. A cart of water glasses clinked as a waiter pushed it past, expertly threading his way through the clumps