Page 20 of Enemies to French Kisses
“That’s right, as your own idea.”
“Guys,” Vincent waves from the white board. “We should get back to—”
“You under-positioned it, I took it to the next level.”
“My point is,” deep breaths, “we have to build this proposal as ateam.” I’m the leader here. I can’t let him derail us no matter how hard he tries. I have to get through this day and then wash his infuriatingness off me with a hot shower. I’ll be fine if I can get some time apart from him. Until then, I’ve got to be the best leader I can be. “Let’s go back to the beginning. We have the time to do this right.”
Guillaume marches through the door. “No time. The RFP has been posted because Tinter Biotech Industries is trying to get there first.” He looks around the room at our collective dropped jaws. “Forty-eight hours. Your proposal has to be ready in forty-eight hours or this whole thing is dead in the water.”
Marc and I lock eyes. Mine must be wide like a deer in headlights, while his have a glint of competition. This changes everything, but I didn’t invest those tens of thousands of dollars in education to wilt in the face of a forty-eight-hour career-making opportunity. Even if it is with Marc Lemonstre.
A pin could drop and send echoes throughout the place.
Marc’s eyebrow raises. “It’s now or never.”
“It’s now,” I declare and roll my shoulders back. Vincent slinks deeper in his chair but Marc’s half-smile is all the fodder I need to light this fire up. The Dutch await.
Looks like Marc and I are about to spend alotmore time together.
CHAPTER8
Marc
Vincent’s headis on his hands in a shape that must mean he’s sleeping, because the line of drool from his mouth would otherwise be cause for concern.
We’re in the final hours, and I don’t see how we’re ever going to come up with something fitting for the Dutch. Creating a proposal for home-based care, allowing people the freedom to be in their comfy living room while having the availability of professional care at their fingertips—it’s a revelation.
The Dutch regulations, however, are turning this potential success story into a jungle of red tape.
But it’s not over yet. I’ll fight for us to get to the finish line. I thrive in situations like this. The thrill of competition, the rush of adrenaline, it’s exhilarating. But there’s also Guillaume’s reputation in the mix. The bar has been set high.
I know I’m not the only one feeling it. I can see it in Laura’s eyes, the way they dart back and forth across the page, the way her fingers tap impatiently on the table. She’s just as competitive as I am, and working so closely to her makes it all the more obvious that I have to know her better. Every last detail. Yet, when I tried to put words to my feelings, they seemed to disappear into thin air.
I clear my throat, breaking the silence that has settled over the room. I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. Guillaume has put so much into getting an opportunity with the Dutch, and I can’t bear the idea of letting him down. But it seems like everything we’ve tried has failed. I run my hand through my hair, feeling the weight of it in my fingers. We’ve got to hit these marks better than we are now.
“It doesn’t work, Laura.” I wipe off the sketch with my sleeve. “We cannot make that work within those parameters of the RFP. It’s futile!”
Emotion threatens to close my throat, or else it’s pure exhaustion. I turn so she cannot see my eyes glistening. They aren’t tears of weakness. They are for my friend who has put more on the line for this Dutch portfolio than he’s dared to tell anyone else. He had to put in his own money, his own future—financial and legal—to make this work. Because if we can convince the Dutch, then the rest of continental Europe will be set up for the conquering.
But now that they’ve advanced the deadline for the RFP, our foundations are no more than mucky waters.
“We’re not that far off, I can tell.” She whispers at the white board. “We can adjust the import numbers… reduce waste on local output…”
“It won’t be enough. We’ve tried every other model. Every major variable. I’m going to have to tell Guillaume that it’s over.Mon dieu, the look on his face will break my heart…” I take a deep breath and turn back to Laura.
I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud, but it doesn’t matter as Laura hasn’t noticed. I can’t let my emotions show—not at work. What’s the matter with me? I could blame lack of sleep and over-caffeination, but I think it has more to do with trying to push a round peg of proposing a cutting-edge approach to home-based healthcare in a square-shaped Dutch hole. At work, Guillaume and I are colleagues only. No one knows that my family has invested in him, nor that our friendship goes back to skipping stones over the pond in theBois de Vincennes. I keep my eyes set on the Paris skyline, which takes on a different aspect at four in the morning after nearly two nonstop days of redesign.
Laura keeps going. She’s a machine running on coffee and dried fruit.
But I’ve got nothing left.
“Hey.” She joins me at the window and I quickly blink back whatever tear threatened to fall. “You’re exhausted. It’s normal that you feel this way. But look at this logically. If it were easy, then everyone would be submitting for the RFP. We have five hours to submit and all the peripherals are set.”
“The peripherals, yes, but not the heart of the very thing we’re supposed to propose.”
She leans against the window, her eyes glancing down me and then back up, assessing my condition, which I admit, is less poised than I would like. My hair is tousled in every direction from the number of times I’ve grabbed onto it as I sought alternatives. The circles under my eyes must rival the black cliffs of Normandy.
Her voice softens further.
