What the Palm Reader Didn't Say

The corporate retreat was Elena's idea—some nonsense about team building and paradigms and leaning in. Now she sat beneath a cluster of palm trees, nursing a gin and tonic that had gone watery in the heat, watching her colleagues cannonball into the resort pool like overpaid teenagers.

She should have been swimming too. That's what you did at these things. You swam and drank and networked and pretended your department wasn't three months away from another round of layoffs. But Elena's arms felt heavy, and the thought of submerging herself in all that forced camaraderie made her chest tighten.

"You look like you're plotting someone's murder."

Elena didn't turn. She knew Richard's voice—knew the particular cadence of his smugness, the way his consonants sharpened when he thought he'd scored a point. They'd been something like friends once, back when they were both junior associates chasing the same partnership track. Before he'd taken credit for her client retention strategy. Before he'd sent that email to the partners, complete with a PowerPoint presentation of work she'd done at 2 AM.

"Just thinking," she said, adjusting her sun hat.

Richard sat beside her, close enough that she could smell his expensive sunscreen. "About?"

"About how I paid that palm reader fifty bucks last weekend to tell me my future."

"And?"

"And she said I'd meet a tall, handsome stranger who'd change everything. She left out the part where he already did, three years ago."

Richard's face flickered—something that might have been guilt, or might have been the sun in his eyes. He stayed quiet for a long moment. Then: "The strategy was good, Elena. It just needed a face."

"It had a face. It had mine."

"You know how it works."

"I do. That's why I'm leaving."

"What?"

"Next week. I'm taking the competitor's offer. Their general counsel position. Better money, none of this"—she gestured at the pool, at the synchronized drunks—"and they don't make me attend team-building exercises."

Richard's smile fixed itself into place, professional and brittle. "You're making a mistake."

"Maybe. But at least it'll be mine."

He stood up, dusting sand from his expensive shorts. "Well. Enjoy your palm reader's prophecy."

Elena watched him walk away, toward the cabana where the partners held court. She finished her drink, the ice clicking against her teeth, and stood. The water looked better now. Clear. Uncomplicated. She waded in, arms wide, and began swimming toward the deep end.