Page 1 of The Retreat
One
Talia Knox stared at the elevator doors and tried not to fidget. But twelve floors was a long time for a type A personality to do absolutely nothing. Long enough, certainly, to make a poor decision. She unlocked her phone and opened the dating app she hadn’t touched in months.
The interface had been revamped, with brighter colours now, cheerier fonts. It congratulated her for coming back like she was a Jack Russell returning to its owner, rather than a forty-year-old woman wondering if she was too young to give up on her vagina and her heart, in that order. She ignored the chipper ‘Welcome back, Talia!’ banner and started to swipe.
Woman with a ukulele. Left.
Woman with a mullet. God, were those back again? Left.
Woman with a Hello Kitty tattoo. Left.
Her thumb moved on autopilot, barely registering the faces. They all looked like effort. Even the thought of exchanging messages made her want to take a long nap.
The elevator slowed and dinged open.
‘Morning!’ chirped Rebecca from HR, far too brightly for 8:54 a.m. As ever, she was dressed in primary colours. It gave her the air of a very organised toddler.
Talia locked her phone and slid it into her blazer pocket, straightening up. She offered only a nod in response.
Rebecca’s smile faltered. She’d wanted more but wasn’t getting it. Just crisp posture and a blank face. No trace of awkward swiping or existential horniness. Because the staff of Monroe Legal only saw what Talia wanted them to see. A perfect, muted suit with the right price tag. Minimalist jewellery. Glossy espresso-coloured hair twisted into an immaculate low bun. Outwardly, the picture of cool competence.
Inwardly?
She was on the edge. She ran on a relentless loop of deadlines, client calls, and unspoken expectations. She was averaging about three hours of sleep a night. She googled ‘how many coffees before you’re officially a lunatic’ more than once this week.
But her torment would end soon. Her recent performance review had gone exceptionally well. Billables up, clients happy. All roads pointed to promotion. A non-equity partner slot was opening up in September.
It had to be hers. Ithadto be hers. Because if it wasn’t, well… Talia didn’t like to go there. She had to get it, and that was the end of it.
The elevator landed. Rebecca scuttled out first. Talia followed at a slower pace, taking a deep breath to steady herself, giving her insides a chance to catch up with her composed exterior.
She settled into her seat just as the conference room buzzed with polite nods and feigned enthusiasm.
Celeste Monroe—co-founder’s daughter and board partner at thirty-nine—was charm in a couture blouse. Warm, brilliant, a bit terrifying.
‘Right,’ Celeste said, clapping her hands once. ‘Everybody grab breakfast, and I’ll waffle while you eat.’
Talia zoned out while Celeste launched into a smooth recap of quarterly triumphs. She was careful to keep her expression extremely interested. Because she’d done the maths.
There were five equity partners. But Celeste had her father’s proxy vote as he’d retired but refused to relinquish his stake. And Celeste was married to another equity partner, Mitchell. Everyone knew he voted however Celeste did. Then there was Rhona, who might well vote Talia’s way. And Jonas, technically still a partner, though barely visible, Talia couldn’t say either way about him.
But the reality was that Celeste effectively held three out of five votes. She wasn’t just a Monroe. ShewasMonroe. And Talia couldn’t move up without her say so.
Across the table, Daniel Parsons was dismantling a pain au chocolat. Flakes were going everywhere, but he didn’t care. The man had no napkin and no shame. Just the smug aura of someone who’d always assumed the world would hand him what he wanted.
Talia hoped he was wrong. Because he was her biggest competition. Behind her in numbers, but with the added benefit of a wife, two kids, and a Labrador called Socks. The full LinkedIn family package. And that made him lethal. Even though he was nowhere near as good as Talia.
That was the thing no one would dare say aloud at Monroe. But Talia had heard the euphemisms for those trying to climb the ladder.
Not quite the right fit.Not settling.A little outside the culture.
She knew what it meant. They wanted the kind of life that looked stable enough to inspire confidence over expensive wine and awkward small talk at client dinners. A spouse who laughedat the right jokes, weekend plans that sounded enviable,jokes about DIY disasters, or the kids’ latest pricey hobby. Just enough relatability to make you seem grounded but polished enough to reassure the client you’d never miss a filing deadline.
They wanted dependability. Aspirational. A life that said,trust me with your millions, I have a golden retriever and a tax-efficient marital status.
Talia had learned that the hard way. You could only show up to so many client dinners solo before Celeste started tilting her head and asking, ‘So, seeing anyone these days?’ in a tone that made it clear that it wasn’t small talk. It was a performance review.
She knew she wasn’t getting partner if she didn’thavea partner. And that seemed very unlikely, given her hours and general cynicism toward relationships.
