The Corporate Padel Court

Elena adjusted the grip on her padel racket, the cordura texture rough against her palm. The corporate gym smelled of ozone and expensive ambition—exactly like the twenty-fifth floor, only with better lighting. Across the net, Marcus stretched his hamstrings with elaborate precision, his polo shirt embroidered with the company logo he'd helped design three acquisitions ago.

She'd been running from this conversation for three weeks, ever since the org chart reshuffle placed her entire department under his purview. The new corporate structure—some consultant's fever dream of a inverted pyramid—meant Marcus now controlled everything she'd spent seven years building. Yet here she was, playing padel with him at 7 AM because refusing would be strategic suicide.

"Your backhand's improved," Marcus called out, slamming the ball into the corner. Elena lunged, her knee twinging. The cable tension in her shoulder reminded her she'd slept in her office again last night.

"Practice." She returned it weakly. The ball bounced twice before dying near the baseline.

Marcus stopped, chest heaving slightly. "The Cairo project needs your sign-off by Friday. The subsidiary acquisition board is creating a decision pyramid—fast-track, regular review, deferred. We need yours on top."

The rubber padel ball rolled toward her feet. She remembered him saying almost those exact words five years ago, in a hotel room in Barcelona, their last night together before he chose the promotion over whatever this was. The memory still had teeth.

"Running data on the subsidiary's liabilities," she said, which wasn't exactly a lie. "Thursday."

"Elena." He walked to the net, his sneakers squeaking on the court. "The Cairo integration is my ticket to the C-suite. I need people I trust."

People. Not person. Never person.

She picked up the ball, the yellow foam rubber yielding under her fingers. "I'll send the file. Congratulations in advance."

"I never meant—" Marcus started, then stopped. The gym lights flickered—a loose cable somewhere in the ceiling, threatening to plunge them into darkness and uncomfortable honesty.

Elena served before he could finish. The ball hit the wire cage and ricocheted wildly, bouncing off walls, metal, glass, a chaotic arc that finally landed exactly where neither of them could reach it.

Game point.

"Same time next week?" Marcus asked, already checking his watch.

Elena shouldered her bag. "Let's see how Cairo goes."