“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, howlong 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.
