Game of Love (5 page)

“Someone famous, I think. And the paparazzi found out.”

A heavily-tinted car sped away, and the mob followed like a redirected swarm in pursuit of its prey.

“Did you get burned?” Roger asked. “The
maître d’
gave me the morbid details.”

The hotel medic had been helpful–right after Andre had signed the release form. Also, he had taken Gemma’s advice,
Cool, not cold
. He remembered Gemma’s divine eyes in vivid detail. Sometimes photographic memory had its distinct upside.

Had she apologized? He reran the conversation in his mind. No, she hadn’t. Sometimes photographic memory was annoying. Granted, he did behave like a perv, but considering the circumstances, she should’ve given him a pass.

“I have some blistering and tenderness, but–”

“Blistering?” Roger asked. “You should see a doctor. Maybe afterwards.”

“Sure. Doctor. Next on my list.”

Roger’s attempted display of sympathy brought a smile to Andre’s lips. This was no regular engagement. Otherwise Roger Trutt, founding partner of Meyers & Trutt, would not have come. The client’s board had approved a large sum of money for this project. No Andre, no money; simple equation.

Andre was the reason Meyers & Trutt secured multi-million dollar deals. Although his credentials were indisputable, he realized he was an enigma. His youth alarmed most, and the natural question was whether a twenty-four-year-old could be trusted with business deals of this magnitude. Which was where Roger came in. He was the one with gray in his hair.

Also, since all of Andre’s clients had tried to recruit him, Roger likely wanted to keep tabs on M&T’s most valued asset. But with six months remaining in his contract, Andre wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the bonus payoff–his golden parachute. After seven years of hard labor, he was owed that windfall.

“There’s Franck.” Roger lifted his chin and produced his winning smile. “Our client awaits.”

They stepped into Cinematique’s spacious, modern conference room. The swarming began, and attendees converged around Andre. Hands were thrust, names with impossible accents were thrown, and positions were declared in quick succession. A different scene than the reception he used to get as an eighteen-year-old consultant with M&T. He had been asked to work behind the scenes, never had a seat at the table, and when he spoke, the others stared at him like he was a sideshow freak. Now, everyone wanted a piece of him because they knew who he was and what he could do. But could he gain their trust? He needed to show them he was here to help.

“Dr. Reyes,” Franck said once everyone sat, “we are ready when you are.”

“Thank you,” Andre said, standing and positioning himself behind his chair, looking out at his audience. He often thought of himself as a performer or a chess-master, all his actions calculated and deliberate. “Franck, I’m confused by the attendees. I had been specific. Only those who have an intrinsic understanding of the systems should be here. Instead, I also see executives.”

Badeaux, the chief operating officer spoke up. “Because I want to understand why this team continues to struggle with streaming 3D content,” he said in a condescending drawl. “We are the largest broadcaster in Europe, yet our smaller competitors have solved their issues. They,” he pointed to the engineering team, “are still lost. You will help me understand what has gone wrong.”

“I’m here to solve the problem. Not talk about it. What led us here is of no concern to me. It’s irrelevant.”

“It is not irrelevant to me,” Badeaux said, his voice sharp. “I want answers.”

Roger shifted in his seat, ready to speak, but Andre stopped him. He would not let this corporate bully have his way. He peered into Badeaux’s eyes.

“How’s this for an answer: twenty-seven questionable acquisitions in less than eighteen months. None integrated into the company, because of political decisions. 321 technical experts laid off in that same period of time to justify the cost of acquisitions.”

Badeaux’s mouth went slack. The room was silent, but the technical team’s eyes were glowing in shock, in awe.

Check.

He had read all the press releases in advance–Badeaux’s ego plastered across all those acquisitions. As expected, now he was trying to find the scapegoat. “This company’s core is a mishmash of technologies–a perfect mess. If you’re still interested in solving the problem, instead of blaming people, I’d recommend you let me run this meeting my way.”

“But our interest is paramount,” Badeaux said, most of his bravado gone. “Our expectations must be addressed.”

“Agreed.” Andre held up a black marker. “Can you four articulate your expectations on the board behind me? We commit to address them. In your absence.”

Badeaux’s face went blank. After a nine-second stare down, the executive team rose, wrote nothing of significance on the board, then stormed out. Andre studied the team that remained. The dynamic in the room had shifted. They were all grinning and loose.

Checkmate.

The team didn’t waste time. System-by-system, hundreds of functional schematics were analyzed, and after some time, the logical flow of the video stream emerged. The spaghetti of connections evolved from a mess into a structured mesh. Five hours later, the overall ecosystem was represented visually, from start to finish.

“I think we got them all, Dr. Reyes,” Franck said.

Andre rose, studying the system architecture in quiet contemplation. He blinked rapidly as he freed his mind’s eye to run through countless scenarios, similar to what Einstein called ‘thought experiments.’ He searched for potential bottlenecks by processing one test case after another, visualizing a beam of light running through the web of connections. Once one path gave him a result, he tried another, then another–an iterative process until he had tested all permutations.

By the time he was done, more than three dozen bottlenecks had been marked for the engineers to investigate.

“Let’s stop here for today,” Andre told the team at just past eight p.m. “We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

Everyone approached Andre and shook his hand before leaving. He took note of the awed look on their faces and acknowledged their gratitude, but was also grateful to them. They had trusted him. With trust, anything was possible.

Franck approached Andre. “Amazing. This has been amazing.”

“Don’t celebrate yet,” Andre said.

“You don’t understand.” Franck ran his hand through his hair, his smile wide. “We have tried for over a year to solve this problem. We were treating the symptom, not addressing the core issues.”

“I know.” Andre grinned.

“
Touché
. I will get the car.”

Roger, barely awake, stood and grabbed his coat. “I’m getting too old for this,” he said.

“I know what you mean,” Andre said.

“Hmph.”

Andre attempted to sustain the smile, but he was spent. His mind felt tired, abused. And his chest, shoulder, and lap had been screaming with pain from the burns since noon.

“You got this one, right? Any doubts?” Roger asked. “Our deal is contingent on a guaranteed solution.”

Andre studied Roger. “On moral grounds, I refuse to answer.”

“Great. I’ll tell the office to process the invoice.”

“Shameless. You are shameless.”

“By the way,” Roger said, lowering his voice, “I’ve asked Franck to join us for drinks at the hotel bar. We will discuss future opportunities. They could become a major account for you.”

“I don’t know, Roger. I need to take care of the burn. Not sure–”

“Do it quickly. Change. Whatever. But you need to be there.”

Andre remained silent. The high he felt when he helped clients solve the seemingly impossible was indescribable, but he needed to help himself now. He was burning out quickly. His years-long chase after financial independence had left him damaged.

“Clear?” Roger asked.

“Of course.” He could do this. He had to—for now.

Gemma took a deep breath then phoned Tish’s room. “Are you busy?”

“Watching some horrid French game show. So yes, mind-numbingly busy,” Tish said.

“Good. Let’s get a drink at the bar.”

“Bar, as in, where real people congregate? That type of bar?”

“That’s right. For maybe an hour.”

“And your security?”

“They’re manning the front lobby. You’ll have to double as my bodyguard.”

“Fantastic. I’m coming out now before you change your mind.” Tish hung up.

Gemma needed to escape her room and breathe. No security, no Bedric, no Wesley. Breakfast had been a disaster, but she had a better feeling about this decision. Mid-week evening at the hotel’s quaint bar with her best friend was definitely a good idea.