I let a small, mysterious smile play on my lips—the kind I used to use to rattle opposing counsel. “Perhaps I spent my twenties running an underground circuit in Zurich. Or maybe it’s a mark of rank in a society you've never heard about.”
Nick let out a low, dry sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. “I’m sure. You’re probably the high priestess of some secret cult.”
“Careful,” I warned, my voice dropping. “We have very strict NDAs. And the penalties for breach of contract are… visceral.”
We reached the edge of the clearing where the "Intensive Wilderness Immersion" group was congregating around a fire pit.
“I have to wrap a few things up with my team,” Nick said, his voice returning to its professional low. “Stay with the group for an hour. Don’t wander off.”
I looked at the circle of CEOs currently attempting to build a "communal fire" under the guidance of a very patient junior ranger. “You want me to participate in the forced-fun hour? I’d rather go back and test my odds with Pumbaa again.”
“It’s an hour, Wilder. Try to play nice with the other children.”
“I don't play nice, Nick. I play to win. And right now, everyone in that circle is losing.”
He didn't argue. He just leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, his words a filthy, velvet promise that knocked something loose in my center of gravity.
“I’m going to spend the night tracing every one of those scales with my tongue until that sharp mouth of yours has nothing left to say but my name. Be ready.”
He pulled away before I could find my tongue, leaving me standing on the edge of the clearing while he headed toward the equipment shed.
The fireside happy hour was a masterclass in performative humility. I sat on a canvas chair, nursing a glass of red that was far too good for this setting, watching the “communal bonding” unfold with the faint, persistent effort of people who didn’t know how to stop performing—even when no one was asking.
If Graham says ‘alignment’ one more time near that fire, I’m going to personally extinguish it with this Cabernet.
Graham was currently attempting to demonstrate "unfiltered transparency" while struggling with a bag of artisanal marshmallows. Nearby, Victor crouched to wipe red dirt fromhis Italian boots with a handkerchief, like the ground had wronged him.
“It’s about the raw experience, isn’t it?” Owen drifted into my personal space. He wore a khaki safari vest with enough pockets to suggest he was carrying a spare personality. “Stripping away the ego. Letting go of the outcome.”
I offered him a smile—the one I usually reserved for my sisters when things were about to go sideways and they didn’t know it yet. “It’s certainly an immersive environment, Owen. Very… textured.”
If my sisters could see me now. I’m currently being spiritually mentored by a man who looks like he came with a laminated emergency whistle.
“You’re always so controlled, Juliette,” he sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear as if he were posing for a retreat brochure. “The wilderness requires surrender. You have to let the process happen.”
“I’ve always found that the process happens more efficiently when someone is steering it,” I said smoothly.
I don’t surrender.
I negotiate terms.
And right now, the terms of this conversation are deteriorating rapidly.
“You’re resistant,” Owen noted, his voice soft with certainty he hadn’t earned. “But nature doesn't care about your resistance.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” I replied, my eyes tracking a movement near the equipment shed.
Nick leaned against a wooden post, watching the camp. A piece of dry straw shifted between his teeth. One hand braced at his belt, fingers resting on the buckle. He held steady on me like he had no intention of letting go.
Forget the marshmallows, Owen. I’m currently being evaluated by a man who could undress me without moving from that post.
When Nick’s gaze hit mine, it was a physical impact. He stared through the firelight, his eyes holding mine, steady and unblinking with the promise he’d whispered into my ear an hour ago.
Across the circle, Naomi Liu caught the exchange. She didn't say a word, but her expression was cool and knowing. She was the only one here who realized that while Graham was worrying about his marshmallow, I was being eye fucked by the ranger.
Chapter 13
Seared and Studied
