There, sitting near the back, her vibrant red hair a bonfire in the dim light of the auditorium, was Beth. My Beth. The woman from the pub, the woman from my hotel room, the woman whose face I’d been trying and failing to forget.
My well-rehearsed words simply ceased. My train of thought didn’t just derail; it flew off a cliff and exploded. My mouth was still open, but nothing came out. The entire room, the entire world, narrowed to that one single point in the crowd. It was her. There was no doubt.
My stunned silence stretched for a full second, then two. I just stared, unable to look away. Her eyes locked with mine, and I saw the recognition, the same shock, and a wave of pure panic wash over her features.
A single camera flash went off from the side of the room, a small pop of light that felt like a gunshot in the sudden quiet. The spell was broken. A low murmur rippled through the audience as heads began to turn, following my fixed gaze, trying to see what had so completely captivated and silenced their keynote speaker.
“Is that her?” a voice whispered from the front rows.
“The woman from the video?”
“What’s going on?”
The murmurs swelled, a rising tide of speculation. I gripped the podium, my knuckles turning white. This wasn’t just a disaster. This was a goddamn catastrophe.
But then, something clicked. A déjà vu moment. Hadn’t I been in this exact situation a few days ago? That last-minute speaking engagement where I’d started bombing but salvaged the whole thing by ditching my notes and being real with the audience. The memory rushed back with crystal clarity: how the atmosphere had shifted in an instant, how people had leaned forward in their seats when I dropped therehearsed speech and spoke from the heart. It had worked like a charm at the time, hadn’t it? Maybe it wasn’t desperation or experience kicking in after all. Maybe it was me finally understanding my own playbook. I needed to address this head-on authenticity being my secret weapon once again.
I drew a deep breath and dove in. “Actually…” I said, my voice cutting through the chatter. “Let’s talk about what just happened. Because if we’re going to discuss authenticity and vulnerability, I might as well practice what I preach.”
The audience fell silent, all eyes on me.
“A few nights ago, I went out to experience the local culture here in Glasgow. And yes, I met someone. Someone who reminded me that even motivational speakers are human. That we all have moments of weakness, moments where we let our guard down.”
I noticed Beth in my peripheral vision; her face I couldn’t make out.
“I’m not here to make excuses or ask for sympathy. But I am here to talk about the reality of being human in the digital age. About the pressure we put on ourselves and each other to be flawless, to never make mistakes.”
For the next hour, I wove my prepared material with this new theme. I talked about resilience in the face of public scrutiny, about maintaining authenticity when every move is potentially recorded. By the time I wrapped up, the energy in the room was electric.
The applause was deafening. As I gazed upon the standing ovation, my shoulders relaxed. But my eyes kept drifting back to Beth’s seat, only to find it empty. She’d slipped out during my speech.
As I stepped off stage, Danny was there in an instant,grabbing my arm and steering me away from the approaching press.
“Mr. McCrae! Can you comment on what happened during your speech?”
“Who was the woman you recognized in the audience?”
“Is she the same woman from the video?”
Danny’s grip on my arm tightened as he maneuvered us through the backstage area. “No comments at this time, folks. Mr. McCrae needs to prepare for his next engagement.”
We ducked into the green room, Danny slamming the door behind us. He turned to me, his eyes wide. “What the fuck was that, Sean?”
I slumped against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “She was there, Danny. Beth. The one from the pub.”
Danny’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
I nodded my head. “She bolted as soon as the speech ended. But Danny, I have to find her.”
Danny ran a hand over his face. He stopped and grinned, a manic, excited light in his eyes. “We’ll find her. The booking requests are already pouring in, by the way. I’ve got three new inquiries in the last half hour. You going catatonic mid-speech is apparently great for business. Who knew?”
“Danny, let’s forget about business for a moment.”
“No, I’m serious!” he said, waving his phone. “This is gold! ‘Motivational Speaker Stunned Silent by Mystery Woman!’ The narrative writes itself. Who cares about a little shagging between two consenting adults in Glasgow? Honestly, in Britain, that’s practically a Tuesday. This scandal is the best PR we’ve had in years!”
“I’m thrilled for my brand,” I said dryly.
Just as the words left my mouth, the handle of the greenroom door began to turn slowly, the latch clicking with an audible sound that made my stomach drop.Shit. A reporter.
