Chad blinks at me, clearly taken aback by the sudden ice in my voice. "Jesus, Orla. I was just joking."
"It wasn't funny." I hold his gaze steadily, my expression perfectly neutral despite the anger simmering beneath my corporate veneer. "Making comments about colleagues' dietary habits, or implying they're intellectually deficient, violates Section 4.2 of our workplace conduct policy."
The room shifts uncomfortably. I've never defended Thraka before. Never defended anyone before. I stick to facts, to data, to objective analysis that doesn't require taking sides.
But something about the casual mockery, the easy dismissal, makes my spine straighten with protective anger.
Thraka looks at me, surprise flickering across his features before transforming into something warmer. Possessive.
I look away quickly, back to my spreadsheet, but I can feel his gaze on me for the rest of the presentation.
The meeting drags on for ninety minutes. I present my analysis with mechanical precision, refusing to look at Thraka, refusing to acknowledge the way my body is hyperaware of his presence across the table.
Finally, mercifully, we reach the last agenda item.
"One more thing." Chad stands, smoothing his expensive tie. "The Annual Company Retreat. It's in three weeks, and we need project leads."
Collective groaning around the table. The Annual Company Retreat is notorious. Three days of forced team-building exercises and trust falls in some remote location designed to "foster corporate synergy."
I've successfully avoided it for five years running by volunteering for every conflicting project available.
"I'm taking volunteers for retreat coordinators," Chad continues. "Two people to handle logistics, activities, accommodations."
Silence. Everyone suddenly fascinated by their phones, their notes, the ceiling tiles.
"No volunteers?" Chad's smile turns predatory. "Then I'll assign. Peace, you're always organized. You'll do great."
My stomach sinks. "I have the Q4 projections due?—"
"Delegate them. And you'll need a partner." His gaze sweeps the room, landing on Thraka with malicious glee. "Our newest team member should get the full company experience. Thraka, you're with Peace."
No.
Absolutely not.
Three days in close quarters with Thraka, away from the office, away from professional boundaries and HR policies and the thin veneer of civilization that keeps me from completely losing control.
"I don't think that's the best pairing," I manage. "Thraka is still adjusting to corporate culture. Perhaps someone with more retreat experience?—"
"It's decided." Chad closes his portfolio with smug finality. "You two make a great team. This'll be perfect."
The meeting adjourns. Everyone files out quickly, grateful to escape before they get assigned additional responsibilities.
Thraka remains seated, watching me with barely contained amusement.
"The woods," he says once we're alone. "Your people send you to the woods for team building?"
"It's a remote campground facility," I clarify, trying to sound professional despite the way my pulse is racing. "They have rustic cabins available for team accommodations. Sort of. They're more like glorified wooden boxes with questionable heating and communal bathrooms."
"Cabins." His grin widens, showing far too much teeth for my comfort. The gleam in his eyes suggests he's already imaginingscenarios that have nothing to do with team-building exercises. "And tents? Do your corporate warriors also sleep under the stars in animal skins?"
"Some people prefer the tent camping experience, yes." I shuffle my papers unnecessarily, avoiding his gaze. "There's a designated camping area for the more... outdoorsy types. With proper permits and safety protocols, naturally."
"I prefer tents." He stands, moving around the table toward me. "More... intimate."
I gather my papers quickly, creating a barrier between us. "This is a work retreat. Professional development. There will be absolutely nothing intimate about it."
"Three days. Three nights." He's close enough now that I can smell his cologne, feel his warmth. "Away from this metal box building. Away from fluorescent lights and cubicles."
