Chapter 21 – Rowan
Chapter Twenty-One
Rowan
The terrace is already crowded.
Clusters of partners stand near the railing with drinks in hand. The weekend has just started, and I’m already over it.
“Good morning, everyone,” Hale says, standing near the doorway. Her voice carries across the terrace. “We’ve got a full day ahead. These retreats are about more than work; they’re about building trust, collaboration, and the kind of relationships that last beyond the office.”
People nod, clap once or twice, and murmur their approval, and Hale eats it up.
Tessa shifts beside me, lifting her glass to hide a smile. She looks amused. I don’t.
Hale is still talking, pacing slowly in front of the crowd. She’s saying something about teamwork and shared goals—words that sound good on paper but mean nothing when half the room would throw each other under a bus for a promotion.
When she pauses for effect, the crowd claps again.
Tessa leans closer. “You’d make a terrible motivational speaker.”
“I’m not trying to motivate anyone,” I say.
“You’re succeeding.”
Her grin is small, and I can tell she’s enjoying watching me suffer through this.
Hale clears her throat. “We’ll start the first group activity in twenty minutes. Meet at the front path with your partner. Dress comfortably.”
The moment she finishes, the terrace breaks apart. Conversations restart. Laughter gets louder again.
Tessa lowers her glass. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is,” I say. “Everything Hale says is a threat with punctuation.”
“Maybe it’ll be easy. Icebreakers, trust falls, something harmless.”
“If anyone tells me to fall backward into their arms, I’m quitting law.”
She laughs quietly. “You’d have to actually trust someone for that to work.”
I glance at her. “Exactly.”
We move toward the steps that lead back to the suites. The crowd thins, and I can finally breathe again.
“I’m changing into something I can ruin,” I say.
Tessa raises an eyebrow. “Planning to roll down the hill?”
“Planning to survive the day,” I say.
She falls into step with me, her voice lighter now. “You really hate this, don’t you?”
“I hate wasting time pretending to bond with people who’d sell me out before lunch.”
She smiles. “Good thing I’m not one of them.”
“You’re worse,” I say.
Her laugh follows me down the path. “That’s why you keep me around.”
She’s not wrong, and that’s the problem.
* * *
Fuck me.
That’s the only thing I can think of when Chad, our overly happy activities guide, claps his hands and smiles.
“Welcome, beautiful people. This morning, we are going to take a leisurely stroll through the trail of trust with our partners.” He takes a breath.
“Except, we are going to do it blindfolded!”
And I’m done.
Fuck being a lawyer. I don’t have the patience for this shit.
“You ready to be humbled?” Tessa bounces on the balls of her feet.
“No,” I say.
She grins. “Come on, King. You might surprise yourself.”
“I don’t do surprises,” I tell her.
Chad beams. “All right, everyone! Pair up with your partner!”
The crowd starts shuffling, people laughing too loudly, pretending this isn’t forced.
I stand still because movement implies willingness, and I don’t have that today.
My coffee’s worn off, my tolerance is gone, and now, I’m apparently supposed to bond with my fake girlfriend while blindfolded. Perfect.
Tessa grabs a bandana. “I’ll go first.”
Of course, she will.
She’s already tying it before I can speak, pulling the knot tight at the back of her head, the edges uneven. She moves too fast. No hesitation. No planning.
“You don’t trust me?” she asks.
“I don’t trust you not to sprain an ankle,” I return.
She grins, blindfolded. “That’s why you’re here.”
That’s debatable. I’m here because the senior partners like to test endurance—how long you can smile without cracking, how long you can nod at nonsense before your brain shuts off. I’ve made it this far, but this... this is testing my limits.
The group in front of us starts moving. Someone almost falls, and their partner catches them to a round of polite applause. Apparently, humiliation counts as growth now.
Tessa shifts her weight beside me, restless. “You’re quiet,” she says.
“Trying not to say something career-ending.”
“Smart.”
Her mouth twitches, fighting a smile. I hate that I notice it.
Chad claps his hands again, his voice cutting through the noise. “Rowan and Tessa, you two are up first!”
Of course, we are.
My shoulders tense. I glance at her standing there with her chin lifted, blindfold crooked, completely unaware of the minefield she just created.
Everyone’s watching. The partners. Their spouses.
The interns who’d kill for our spots. And me—about to lead a woman I can’t stop thinking about through a public display of teamwork.
I take a step forward, scanning the trail. It’s narrow but smooth, lined with low shrubs and a few tree roots half-covered in dirt. The bay glints through the branches ahead, calm and wide. The group’s watching from behind, their fake encouragement buzzing at the edge of my patience.
“Small step forward,” I say.
She moves. The gravel crunches under her shoe, hesitant at first. “Like that?”
“Less hesitation,” I say.
“Less attitude,” she shoots back.
I walk a little ahead, watching the uneven stretch that curves through the trees. “You’re fine. Keep your feet light.”
She tilts her head toward my voice. “You sound closer.”
“I am,” I tell her. “You’ll move better if you focus.”
“Bossy,” she mutters.
“Efficient,” I correct. “Now left. There’s a branch ahead.”
She steps left, slow, careful, her hand reaching out in front of her. Her fingers brush my shirt. She inhales sharply, then lowers her hand.
“Forward again,” I say, keeping my voice low.
She takes two steps. The breeze moves through the trees. Her ponytail shifts across her back, and I can’t seem to stop tracking every movement she makes.
“Little more to your right,” I tell her. “The path narrows.”
She turns her body slightly and keeps moving. Her knee brushes my leg as she passes, the contact small but enough to mess with my breathing. I should step back. I don’t.
“Still with me?” I ask.
“I’d move faster if you stopped hovering.”
“You’d walk into a tree if I did.”
She grins. “You’d catch me.”
That’s debatable.
“Step down,” I say. “Small dip.”
She follows, steady this time, and I let her go another few paces before I realize there’s a patch of uneven ground up ahead. “Stop.”
She halts mid-step. “What?”
“Rock under your foot,” I say. “Shift your weight back.”
She does, trusting me instantly. Her breathing evens out. For a second, I let myself look at her—her shoulders pulled tight, her lips parted slightly as she waits for the next cue.
“All right,” I say, quieter now. “Step over it. One long stride.”
She moves. The blindfold stays firm, but her mouth curves into a small, focused smile. “You’re not as bad at this as I thought.”
“Don’t start handing out praise,” I say. “We’re not finished.”
She takes another step, and this time, her foot catches on a root. I see it too late. She stumbles backward. I move fast, my hands finding her before gravity can. One at her waist. One at her ribs.
Her body jerks against mine, and she exhales, short and sharp. The back of her head nearly grazes my chin. I feel the tremor in her breath, the heat where her shirt lifts just enough to expose skin under my palm.
Neither of us moves.
“Careful,” I say quietly.
“Your fault,” she says, voice thin.
“You tripped.”
“You didn’t warn me.”
“You don’t listen.”
My fingers flex against her side before I can stop them. Her breathing picks up again.
“Rowan,” she says, quieter now.
“What?”
“Your hand.”
My palm stays pressed against her skin, warm and tense under my thumb. I can feel every shallow breath she takes, every second she hesitates before deciding what to do with it.
She turns her head slightly, just enough that her voice brushes the space between us. “You’re still touching me.”
“I noticed.”
“Are you going to move?”
“Thinking about it.”
Her mouth curves faintly. “That’s new for you.”
The trail is silent except for her breathing and the faint sound of waves in the distance. I can hear people talking behind us, but it’s muffled, distant.
“Maybe you should,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like a suggestion.
I lean in without meaning to. Close enough that my next breath moves her hair against my jaw. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
Her chin lifts. Her blindfold’s still in place, but she’s facing me now, lips parted just enough that it’s suddenly hard to think about anything else.
“Say something,” she whispers.
I don’t. I can’t. The only thing in my head is how easy it would be to close the distance, how stupid it would be, and how I’m probably going to do it anyway.
The muscles in her stomach tighten under my hand. Her fingers twitch near my sleeve.
I move first, but it’s enough.
She breathes out my name, low, quiet, not a plea, not a warning. Just a fact.
And then—
“See, everyone!” Chad’s voice cracks through the air. “That’s how it’s done!”
Tessa flinches. I step back, fast, letting my hand fall from her waist. She tears off the blindfold and stares at me, cheeks flushed, eyes sharper than they should be.
I look at her mouth, then at the ground.
“Great timing,” I mutter.
She exhales hard, shoving the blindfold into my chest. “Your turn, King.”
“Not happening.”
She smirks, all false calm now. “Scared?”
“Of you? Never.”
She steps past me and pats me on the shoulder. “You should be.”