Lori

Tension and silence hangs thick in the room following Marcelina's bold statement.

My eyes shift to Navarro. His sharp brown eyes, much like those of his daughters, are glaring more than gazing at her. I can't quite read his expression; it's somewhere between blank and shocked.

This is interesting to watch.

Marcel, across from me, fidgets with the tips of her pretty manicured fingers as she awaits judgment. I can feel the weight of the energy they're both emitting pressing down on everyone around the table.

They're probably thinking: What will he say? What will he do?

As Navarro mentioned earlier, this is a big deal project. Entrusting it to his daughter, whom he clearly doesn't fully trust, is a big step for Navarro and the company at large.

I sit back, holding my breath for Marcel's impending doom.

Whatever happens, I'll enjoy it--especially if it's rejection. It's so typical of Marcel to seize any opportunity to get into her dad's good graces.

Like, chill. It's your family company anyway, and you'll always end up with the bigger chunk of it.

"I will think about it," Mr. Navarro delivers his final words, cold and on a silver platter.

That statement isn't a yes, but it isn't a no either. She might or might not get the project.

"Well, if you do spearhead this, I'd like a substantial increase in the budget for the Creatives team," I say, and murmurs ripple around the room. "This is a high-stakes campaign, and poor allocation to the tourist attractions won't cut it."

Mr. Navarro's eyes shift to me, intense and dry.

"With the low outputs from FreshFix, there's not enough funding for the new project," he says, and I swallow.

I notice how everyone keeps blaming me for the flop of our last campaign. I want to scream and make them understand that some things are beyond my control, but they won't get it.

So, I exhale and let Mr. Navarro continue, his tone promising. "We will find a way to fund it."

Marcel's eyes narrow at me. "You do know that money isn't the answer to everything, right?"

Of course, Daddy's princess wants to be all over this too.

I turn to her, eyes blazing through her brown ones.

"Yeah, but money will solve this problem," I snap. "And stop stepping on my toes: it's annoying."

Marcel gasps, a hand going to her chest, and I notice a brown spot on her shirt, right around her breast area.

"You don't get it. Money isn't the problem here; creativity and execution are. If the designs were trashy, then I think you didn't understand the message we were sending for FreshFix."

I clench my jaw, irritation burning through my shirt.

"It's a deodorant. What other message do you want it to send other than it makes you feel fresh and lasts long? You can pretend we don't need money all you want, but at the end of the day, it's what gets us sales."

Marcel's voice gets edgy. "Yes, because we haven't considered other ways. Or maybe we need more people who know exactly what they're doing and not just a boho who lacks vision."

Gasps flow through the members.

I want to say so many things to Marcel right now, but her father pins me with a serious gaze, as if punishing me for disrespecting his presence in front of everyone.

"That's enough," he says, his voice cutting through our argument like a sharp razor. "You both make good points, but there's no time for this. MedVax depends on us for its success, and I expect both of you to put aside personal differences because we are a team. Which brings me to my final decision."

I exchange a look with Marcel, the mutual hatred palpable.

"Since you both have so much to say, I will be assigning you two to co-spearhead the project."

My breath hitches, just as a loud, "What?" comes from Marcel.

This cannot be happening.

Working on the project isn't my biggest issue; working with her is.

Our ways and personalities don't align--how are we supposed to collaborate? This is insane, even for Navarro.

"Sir, you can't-"

Navarro's expression hardens. "I don't want to know what gave you the impression that this is up for debate. I expect nothing less than full cooperation and dedication."

I lick my dry lips, noting Navarro's tone. I've known him well enough to recognize that he only uses it when he means business.

Marcel crosses her arms over her chest, hiding the brown spot on her shirt.

"Daddy, I will gladly back down from the project if it means not working with her."

The way she spits out the words makes me think she swallowed something bitter. It's unsettling how much Marcel is willing to give up just to avoid working with me.

I want to say something meaner, but I bite back a retort. I work on maintaining my composure. If she doesn't want to be the bigger person, I will be.

"Marcelina," Navarro's voice is laced with a warning.

"Understood," I say with a clipped tone.

Marcel's expression is a mix of shock and indignation, but she doesn't protest. She remains silent.

Navarro's gaze softens slightly as he nods. "I expect you both to handle this professionally. Remember, we are all looking to you for success."

I've never felt this much pressure on me. Not when I woke up in Julian's bed or when I left my house without showering for work. This is next-level stress.

The boardroom returns to its usual state with the resolution. I feel annoyance prick my back as I slouch deeper into my chair.

Navarro spreads his arms over the table. "I believe we are way past our designated time. Thank you, everyone, and have a fruitful day ahead."

With that, the meeting is dismissed. We wait for Navarro to exit before we all get up-shuffling around and leaving.

I look up from my phone, which just pinged with a message from Julian. Marcel glaring at me.

Navarro's directive has put me in an unwanted dilemma. I've managed to keep Marcel at a distance, but now I'm being forced to work closely with her?

I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside me as I walk out of the boardroom, even more so when I open Julian's text.

From Julian: [You left your panties. We need to talk.]

Fuck.

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I'm trying to keep things interesting and I'd appreciate some feedback!