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Adelaide spotted him immediately. She could read men like blind people read those bumps on paper, it’s all about the protrusions. He was attempting, without much success, to hide what was a physical representation of her effect on him. How wonderful that she had uncovered her first mark within minutes of her arrival. But was he with the convention? He didn’t look a bit Swedish.

She expertly arranged her long, blonde mane of fake hair. Damn, she hated wearing wigs in this weather. July Canadian heat was hotter than Brad Pitt when he took off his shirt, boinked Thelma (or what it Louise?) and then stole all her money. Adelaide had wondered on her way to the hotel if perhaps long and blonde was the wrong choice for the Swedes, perhaps she should have gone with something less stereotypic, but her gut instinct told her that today blonde was the way to go.

She tried to set her sights firmly on the man with the protrusion as she sashayed her way across the patio, her hips swaying like those soap-covered plastic things that hang down in a drive-through car wash and go back and forth across your windshield, but she found herself uncharacteristically distracted. She was typically so single-minded when it came to her marks, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the strangely sexy freak she'd met earlier. She couldn’t quite seem to put him out of her mind. His voice was locked in her head the way an awful Britney Spears song will go “Oops, I did it again” in your brain until it drives you crazy because it’s the only lyric you know and it repeats itself over and over and over.

No! She had to focus. She had to concentrate on the task at hand. This month's rent depended on it.

The man looked like he needed to be saved. He was obviously just barely enduring the company of the fat man sitting across from him, so evidently trying to be polite. Perhaps he was British? He was attractive in a decidedly non-Swedish kind of way, all dark hair, brown eyes and olive complexion. If she could only get York out of her thoughts, this might be a job she’d really enjoy.

She reached the table and the eyes of both men scanned her from top to bottom. Something she was completely accustomed to.

In her practiced, sultry voice she purred “Are you boys with the convention?”