by Avery Scott
Abby rode the elevator downstairs to the lobby. She was gratified when the concierge did a double take. He directed her to a private dining room that had been set aside for the meeting.
Hudson was waiting just outside the door. A glance at his face informed her that his mood had not improved. Abby’s back stiffened. She would have to rely on a rapidly dwindling reserve of courage to make it through the afternoon. She wanted to please Hudson. She needed to please him if she was going to keep her job, but her efforts at trying to anticipate his needs were falling short. She was failing at every turn. Although Hudson didn’t say it, she imagined he was going to send her packing if things didn’t improve soon. He might even kick her out of the hotel and expect her to find her own way home. Abby was just wondering if she could survive as a street artist when the opulent door of the restaurant was thrown open and Hudson hustled her inside. Although she wanted to focus on business, she couldn’t prevent a small gasp of delight as she perused the space. It was quintessentially French. If someone was designing a movie set for a business meeting set in Paris, this was exactly what they would choose: pale walls, mahogany furniture, overstuffed chairs with carved legs, and a crystal chandelier. Although the room was arranged for a business luncheon, with Hudson’s required projector stashed discreetly in the corner and leather-bound portfolios beside every seat, it was worlds away from the sleek, sterile spaces that typically housed business meetings in New York.
Abby wished she was there to admire the space, rather than to suffer through a meeting pretending to be someone who she wasn’t, especially when she saw that the Fougere family and Hudson’s father were already waiting. A sour look on the elder Mr. Quinn’s face let them know he was not impressed by their entrance.
“Ah, Mister Fougere, I hope you haven’t been waiting for us long?” Hudson sounded cool and completely different from the man that had been melting down about the lack of preparation just a few hours earlier. “Father, I’m sorry we’re late. We had a few last-minute details to take care of.”
Abby noticed a shared glance between the Quinn men. She and Hudson weren’t even late. They were exactly on time, but that fact didn’t seem to matter to the older man. He was scowling at Hudson with a mix of frustration and disappointment. Even though the look wasn’t directed at her, it made Abby want to crawl under the table. This was her fault, after all. How had she managed to screw everything up so badly? Abby honestly didn’t know where she was going wrong. This was supposed to be a simple job. Gabrielle had managed, but Abby felt like an actress in a play who had never read the script. She hadn’t even had an opportunity to serve as an interpreter yet! Everyone they encountered in Paris insisted on speaking to them in English.
An elderly man stood and extended his hand, introducing himself as André Fougere. “Do not trouble yourself. We’ve just been seated. Your timing is perfect. Let me introduce everyone.” His accent was heavy but his English was perfect. “I present my wife, Emilie, and my eldest son, Jean-Phillipe. Can you believe that he’s worked in our little family business since he was twelve? He has a son of his own now. I thought that one day, he might want to be a part of our creation as well.” A shadow seemed to move across Mr. Fougere’s face as he spoke, but it could not eclipse the beam of pride that showed as he spoke of his family. “And of course, I know you and your father,” André said to Hudson. He paused and turned toward Abby. “But who is this lovely young lady that is joining us? You’re not married if I remember correctly. Is this your girlfriend, Hudson?”
Abby smiled and started to introduce herself. “No, I work for Mr. Quinn. I’m his assistant and translator, Abb…” she started and caught herself. The glare from Hudson did not go unnoticed. Clearing her throat and hoping nobody else noticed that she had forgotten her own name, she spoke again, this time in French “Gabrielle. My name is Gabrielle.”
“Gabrielle! Such a beautiful name for such a beautiful young lady.” André responded, also in French, with no hint that he had noticed her stumble.
“Merci.” Gabrielle thanked Mr. Fougere, instantly warming to the man. He had a kindly look about him, and she liked the distinguished gray and black streaks of his hair. She could tell that André had been devastatingly handsome in his youth and had aged like a fine wine. His wife was quite pretty as well. They looked lovely together. Jean-Phillipe was the spitting image of how she pictured André in his youth. Abby smiled at him and remained silent as he called over the waiter and whispered something in the man’s ear before turning his attention back to the table.
“Should we get started?” Hudson interrupted as the waiter scurried off.
“No, no, there will be plenty of time for business. Let us sit. Eat, talk, drink, enjoy. That is what life is about, no?” André asked the table in English before turning his attention to Abby and slipping easily back into French. “Or at least, it should be, in my opinion. Do you agree?”
“Oui, monsieur. But to enjoy life, you must be content in all areas including work, don’t you agree?”
André chuckled softly. “Oui. I do. That is why it is important to find something that moves you and which makes you happy. Then you will never work a day in your life. Isn’t that right, my love?” He addressed the question to his wife.
“That is our family motto,” Emilie said, a warm smile dancing across her beautiful face. She was an older woman that time had been very kind to. Only a few light lines were visible next to her warm brown eyes. She had a small, straight nose and her lips were on the thin side but the smile they framed was dazzling.
Emilie and Abby continued to chat in French while the men at the table exchanged pleasantries in English. Abby tried to pay attention to Mrs. Fougere’s recommendations for shopping and sightseeing, but her eyes kept drifting toward Hudson. He was clearly itching to end the chitchat and move on to business.
The waiter appeared with wine and the ‘une entrée’ of paté with a warm baguette. The bread smelled heavenly and while the paté didn’t look appetizing the rich and creamy taste was heavenly.
The meal dragged on longer than Abby could have imagined. Over the next couple of hours, they talked about family life, sports and even a hint of politics until it became clear they weren’t exactly on the same page when it came to government regulations. The conversation was on the verge of becoming heated when Abby intervened, changing topics by pointing out a piece of art on the wall.
“A Delacroix?” Abby suggested.
“A copy,” Mr. Fougere replied, nodding his head.
“I suppose an original would never be this small.”
The Frenchman smiled with approval. “You are familiar with the art of my country, mademoiselle?”
“Somewhat,” Abby replied, purposefully downplaying the extent of her knowledge. “Are you an art lover, monsieur?”
The question had its desired effect. Mr. Fougere abandoned his tirade on agriculture subsidies to tell Abby about a set of paintings that he and his wife had recently acquired and loaned to the Louvre. Nobody cared much about the topic, but at least they all calmed down.
The main course was cleared away and the cheese course was just being presented when talk finally came around to business and why they were all in Paris. The luncheon had been pleasant. Abby was finally starting to relax. It would all be over soon.
“Mr. Quinn, I suppose it’s time we get to the real reason we are all here. I have reviewed the initial information that you sent over. While it tells a lovely story, your plans for my business are quite vague. We discussed this on the phone when I requested the meeting.” He pushed the leather portfolio away as if the documents inside were worthless. “You have a proposal to make? Something more to share?”
All eyes turned to Abby for an uncomfortably long time. She stared back and smiled uncomfortably until Hudson cleared his throat. “Ms. Levesque? The proposal?”
“Oh, yes!”
Abby’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t had time to go through the binders laid out on the table, and
she didn’t immediately recall any files labeled “Proposal” in the stack of documents Hudson had dumped on the bed that morning before he left and instructed her to review. She shifted uncomfortably under Mr. Fougere’s gaze and then reached into the embossed leather messenger bag that she had used to carry the documents downstairs. She scanned the pages, her panic steadily rising when she couldn’t find anything that matched Hudson’s description.
“I, ummm, I know it’s in here somewhere. I just had it in my hands this morning.” Abby stalled for as long as she could. She was about to admit defeat when she found a manila envelope tucked away safely in a side pocket of the bag. She opened the envelope and said a silent prayer of thanks when she read the title of the document inside. “I believe this is what you were asking for,” she said, handing a report titled “Marché d’Été Divestiture Proposal” to Monsieur Fougere.
Abby sank back into her chair with relief. She took a sip of wine as the elder French man took the report and began to page through it.
“What is this?” Mr. Fougere thundered in his native tongue as soon as he finished skimming the text contained in the document. His friendly tone was gone. His gaze was fiery, and his face had turned tomato red.
Abby didn’t know what was going on or why he appeared so upset.
“Sir?” she asked, confused. She turned to Hudson. “It’s the proposal, right? It’s what you wanted him to see?”
Hudson jumped to his feet and looked over Mr. Fougere’s shoulder. Horror flashed across his handsome features when he glanced at the page, and he snatched the report out of the Frenchman’s hands. ”Sorry, that’s not the proposal. That’s just some inside data we’ve been crunching behind the scenes. Ms. Levesque must have brought the wrong paperwork. If you want to turn your attention to the binders instead, we have some interesting figures on-”
“Inside data?” Mr. Fougere’s voice was incredulous. In his agitation, he forgot to speak in English. “So this is something that you did not want me to see? It’s talking about stripping us down! I thought you wanted to help our family business, not take it apart and sell it off bit by bit! Is that what this lunch was to discuss? Is that the focus of the meeting this afternoon? That is not what we talked about! You are all a bunch of American opportunists! Vultures! I should have known better than to trust a foreign operation offering to help.”
The Quinns turned to Abby, waiting for a translation. She didn’t want to repeat the words that André Fougere had said. She didn’t want to be involved at all anymore, but she no longer had a choice. In a wavering voice, Abby conveyed Mr. Fougere’s outburst to Hudson and his father.
Hudson jumped in to try and save the conversation. “Monsieur, it’s business, nothing personal. Surely you can understand that? We were merely considering different options. I’m sure you can’t blame us for looking at various revenue models. The object is to make money, right? So we look at where we can make the most profit. Whatever agreement we come to will be lucrative for everyone. I promise.”
“But what about our employees? Will it be profitable for them when we have to tell them they need to find new jobs? How will they feed their families?” Jean-Phillipe chimed in for the first time since the luncheon began. He threw his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “You don’t care about that, do you? You’ve never had to work for a living. You don’t think about how this affects others. Only yourself and your… what is the term?… Bottom line.”
There was a loud screech of wood-on-wood as the elder Mr. Fougere pushed his chair away from the table and stood to leave. The other members of the family quickly followed his example.
“This is not what you promised me at all,” André practically spat the words. “We are leaving to discuss this nonsense as a family. As far as I’m concerned right now, the deal is off. You can go back to New York and take your proposal with you. I want you to know that I have no intention of putting hundreds of people out of work and on the streets. I will find another investor if I must. This isn’t just about the Fougere fortune. I have people that rely on me.”
“Mister Fougere, don’t make any rash decisions,” Hudson said, standing up from his chair as well so that his gaze was level with the other man. “Our proposal would be a good deal for everyone involved. Read the reports in the binder. Discuss them with your people and we’ll be here when you’re ready to make the right decision.”
Mr. Fougere gave a look that made it clear he did not agree with Hudson’s optimism. “We shall see. For now, we will leave you. Mademoiselle Levesque…” Here, the Frenchman switched to his native tongue. “…it was a pleasure meeting you. You seem like a sweet girl. Be careful. You’re a lamb running around with wolves.”
“Yes, it was a pleasure,” Jean-Phillipe followed his father’s example and focused his attention on Abby. “I hope to see you again sometime and under different circumstances,” the young man said. He made only the slightest gesture toward the two Quinns.
As soon as they left the table and were out of earshot, Walker Quinn exploded in anger.
“What in the hell just happened? How did your girl screw this up? It has taken months of work and hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees to get here- and you manage to destroy everything in the span of a three-hour lunch!”.
“We were going to have to tell them eventually, dad.”
Abby was surprised Hudson didn’t just throw her under the bus. For a moment, he didn’t even sound that mad.
“That’s not the point, Hudson! It was supposed to be on our terms. We had to soften the blow and ease them into it. We talked about it. Don’t you remember the plan? Appeal to his weakness, his sentimental side...”
“I’ll fix it. I promise.”
“You better! Now that the meeting is canceled for this afternoon you have plenty of time to figure out how to clean up your mess!”
Mr. Quinn stood to leave and the waiter took this as his cue to present the bill for lunch.
Hudson looked at Abby and then the check. “Well?” he hissed.
“What?” Abby whispered, confused.
“The bill. You have my credit card. Pay it.”
Abby’s heart sank. The black Amex card was probably with her sister in Cozumel, buying drinks for strangers, but she couldn’t tell him that. She made a token effort at rummaging through the bag and then addressed Hudson without meeting his gaze. “I…uhm…must have forgotten to pack it.”
“You left it in New York?” For a moment Hudson simply stared at her, dumbstruck. “That’s unbelievable…Except it’s not. It’s right on par with everything else that’s happened since I hired you.” Abby shrank away, stung by the harshness of his words.
“Can’t we just charge it to the room?” she suggested quietly.
Hudson briefly looked sheepish for not thinking of that solution himself, but he was obviously too proud to admit it. “Fine. Whatever,” he hissed.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.” She wanted to tell him the truth right then, that she wasn’t Gabrielle and she wasn’t an idiot, but she couldn’t force the words past her lips. It was too late. She was in too deep. Telling him now would, at best, earn her a one-way ticket back to Brooklyn. Instead of confessing, she braced herself for the verbal lashing and hoped for the best when she said, “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident. It was another stupid decision I made.”
“Giving me the card…?”
“Hiring you. Giving you the card. You in general. You are a colossal mistake.”
Abby flinched and took a step backward.
“I’ll help you fix this. I can do it, I promise. Let’s go back to the room and work this thing through. There’s got to be a way to make everybody happy.”
“You want to fix this? Do you honestly think I’m going to let you anywhere near this deal again after everything that’s happened? You are the main reason that the deal is off and you obviously don’t know shit about what we’re trying to accomp
lish. I think you should take the rest of the day off. I can’t be around you right now. I’m going back to the hotel room to work and I’d rather you not be there. Can you handle that? Can you occupy yourself and stay out of trouble for a few hours while I try to get this sorted out?”
The words hurt. Abby knew that she had messed up badly, but it wasn’t her fault that Hudson and his father had misled Monsieur Fougere about their true intentions for his business. Still, hearing him scold her like a child made her feel even worse about everything.
Once the bill was settled, Abby watched Hudson stalk toward the elevators, presumably to return to their suite. She turned the other direction, heading out of the hotel and walked aimlessly down the Parisian streets. She should have been in heaven. She had dreamed of this place for so long. Just a few hours earlier she would have been delighted by the prospect of an afternoon free to wander the cobblestone boulevards. Now she barely noticed the charming shops and cafes she passed. Her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t get Hudson out of her mind or stop replaying his words over and over in her head. How was it possible for one person to mess up so badly?
She had to make things right.
But how?
Chapter Nine
Hudson was still livid by the time he returned to his suite. He fired off a few angry emails to the main office and then resorted to pacing around the room. What the fuck had happened today? How did everything go so wrong? He had no idea how to get things back on track. Hell, he wasn’t even sure it was possible to salvage the deal. He refused to admit defeat though. Tenacity was one of his best qualities. He firmly believed that every problem had a solution if you wanted it bad enough- and he definitely wanted to make things right, if only to prevent his father from collecting yet another reason to regret that Colin was gone.