Page 22 of Enemies to French Kisses
“It’s done and over to the Dutch!” Laura crosses her arms with visible assurance. “And I have a really good feeling about it.”
“Oui!” Guillaume cries and thrusts his fist in the air. “You did it!” His words might be celebratory, but I’ve known Guillaume long enough to see that it’s relief washing over him. With all he has riding on this, he was wise not to put additional pressure on Laura. He told me she’s the type who thrives when left with a problem, not needing external motivation. He seems to have a better grasp of who she is at work than I do—which makes me want her even more.
“Wedid it,” Laura says with glistening eyes, looking first to Vincent and then to me.
“But it was mostly you,” I add.
Vincent shakes his head. “I do not understand the two of you.”
“Hopefully you’ll get an opportunity to know them better,” Guillaume slaps Vincent on the back, “because if we win this RFP then the three of you are going to be on deck to deliver the final proposal, with the full force of Innov’ Biotech behind you.”
“I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry.” Vincent gathers up his folders and trudges out.
“As for the two of you,” Guillaume swaggers to the place where we stand by the window. “Enjoy a couple of days off. We should have a response next week, and everything could change. Live it up in the city while you can.”
He winks, leaving Laura and I standing in the glow of recent success.
This is my chance to try again. “Laura—"
“Marc, I am as surprised as you are. And I appreciate the way you listened to me when I saw a way forward.”
Not only was I too tired to fight, she was in fact right. “Of course, but one thing—"
“No buts.” She yawns. “We’ve done good, and now I need some serious shut eye. So before you can say something that will ruin this moment, let’s say goodnight.”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“Goodnight…” She waves over her shoulder, her hips dancing her out as I watch her every step, a goddess in an American pantsuit.
CHAPTER9
Laura
Never before hasan upper bunk barely the width of my shoulders seemed so inviting. My peripheral vision is aware others are home, but my eyes see nothing but the arriving pillow.
The climb to the upper bunk is slower than I would like, but the rungs of this extra narrow ladder is an injury risk on a good day. I am in the mood to sleep in my own bed, not one that is compliments of the French hospital system, thank you.
I haul myself over the bar and my body obeys gravity. Down everything flops in a gorgeous display of the human body finally sensing that rest will come, except…
I can’t.
I should be sleeping. I’m exhausted, candles burned from every end, and yet I’m tossing and turning instead of strolling in La-La-Land.
The scent of chamomile rises and I turn to find a hand holding a cup, reaching up from the floor below.
“Hydration with a spoonful of honey,” Gina says. “It’ll help you rest.”
I take a long gulp of the warm goodness. Maybe I said thank you, maybe I didn’t, but the cup disappears along with my consciousness as I finally slip into the deepest sleep I’ve had since arriving in this country.
* * *
Hushed voicesand the muffled sounds of movement greet me when my eyes dare to reopen. Slumber sits heavy on my chest, but the desire to be human again is too inviting.
I may have slept through my first day off, but I have all night and all tomorrow to let my hair down.
“Hi girls,” I say from the bed, not yet ready to move.
“Sleeping beauty!” Chrissy calls. “She awakes, no apples necessary.”
