Page 11 of Bossing My Holiday
“Aging,” she replies simply. “Their CEO, Bernard Reynaud, is seventy-eight and has no clear succession plan, but it’s been obvious that he’s wanted to retire for some time now but hasn’t been able to let go. Their board is divided on the acquisition. The old guard wants to maintain independence, the younger faction sees the writing on the wall.”
I nod, sipping my coffee. “Perfect storm.”
“If we don’t move, another company will,” Tristan adds, his voice low and serious. “The Paris facility alone is worth the asking price.”
“Speaking of Paris,” I say, leaning closer to Waverly. “Have you ever been?”
She looks up from her computer, her eyes round. “No, I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to go.” She laughs. “I’ve never been out of New England.”
“Ah, we should take you with us. It’s an incredible city. Tristan’s family is gracious enough to take me in like a lost stray, but with it I get to experience Paris, so no complaints from me.”
Tristan makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a growl. “Can we please focus on the acquisition? The one worth billions of dollars?”
“We are focused,” I protest. “I’m simply multitasking. Preparing for Paris while also appreciating the... dynamics ofour leadership team.” I lean in conspiratorially toward Waverly. “He gets so grumpy when I acknowledge the obvious tension and how he needs to relax a little.”
“I’m not tense.”
“That’s why your left eye is twitching right now.”
Waverly intervenes smoothly, touching both our arms, her fingers cool against my wrist. “Gentlemen. The Smithfield team will be online in approximately three minutes. Perhaps we should review our opening strategy?”
Tristan’s eyes narrow in on her hand on his arm, and she immediately retracts it, followed by the hand she had on me. Heat stains her cheeks, and I wonder if that’s the first time she’s ever touched him. It was the first time she’s ever touched me, and I won’t lie and say I didn’t feel it. And judging by Tristan’s expression, he did too.
I throw him a smug look he chooses to ignore.
“You’re right,” I concede, straightening in my chair and my tie all at once. I hate wearing these things. They always choke me. Give me a lab coat any day, and I’m happy. “Business first, pleasure later.”
“There is no pleasure later,” Tristan mutters. “This is work.”
“Speak for yourself. I find acquisition talks thrilling, as I know Waverly does.” I flip through my notes. “We lead with the cultural synergy, emphasize retention of key research personnel, then hit them with the facility modernization plan.”
Waverly nods approvingly. “And remember, Reynaud responds well to deference to his experience, but his CFO, Marissa, is all about the hard numbers and requires being treated with equal deference to Reynaud.”
“This is why we need you in Paris,” I tell her. “You read people better than either of us.”
“Better than you,” Tristan corrects. “I read people fine.”
“You read them like business manuals. Waverly reads themlike poetry.” I let my gaze linger on her for a moment longer than strictly necessary. “Nuance. Subtext. The things unsaid.”
Waverly’s cheeks color slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “I simply pay attention.” She clicks a button, and the large flat screen in front of us comes to life, but the meeting isn’t connecting from her laptop.
“Not today.” She glances at Tristan, worry etched on her pretty face. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes it connects better from my iPad, which I left in the kitchen. I’ll be back in less than a minute.”
Before he can lay into her, she flies out of her chair and races from the conference room. As she leaves, I watch Tristan watching her. There’s a softening around his eyes that he probably doesn’t realize is visible.
“You know, you could be her financial hero and she could save your ass with your family. All you’d have to do is make her a simple business offer.”
His face shutters immediately. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m never ridiculous. Outrageous, perhaps. Provocative, certainly. But I see things clearly, and I’m never wrong.” I straighten my tie, leaning back to check my reflection in the window. “Just something to think about.”
“The only thing I’ll be thinking about in Paris is closing this deal,” he says firmly.
“And all the lovely women you’ll have pawing over you for your billions and name.”
The door opens, and Waverly enters, skirting Tristan’s gaze as if she expects him to berate her. He hasn’t, and I don’t think he will. He’s too lost in his thoughts. She sets up the app using her iPad and retakes her seat just as the Smithfield people enter the virtual meeting. Let the games begin.
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