Page 86 of Enemies to French Kisses
Guillaume crosses his arms and shakes his head before replying to Mr. Hanbeeker. “But it wouldn’t have happened if they’d had the construction of the Norwegians in the middle ages.”
The discussion continues, and despite the intensity of their arguments, they are all smiles like this is the first day of spring break.
“How long are they going to keep this up?” I ask out the side of my mouth to Marc just as Mr. Hanbeeker sits heavily in his chair.
“You seem very attached to the Iberian galleons. I admit that it’s a creative perspective, especially since the Dutch galleons are widely accept as superior.” Mr. Hanbeeker winks at Guillaume. “I wonder if you might have some Spanish heritage that would give you such an assessment.”
This is the weirdest transition to a decision-making meeting I’ve ever seen.
“This has never happened before.” Marc signals with his lips in their direction.
I let out a big sigh through my nose in the hopes that they don’t hear it. At least the stress I felt in my stomach is being replaced by bewilderment and a surprising amount of information about medieval ships.
Marc tips his head toward me. “Should we entertain ourselves?”
“Hey,” Vincent hisses at Marc. “Get your foot off my legs. I am not interested in that kind of entertainment.”
Marc coughs. “Just passing the time.” An incredible pink overcomes his face. I’m guessing that ill-aimed footsie was intended for me and I stifle a laugh… but a peep escapes anyway.
Just loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, standing up and feeling red come into my cheeks. “By all means continue the debate between eight-sail schoolers and four-mast gallops. We can start the meeting when you’re done.”
The room breaks out in chuckles.
I look to Marc for help. “What am I supposed to say?”
Marc shrugs.
Guillaume clears his throat and slowly pushes his chair out from the table. The air in the room changes. This is it. The meeting is starting for real.
“Mademoiselle Dowling, I apologize for our distraction. Perhaps Mr. Hanbeeker can do the honors of opening and closing our meeting all at once.”
My stomach drops below the floor. This is not how this is supposed to go.
Mr. Hanbeeker stands and folds his hands in front of him slower than molasses in Alaska.
“Miss Dowling, on behalf of our delegation, I must thank you, but also apologize.”
I’m going to faint. Awful unlucky that I’m standing, because there’s no graceful way for me to sit without making a scene. So I freeze.
I feel Marc roll his chair closer to me. He must have seen all my color drain.
“You see,” Mr. Hanbeeker continues, “I alerted Monsieur Toussaint this morning…” He gestures to Guillaume and for the first time in my life I want to crawl across the table and shake this man until he tells me what on earth is going on.
Mr. Hanbeeker smiles wide, the morning light catching his crystal blue eyes, which I now see are full of kindness and just might be laughing. “We have already accepted the proposal. We are pleased to work with you and your team on revolutionizing home-based biotechnology in the Netherlands. Congratulations.”
I’m still standing. Thank the Lord.
“Laura?” Marc whispers. “You should say something.”
I’m clearly in some kind of shock, but a voice inside screaming,Get your butt in gear!wakes me up.
“Of course! What an honor, Mr. Hanbeeker. I am simply overwhelmed by your trust in Innov’ Biotech.”
“My trust in Innov’ is great,” he continues, his eyes sparkling with benevolence like a box of Dutch girl scout cookies, “but my confidence inyouis even greater. We shall toast to the project’s success when the time comes, but for now, we have a train to catch.”
The room erupts in a flurry of handshakes, back-slaps, and congratulatory high fives for my benefit as Guillaume announces that tomorrow is a day off for us all.
