I sluggishly hauled myself up the poorly constructed ramp. My suit slimed down my back. The grease on my skin flared up as I smeared on more lube. Sun lotion-melting.

  44C and rising. I was no better than fried tuna, gagged, skewered, bend over a spit fire.

  It was utterly idiotic. What kind of bus breaks down at the bottom of a hill and leaves everyone to crawl the rest of the way? My ankles were sore from the miles of sand I had to traverse. My breath fumed out buckets at a time.

  "I'm gonna kill that cunt." I wheezed.

  "Who?" Barbara asked.

  Her voice sent a shiver down my spine as I turned my head to look at the fragrant tight swimsuit. It revealed everything, including that sly grin she shot me.

  "You know you don't need to wear a suit, right?"

  I didn't answer her.

  The grin deepened.

  "We're at the beach for HR's sake. I did bring a spare."

  "No," I said, quickening my pace to reach the summit.

  I didn't know what her spare included, but I would have to sweat like a pig before accepting that offer.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "You can't run, Grey."

  Like hell I couldn't.

  Her flip-flops chased me.

  My shoes betrayed me.

  My defeated hand raised.

  "You could at least lose the tie," Barbara cooed.

  That I couldn't do.

  Sandals and trunks were already pushing it. The cool sea breeze brushed my legs, the sand invading my toes.

  "You'd better hand it all back," I said.

  She packed the jacket and trousers into her large hiking-style handbag. The bag was more like a brick or a weapon than a typical accessory. Hell, with her physique, she could knock someone out with a single swing.

  Then her eyes met mine.

  She smiled, and I found a sign to look at.

  Don't fall for it, Grey.

  "So..." Barbara started. She chewed her lip. "About Geoff-"

  I turned-

  "Geoff?"

  Then butting in like a medieval doll on a fragile sand castle.

  "What's going on here?" said Dorathy.

  The shrew woman turned on Barbara like a knife, eyes cataloguing and filing the reports to sign.

  "THAT! That!"

  Anyone could see the complete shock in the woman's face. Her finger held pointed, her words on repeat.

  Barbara just tilted her head.

  "It's the beach," she said.

  "NO! company culture-"

  Then the worst offender showed up.

  Michael Goldsburg, in a Speedo so small it had to be a crime.

  Followed by Edward Dickson, shorts's shirt and tie. Discustinly simular to my outfit.

  And Steve, who apparently was dragged out, is now melting in his jeans and hoodie.

  "m-Michael?" Dorathy asked. But her lips zipped tight before she could follow up.

  "Mr Goldsburg." Edward slithered, "I look forward to your presentation this evening, lots of Grey matter im sure."

  His eyes clicked onto Grey, a smile so vile I wanted to punch it.

  But Mr rich bastard Michael just waved him off and joined the group.

  "Good, now that the team is together, we can go over tonight's show," Michael said.

  "But I'm not part of the Marketing-" Steve started.

  Michael pulled him in anyway, choice was an illusion.

  "I assume Frank has filled you in, yes."