My strategy for surviving business conferences is to sit in the last row, close to the exit, so I can beat the mass exodus to the hotel bar.

The bartender nodded as soon as she saw me and began mixing my Martini with extra olives. We’d chatted after I’d checked in the night before, and a band had been playing in the corner of the lounge. I hadn’t paid much attention to them, but the bartender had told me that the guitarist was checking me out. When I’d turned to look, said guitarist gave me a lazy grin that had me thinking, Bad, bad boy. But I merely returned his smile, finished my Martini, and called it a night. This time, when she brought my drink, she said someone had already paid for it.

I didn’t bother trying to find out who’d picked up my tab, since the bar had begun to... Read More