Sand in My Teeth

The spinach from dinner was still stuck somewhere in my teeth, a nagging green reminder of how thoroughly I'd let myself go. This corporate retreat in Sharm el-Sheikh was supposed to be transformative, but the only thing transforming was my blood alcohol level. I lay by the pool at 2 AM, staring up at the sky, not swimming even though I'd told myself I would start exercising when we got here.

"You know what the problem with corporate hierarchies is?"

I jolted. Marcus from Accounting sat on the lounge chair beside me, holding two drinks. He was the office sphinx—always asking riddles, never giving straight answers, wearing that inscrutable smile that made you wonder if he knew everything about you or nothing at all.

"They're a pyramid scheme," he continued, sliding a gin and tonic toward me. "Literally and figuratively. Look at the Giza tours tomorrow. We're literally going to stare at a pyramid while discussing how to climb the corporate one."

I took the drink. "Did you follow me?"

"Everyone's asleep. Or at least, pretending to be." He gestured toward the padel courts where two senior VPs had been playing aggressively all evening, their grunts and insults carrying across the resort like some strange mating ritual. "Sarah's going to announce the restructuring Monday. Whole department's getting axed."

The ice in my glass melted. My department.

"Why tell me?"

Marcus shrugged, his silhouette against the moonlight almost regal. "Because you're the only one who actually brings donuts on Fridays. Because you stayed late with Julie when her mom was in the hospital. Because." He swallowed. "Because corporate pyramids are built on people who give a damn, and they always crumble from the top down."

He stood up, leaving his untouched drink. "There's a flight back to London at 6 AM. I've got an extra ticket. My treat."

The spinach between my teeth suddenly seemed insignificant. Sometimes the universe offers you an exit strategy wrapped in terrible British accent and unexpected kindness.

"I'll need to pack," I said.

"Ten minutes. I'll meet you at the lobby."

I watched him walk away, then spit the spinach into the pristine Egyptian sand. Some stories end before they begin. This one, finally, was just starting.