A strange buzz filled my ears. I didn’t hear what my father said next because the same three words kept looping in my head.
What. The.Fuck.
The high-low collaboration model wasn’t a new concept. It’d already made its mark in the fashion industry (see: designer brands collaborating with big-box retailers on affordable, limited-edition lines) and was gradually creeping into the food world. But us? Working with the Laurent Restaurant Group? That would be like trying to sell Hermès and H&M in the same store.
Some brands meshed; others didn’t. And the Laurents’ ultra-luxury, fine-dining portfolio was so far removed from our affordable supermarket staples that it might as well be on a different planet.
Judging by the tight set of Sebastian’s mouth, he agreed.
“Is this an idea or a done deal?” There was no inflection in his tone. It was pure, smooth calm, but I detected a dangerous ripple beneath the surface.
“It’s a done deal.” Michel shot his son a warning look. “Neal and I have been talking about it for months.”
“We should still discuss—”
“This isn’t the right—”
Our overlapping protests burst forth in synchronized outrage. Sebastian and I glared at each other before we faced our fathers again.
No one else seemed that invested except for my grandmother. She watched us, her eyes alive with interest as she nibbled on her bread like it was popcorn.
“This is the first time I’m hearing of this, and I’m the chiefmarketing officer.” Sebastian beat me to the punch in elaborating. His voice sounded sharp, brittle, and extremely unlike him. “With all due respect to Singh Foods, there are certain brand incompatibilities that have to be reconciled—ifthey can be reconciled—before we take such a drastic step.”
“And this isn’t the right time to launch such a big collaboration,” I added. “We’re still dealing with a… delicate situation.”
“We’ve made up our minds,” my father said, his voice firm. “The collaboration will be financially beneficial for both of us, and if we pull it off, it’ll be a huge PR coup.”
“It’ll also diversify our consumer base by giving us a new market entry,” Michel added.
Sebastian didn’t appear mollified. “But—”
“Enough,” the elder Laurent said sharply. “Like Neal said, we’ve made up our minds.”
“We’re fast-tracking this project,” my father said. “I have it on good authority that Whitaker Farms is planning a similar collaboration. They’re in the early stages, but we have to announce before they do, or we’ll look like we’re copying them.”
Whitaker Farms was our biggest competitor. Despite their wholesome-sounding name, their CEO was ruthless, and they’d been slowly but surely eating away at our market share over the past two years.
“Whitaker itself isn’t a worry,” Michel said dismissively. My father gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t interject when the other man added, “Neal is right about fast-tracking, though. The first to market gets the advantage. That’s why it’s important.”
“Define fast-tracking,” I said.
“We want it announced by next month. I trust the optics will be better by then.” My father gave me a pointed look. His voice was like iron, stern and unyielding.
I swallowed another protest and sank deeper into mychair. That was an order—fix our company’s image before the announcement, or else.
I wasn’t thrilled about the collaboration, but I’d never let my father down before. I wasn’t about to start now. His opinion and our family’s reputation mattered more than my personal grievances.
Besides, I couldn’t argue with an elder, especially not in front of company. It simply wasn’t done.
“We’re aiming for a nine-month product launch window,” Michel said. “This new line should be on shelves before next year’s shareholder meetings.”
Sebastian’s eyes flared. “That’s impossible. A project of this scale—”
“Ispossible when you have the right people and resources.” Michel leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “It’s a good thing you and Maya both feel so strongly about this matter. Considering you’re the top marketing executives for our respective companies, you’ll both play a pivotal role in this launch.”
A giant pit opened in my stomach. My earlier foreboding whooshed in, turning my nerves into a pulpy mess. “Meaning?”
He couldn’t be implying what I thought he was implying. No way, no how.