Three days where I intend to prove that some variables cannot be controlled, no matter how many contingency plans she drafts.
I'm going to enjoy these three days immensely.
The campground facility is exactly as Orla described. Wooden cabins scattered among pine trees, each one barely larger than my supply closet back at the office. A central lodge houses the communal areas. Bathrooms. Dining hall. Activity center.
"Welcome to Camp Synergy!" The facility coordinator bounces toward us with aggressive enthusiasm. Too much energy for someone not preparing for battle. "I'm Melissa! We're so excited to host your team-building retreat!"
Orla immediately shifts into manager mode, discussing logistics and schedules and meal times with military precision.
I explore.
The woods call to me. Real earth under my boots. Pine needles and decomposing leaves. A stream bubbles somewhere to the east. Small prey rustles in the undergrowth.
This place has life. Real life. Not the sterile death of office buildings.
"Everyone gather for our first team-building exercise!" Melissa yells. "Trust Falls!"
The corporate warriors assemble reluctantly, clutching their coffee thermoses like weapons.
Melissa demonstrates. "One person falls backward. Their partner catches them. It builds trust and team cohesion!"
Chad volunteers first because of course he does. He positions himself in front of a smaller colleague.
"I'm trusting you with my life, Jenkins!" Chad announces with theatrical volume, his voice echoing across the clearing as if he's declaring victory in some boardroom conquest rather than participating in a simple exercise.
Jenkins, a thin accountant who looks like he's never lifted anything heavier than a stapler, stares at Chad's broad shoulders with the expression of a man facing his own execution. His hands tremble slightly as he positions himself, adjusting his glasses with nervous fingers.
Chad doesn't wait for confirmation. He falls backward with complete abandon, arms crossed over his chest like a corporate corpse.
Jenkins catches him, barely. His knees buckle under Chad's weight, his arms shaking with the effort. They both stumble sideways in an awkward shuffle, Jenkins's feet sliding in the dirt as he struggles to maintain balance. For a moment it looks like they'll both crash to the ground, but Jenkins somehow manages to keep them upright through sheer desperation and what must be pure adrenaline.
"Beautiful demonstration of trust and teamwork!" Melissa claps her hands together with manic enthusiasm, apparently choosing to ignore Jenkins's terrified expression and the fact that he's still breathing hard from the effort. "Who's next?"
Orla steps forward because she cannot resist demonstrating proper procedure. She positions herself, arms crossed over her chest, back straight.
"I'll catch the lady!" Chad volunteers, stepping forward with that same aggressive confidence he demonstrated during his own fall. He positions himself behind Orla, already reaching out as if it's a foregone conclusion.
Absolutely not.
Not happening. Not in this lifetime. Not in any timeline where I draw breath.
I move faster than I've moved all day, crossing the gap between us in two powerful strides. I step directly between them, my bulk creating an impenetrable wall. Chad has to stumble backward to avoid colliding with my chest.
"I will catch her," I state, my voice leaving no room for negotiation or debate.
Chad's face flushes red, his jaw tightening with barely suppressed irritation. His hands clench at his sides. "I was offering to help with the exercise. You know, being a team player. Contributing to group dynamics?—"
"Your offer is rejected." I take position behind Orla, planting my feet. "Fall, Little Manager."
She glances back over her shoulder at me, and for just a fraction of a second, I see something I've never witnessed before on Orla Peace's carefully controlled face: genuine uncertainty. It flickers across her sharp, angular features like a candle flame in wind, vulnerable, exposed, entirely at odds with the woman who terrorizes quarterly budget meetings with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a disappointed sigh.
Her grey eyes search mine, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps. Guarantee. The kind of iron-clad contract she'd normally require in triplicate with witness signatures.
"You'll catch me?" Her voice is quieter than usual, stripped of its typical corporate authority. Just Orla, asking a question she already knows will determine whether she goes through with this ridiculous exercise.
I meet her gaze steadily, letting all the certainty I possess flow into that single word, making it a vow more binding than any document she's ever drafted.
"Always."
