Chapter 25
WHAT’S A LOOFMENSH AND ZALAVICH, EXACTLY?
DARCY
I arrive early to the same damn conference room that has haunted me since the day I watched Billie stumble into it over a month ago.
Everything is set up—the projector, the presentation materials, even the glasses of water set out for everyone attending.
I expected her to be early, then I worried she would be late, but at ten o’clock on the dot, she walks in.
Her hair is pulled back, and she has a blazer on.
She must be roasting. The AC does not reach this room.
Barely making eye contact, she walks around the table to where I’m standing. “Hello.”
The polite greeting feels forced, like her smile.
“Hey, Billie. You ready for this?” I go for casual levity, and it seems to work when her shoulders relax.
“I think we’re ready, yeah.” Her use of we makes me feel more settled. I’m not nervous. I normally lead dozens of presentations like this in a single quarter and in front of far more intimidating people. What unsettles me is her and not knowing where we stand. But now isn’t the time to ponder that.
Bureau members filter in, the mayor making an enthusiastic entrance, followed by a few curious business owners.
Cole, the always-serious owner of Shore Thing, gives us a chin lift as he takes a seat near the front.
His coffee shop is definitely one of the more successful businesses in town, but even he’s mentioned a noticeable lull during the cooler months.
We wait for everyone to enter, making easy small talk until Tim Cameron announces himself loudly, ten minutes late.
“Now that everyone’s here, we can get started.” I do my best to keep any hostility out of my voice and open the presentation with financial projections, confident in the material, and making sure to present viable options for raising funds.
When I get to the comparables, showing the data on increased tourism, there’s some excited chatter in the room.
Billie seamlessly picks up where I leave off, explaining construction timelines and phasing, mentioning local businesses they can use and materials.
We settle into an easy rhythm, despite the tension between us, finishing each other’s sentences and anticipating questions before they get asked. When she clicks on the 3D renders, the mayor lets out a hearty, “This is incredible.”
Billie lights up when she talks about craftsmanship and heritage preservation, about sharing the town’s history and showing pride in Balsam Bay’s roots. When my eyes flit to Tim, he’s taking notes with a tight expression. He’s the only one who hasn’t said anything yet.
When we open up the floor for questions, they’re the things we knew they’d want to know.
“When can we start?”
“Would local businesses get priority for vendor spaces on the boardwalk?”
“What happens if we don’t get the grant?”
“How much will construction disrupt current businesses and the marina?”
She handles it all with patience and expertise, and I weigh in with the numbers. Everything seems to be going well, and all the while, Tim is still silent, scribbling away in his little notebook.
Finally, he speaks. “I hate to play devil’s advocate here, but six weeks for an environmental analysis is a tight deadline I’m not sure you’ll be able to meet.
” I open my mouth to reiterate we already have things booked, so it is, in fact, possible.
“And no offense, there, Darcy, but those towns you used as comparables have different demographics than ours. A different tourism infrastructure. One of them was on PEI, for Pete’s sake.
” His haughty laughter morphs into a grade-A smoker’s cough.
I counter with the facts: the date for the environmental assessment, and that I chose those Maritime towns specifically because their tourism data was similar to Balsam Bay’s.
He presses on, “To be honest, I have concerns about committing land to parking when there are more lucrative options on the table. I mean, a parking lot won’t make the town money like, for example, a storage unit could.
” He’s so sure of himself. When his eyes lock on Billie, who has been quietly gripping the edge of the table as he goes on, I grind my molars to keep from growling at the man.
“Lizzie, you, of all people, should understand the value of practical development over these… ambitious tourist schemes.”
What the hell is he getting at?
No one says a word, and Tim must take that to mean his little speech is working.
In the most patronizing tone I’ve ever heard, he continues, looking around the room as if everyone there is on his side.
“My daughter’s enthusiasm is cute. Admirable, even.
But we need to think about realistic returns, and I don’t think this is it.
” Turning to her once more, he asks, “How many waterfront projects do you have under your belt, sweetheart?”
It’s Billie’s turn to clench her jaw. She places her palms on the table, almost as if to hold herself up.
She’s calm on the exterior, but there’s a determined fire in her eyes.
“With all due respect, Mr. Cameron.” She pauses, emphasizing they are both here as professionals, not as father and daughter, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a fucking turn on.
I want to high-five the shit out of her for that power move.
“Storage units won’t create jobs or bring in tourists. This will.”
Tim has the balls to laugh. “Okay. Well, I’m asking us to be practical.
I could come up with a far more realistic proposal for storage units that won’t cost the town nearly as much and will see financial returns faster.
Not everyone can afford to chase dreams.” The barb lands.
I see it when Billie flinches almost imperceptibly.
“You know.” Mayor Simmonds finally speaks up. “These are all good questions. I think we have lots to think about and consider. Perhaps we should table this, pending further research?” She motions to table the discussion. It passes, and I hate the victorious look on Tim’s face.
“Wonderful. We’ll revisit in two weeks with additional data on the storage unit proposal.” The mayor looks to Tim, who nods enthusiastically. “Thank you, everyone.”
The meeting adjourns, and everyone begins to move about the room.
A couple of them stop to congratulate us on a job well done.
Even Cole thanks us for how much time we put into today’s presentation.
It’s nice, but it’s not enough to get Billie to unclench her jaw as she fake smiles through the pleasantries.
Tim, the last to leave, stops in front of us, heaving out a sigh.
“You know, I thought an investment banker would be smarter than to go for this pie-in-the-sky dream. Aren’t you finance fellas supposed to go where the money is?
” I don’t bother giving him an answer. He doesn’t deserve to be acknowledged.
I do, however, take a step forward so I’m standing slightly ahead of Billie, who hasn’t moved an inch.
With a scoff, he gives his daughter a once-over and arrogantly says, “I guess you don’t want the building contract for the storage unit, then.
Throwing money down the drain. Pathetic. ”
Finally, the room empties, and it’s just us. Billie takes a deep breath, then begins to pack up her things with enough force to cause some damage. I’ve never seen her movements so sharp and angry.
I don’t know what to say. I settle for, “That went well, other than—”
“My dad being a total dick bag? Yeah. I know.”
Silence.
She continues to gather up papers, not looking at me.
“You were incredible today, Billie.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbles. “He’ll kill it. Storage units.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Because that’s what this town needs.”
All I want is to comfort her, but I have no idea if that’s what she wants, or if I’m allowed to.
“Well, everyone else loved it.” I’m trying…
“Everyone else isn’t the head of the Business Bureau.
He is.” She finally looks up at me, and the anger I’ve been hearing in her voice is nothing compared to the hurt in her eyes.
“He always does this. I should have known. He thinks I’m some idiot luftmensch, you know?
All he does is zalatwic. He can’t let me have anything.
Not the company, not this project, not—” She stops herself, and all I want is for her to keep talking, to keep trusting me with her feelings and frustrations.
“What’s a loofmensh and zalavich, exactly?” I love it when she uses these random words.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not giving up.” Even with a shaky voice and tears in her eyes, my girl is promising to fight for this. “I heard you were in Toronto. I hope you didn’t have to cut your trip short for this shit show. You didn’t have to be here.”
“Of course I had to be here. I wanted to be.” My answer is immediate.
Where the fuck else would I be, if not right here, right next to her?
I planned the trip so Leo and I would have plenty of time to visit my parents, who not only understood I wanted to be back in Balsam Bay for today, but encouraged it.
“Do you think we could meet tomorrow? Talk through some of this while it’s still fresh in our minds?
I gotta be at your place to check on the windows for your guesthouse, so maybe after that?
” She lifts a shoulder, and it’s the first sign of vulnerability she’s given me.
And she asked to meet at my house, not here or some other public, strictly professional place.
“Uh, yeah, of course. I—I’ll be there.” Pretty sure the insides of my cheeks are bleeding from how hard I’m biting them, so I don’t start smiling like a fool right now.
“K. See you tomorrow, then.”
The second she walks out the door, I throw my fist in the air. I feel like I won a fucking Olympic gold medal. In what? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. This feels like a damn win.