Page 54 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"I meant in meetings, not mountaineering."

Back by the great room’s fire, our drinks waiting and twinkling in the light, the moment from earlier tries to rebuild itself. Mac sinks into her armchair with a sigh that sounds like unwinding.

"You were about to tell me something," I prompt.

She stares into her whiskey like it holds secrets. "Just... thank you. For including me in this. For listening. For..." she waves her free hand, encompassing the lodge, the summit, everything.

"Thank you for making me listen." The words come easier in firelight. "For making me see what needed to change."

"Even if the method involved expensive drinks?”

"Especially then." I study her face in the flickering light. "Though maybe next time just send a memo?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

We talk. About the company, about changes still needed, about everything and nothing. The fire burns lower, the snowfalls harder, and somewhere around midnight, I realize I've never felt more at peace than here in my corporation’s rented lodge.

"We should probably..." Mac gestures upward, to where our rooms wait on separate floors.

"Probably," I agree, not moving.

She stands, stretching slightly. "Early meeting tomorrow."

"Mac."

She pauses, looking down at me, and suddenly every carefully maintained barrier seems paper-thin.

"Yes?"

"I—"

A muffled thud and cursing from outside interrupts whatever insanity I was about to voice.

We rush to the window to find Keith, apparently attempting Plan B of his revolutionary mountaineering, now stuck halfway up a decorative pillar.

"I regret everything!" he calls down, beret askew. "The revolution may have been slightly ambitious about its climbing abilities!"

Mac turns to me, eyes dancing. "Still glad you invited all voices?"

"Let's review that policy tomorrow." I reach for the house phone to call resort security. "Preferably after we get our makeshift mountaineer down from there."

"At least he's festive about it," she points out. "The beret still has tinsel."

And maybe it's the whiskey, or the firelight, or the absurdity of watching resort staff rescue a revolutionary developer from a snowy pillar at midnight, but suddenly we're both laughing.

Real laughter, the kind that breaks down walls.

The kind that makes me forget about anonymous bloggers and corporate politics and everything except how right this feels.

How right she feels.

After ensuring Keith is safely down and appropriately chastised about revolutionary climbing techniques, the lodge settles into snow-muffled silence.

"I should head up," Mac says softly, though she makes no move to leave the firelight.

"I'll walk you." The words come automatically, decades of ingrained manners covering something much less controlled.

“Hmm, interesting. Afraid I'll stage my own climbing protest?"

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