The Corporate Retreat

The padel court at the W Palm Springs gleamed under the desert sun, a pristine rectangle of green surrounded by swaying palms. From my balcony, I watched Mark play with the junior executives, his laugh carrying across the pool. He looked relaxed, unburdened. I checked my phone again. Nothing.

"Everything alright?"

I turned to find Sarah, our CFO, standing in the doorway of the conference room. She held a tablet, her expression unreadable. "The Board's meeting in an hour. You sure you don't want to review the merger documents one more time?"

"I'm good," I said, though my palms were sweating. "Just needed some air."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You know, I saw you and Mark at the bar last night. The way he touched your arm when he thought no one was looking."

My stomach dropped. Sarah's husband was on the Board.

"Relax," she continued, a predatory smile playing at her lips. "I don't care about your little affair. But I do care about leverage."

She slid a folded piece of paper across the table. A security log. Mark had been accessing confidential files late at night, using his corporate credentials to download proprietary data. And someone else had been accessing those same files—using credentials traced back to my laptop.

"He played you," Sarah said softly. "You thought it was romance. He needed your access codes. Now, unless you want your name attached to corporate espionage charges, you're going to vote exactly how I need you to vote today."

Below, Mark's voice rang out as he smashed a padel ball past his opponent. He was brilliant, charismatic, completely magnetic. And completely ruthless. I'd been so desperate to be seen, to matter, that I'd missed what was right in front of me. The person I'd thought was my escape had been using me all along.

The cable car to the top of the mountain would leave in ten minutes. One ride up, with a view of the entire valley. One chance to call Mark, to confront him, to hear his excuses. Or I could stay here, compromise myself for Sarah, and let the rot continue.

I watched Mark laugh with his teammates, the palm trees casting long shadows across the court. Then I turned and walked toward the cable car station. Some exits, at least, were still mine to choose.