Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Oh my God, we have to go out tonight,” Angel says.
“Yes,” Ellie says as she jumps up and down. “Oh my God, I’m so pumped.” She turns to me and Nelson. “Clara, you have to come out tonight.” I smile at her botching my name.
“I couldn’t keep up tonight.” I smile. “Next time, for sure.”
“Okay.” She turns back to Angel. “Where will we go?”
I turn and force a smile at Nelson.
“I wonder how many films they make tonight for free,” he whispers.
I giggle. “I know. Lucky boys. They might not survive it.”
“I know for certain that I wouldn’t,” Nelson mutters under his breath.
We both chuckle and shuffle up the line, and Ellie begins to check in.
Another four men walk in behind me, all older and quite distinguished looking.
Hmm, maybe this is okay after all.
We all chat in the line for a while. Turns out the guys behind us who just arrived are app developers. I don’t feel so silly now. Normal people seem to be here too.
A woman walks in, and all the men’s heads turn. She’s blonde and beautiful. Stylish and trendy and aged around late twenties, at a guess. “Hello, is this the line to check in?” she asks me.
“Yes.” I smile.
“Are you here for the conference?” she asks.
“Uh-huh.”
“Me too.” She holds her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Melissa.”
“Hi, Melissa. I’m Claire.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The line shuffles forward again, and then another two staff members come to reception, so we all veer into different lines.
Nelson comes up behind me. “See you later. We’re having dinner in the restaurant downstairs at seven if you want to come, Claire.”
“Oh.” I turn to him, startled. “Thank you, but I have work to do. I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask.
“Yes, for sure.” He smiles. “Have a good night.”
I turn back to the concierge with a smile. I feel more comfortable than I thought I would. I think this may actually be okay.
I sit in the swanky conference room with 120 other people. The room is abuzz with electricity. They’re all chattering and have their notepads and other papers with them.
Everyone here is so pumped to try to better themselves.
Me . . . well, I’m just here for the champagne and to have an excuse to take a holiday by myself. But anyway, yay for the pumped ones, I guess.
A man comes onto the stage, and everyone claps and cheers. He holds his hands out and smiles broadly. Hmm . . . I wonder who he is.
He waits for the cheering to die down, and he smiles broadly again. “Welcome,” he says. He has a small microphone attached to his shirt. “Welcome to Mind Masters. A place where you will find a better version of yourself.” His voice is loud and echoing, as if he’s giving a sermon or something. “Are you ready?” he cries.
Everyone cheers.
Oh God . . . so over the top. I clap along with the room as they all lose their shit. They are all standing and laughing as they clap. I frown as I look around at them . . . honestly, calm down, everyone.
This is like a fucking cult.
I glance down at my phone as I contemplate filming this shit for Marley. Even she wouldn’t believe it.
“And now, I would like to introduce our opening speaker. Someone that I know a lot of you follow on the circuit. A rock star in the motivational-speaking circuit and the developer of workshops that are changing the lives of people from all walks of life. He’s here for one day only, so please, without further ado—with his cutting-edge strategy, How to get what you want—welcome to the stage Tristan Miles.”
The air leaves my lungs as the crowd goes wild.
Tristan Miles walks out in a navy designer suit and his just-fucked dark wavy hair. He smiles broadly, holds his hands in the air, claps with the audience, and then takes a bow. Everyone is going crazy and yelling and clapping.
My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets . . . what the fuck?
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears as everyone else in the room disappears.
My fury begins to pump. I can’t even stand the sight of him—well, that’s not completely true. Damn asshole is a double-edged sword: gorgeous to look at, impossible to tolerate.
“Hello, everyone,” he says in the same echoing voice. “Congratulations.” He smiles as he waits for silence. Goose bumps scatter across my skin at the sound of his deep voice. He has a slight twang of an accent, a little upper-crust English mixed in with New Yorker. He sounds distinguished and intelligent—I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s sexy as fuck.
Ugh . . . I hate everything about him.
“Welcome, and thank you for coming. You have taken a very valuable step in your personal development.” He looks around the room at everyone as he speaks. “I, for one . . .” Our eyes meet, and he stops speaking as he stares at me and then blinks.