Palm Grease

The desert sunset turned everything orange— the stucco walls, the infinity pool, even Mai's skin as she pressed her palm against the hotel window, watching him down by the water.

Marcus had invited her to this corporate retreat like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't outfoxed her in the boardroom last quarter. Like she hadn't spent three months picking up the pieces of her career while he collected a bonus larger than her salary.

Now he swam alone in the resort pool, slicing through blue water with the confidence of a man who'd never had to choose between integrity and advancement.

"You coming in?"

She jumped. Marcus stood behind her, dripping, smelling of chlorine and expensive cologne.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Mai." He stepped closer. Water beaded on his chest. "We were friends once. Before everything."

"Before you decided friendship was negotiable?"

"I did what I had to do." He caught her wrist, brought her palm to his lips. "I've missed you."

The room spun. She could feel the heat of his skin, could remember how it felt to wake up beside him during those months when they were everything to each other— ambitious, brilliant, blind to the cost.

"You missed having someone who knew your secrets," she said, pulling away. "You missed having an insurance policy."

"That's not—"

"Save it." She opened her door. "I'm flying home tonight. Some of us have actual work to do."

"Mai, wait." His voice cracked. Something like desperation. "The fox gets caught sometimes. Maybe I'm tired of running."

She paused. Considerated. Then closed the door in his face.

Later, at the airport, she bought an orange from a vendor and ate it standing at the gate, juice sticky on her fingers, wondering why the sweetest things always left you hungry.