Then again, everything sensual made her think of Nick. And he really needed to be the furthest thing from her mind.
Staci glanced around her, trying to note if any other females in the room reacted to Hart’s tone the way she did.
Most of the women took feverish notes on pads of paper or small laptops, so she guessed not.
Admittedly, he was riveting, even if nine-tenths of what he said went well over her head.
Dr. Evan Hart spoke compellingly, insistently, passionately…
Get that man on a topic he believed in and he was clearly a force with which to be reckoned.
Oh, yes. He was definitely the answer to her shoe dilemma.
To the world’s shoe dilemma!
And again, his voice. The warm timbre trilled down her spine, making Staci squirm once more in her seat. She felt a tickle along her clit. Excitement flared in her belly. Why? Anticipation over the possibility of partnering with this man for her cause? Or…What?
Something about him piqued her interest far beyond her shoe initiative.
Had she really heard his voice before?
She studied the program in her hands, but it was the same across-the-room photo of Hart that was plastered all over the Internet. As though that was the identity he wanted to present to the world and none other. Obviously it was perpetuated by his PR people.
Hmm. That was a curious thought. The man was a complete mystery. An enigma. And that had her dying to know more about him.
She had to speak with him. Pick his brain. Get to know him. Because he’d lit a fire under her by successfully evading her, and not even knowing exactly what he looked like or why he wouldn’t hear her out made her desperate to find out everything she could about Dr. Hart. The man. The myth. The legend.
Actually, she wanted to scratch the surface far beyond just the professional accreditations and convictions. But she had no time to dwell on all of that. When the Q&A session began, her arm shot into the air. Since she wasn’t near the front of the room, she feared she wouldn’t be recognized.
Jesus, there were a lot people here! And they had tons of questions to ask.
A good twenty minutes passed, and she still anxiously waved her hand in the air. Staci knew exactly the direction she’d take if—when!—called upon. She’d jump right in with both feet and ask if Evan had ever considered designing better insoles. That ought to grab his attention, pique his interest, and solicit a meeting with her.
The moderator moved up the aisle, inching closer to Staci. Her heart thundered in her chest. What an incredible way to start her journey to more conscientious footwear—a phenomenal niche to pursue!
Staci could just imagine the interviews in Vanity Fair, Vogue, Marie Claire…
And she’d land front-row passes to Fashion Week in New York and Paris! This would be another fantastic coup for her company and would put Staci Kay Shoes on the lips of every woman who once thought she had to pay Prada prices for exceptional designer shoes.
No. They. Did. Not.
Nor wou
ld their feet have to suffer from the trendy styles that were her customers’ fetish.
The moderator reached Staci’s row and leaned in. “Yes, you in the green dress. Do you have a question for Dr. Hart?”
“I do,” Staci said, her pulse racing. She stood, and the moderator stretched the boom toward her. Staci smoothed her skirt and noted that her fingers trembled. This was so thrilling!
“My name is Staci Kay.” She spoke clearly and audibly into the mic. “I’d like to ask Dr. Hart if he has considered—”
“I’m sorry,” the surgeon cut her off. From his perch at the front of the room, he said, “Miss Kay, as previously mentioned to you, I don’t have an interest in addressing media inquiries.”
She had to look around numerous people on the move, since the session was ending. She craned her neck, but couldn’t see around the crowd. “This isn’t a media inquiry,” she insisted. “I own a shoe company.” What part of that was he not getting?
“I’m afraid we’re out of time, Miss Kay,” said the moderator. “My apologies.”
The mic holder moved away, and everyone dispersed.