Page 2 of Chasing the Wild
"Now," Sam said, dragging his gaze away from me with what looked like physical effort, "we're going to start with basic gear inspection. I need to see what you've brought and assess who'sactually prepared for wilderness survival versus who showed up for Instagram photos."
Around me, the group began shuffling forward, pulling out their carefully researched equipment purchases. I remained where I was, trying to get my breathing under control.
This was insane. I was having a physiological reaction to a stranger. My hands were shaking. My pulse was racing. I felt lightheaded and hyperfocused at the same time, like I'd mainlined espresso on an empty stomach.
Except I knew exactly what this feeling was, because I'd read about it in enough romance novels during my rare moments of downtime. The ones I told myself were just escapism, fantasy that had nothing to do with real life.
Instant attraction. The kind that bypassed your brain entirely and went straight to your nervous system. The kind that made smart women do stupid things.
I didn't do stupid things. I was third in my class at Georgetown Law, the youngest senior associate at Hutchins & Ross, and on track for partnership at thirty. I did controlled things. Strategic things. Things that advanced my career and impressed the partners.
I did not stand in parking lots having full-body reactions to mountain men who looked like they could break me in half.
Sam worked his way through the other lawyers with brutal efficiency, his commentary blunt and devastatingly honest. He pointed out inadequate rain gear, inappropriate footwear, and equipment that was more flash than function. His assessments were demolishing to several egos accustomed to being the smartest people in any room.
And I couldn't stop watching the way he moved, like he knew exactly what to do in any situation. I loved the way his voice stayed level and calm even when he was delivering criticism that made grown lawyers flinch.
He was competent, overwhelmingly so. And after years of working with people who talked a big game but couldn't deliver, watching someone who actually knew what the hell he was doing was intoxicating.
Or maybe I was just losing my mind. That was also a distinct possibility.
Finally, inevitably, he reached me.
"Ms...?" He waited, those unsettling pale eyes fixed on my face.
Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Bigger. More solid. He smelled like cedar and pine.
"Madison. Jess Madison." I straightened to my full height, which at five-seven in hiking boots still left me looking up at him. Way up.
The size difference made me quiver in a way that I refused to examine too closely. I wasn't some delicate flower who needed a big strong man to protect her. I was a litigator who'd faced down hostile witnesses and aggressive opposing counsel without breaking a sweat. But the way he looked at me made me feel small and feminine and protected in ways I'd never wanted before. I felt seen in ways I'd spent years avoiding.
"Jess." The way he said my name—like he was tasting it—sent shivers spiraling through me. "Let's see what you've brought."
I opened my top-of-the-line hiking pack, trying to project confidence while he examined my gear. Everything was exactly what the sales associate at the outdoor equipment store had recommended for serious wilderness adventures.
Sam held up my emergency shelter, a lightweight, high-tech bivy sack that had cost three hundred dollars.
"This is designed for experienced mountaineers doing multi-day alpine climbs," he said, his tone suggesting I'd brought a Formula One car to a driver's education course. "It assumes you already know how to stay alive in the wilderness."
The criticism stung more than it should have. I'd spent hours researching this gear, trying to be prepared, trying to do everything right like I always did. And he was dismissing it—dismissing me—in front of everyone.
"The store said it was the best," I said, hating how defensive I sounded.
"The store saw you coming from a mile away." He moved on to my cooking equipment, a sophisticated camp stove system that looked like it belonged in a NASA facility. "Let me guess. You told them you needed the top-of-the-line gear for a corporate retreat."
"I wanted to be prepared."
"Prepared?" He pulled out my water purification system, which looked more like a laboratory experiment than camping equipment. "This is a thousand dollars worth of gear you don't know how to use. You would have been better off with a twenty-dollar water filter and the knowledge to find a stream."
Around us, the other lawyers had gone silent, sensing blood in the water. This was exactly the kind of public humiliation that would follow me back to the office, another story about how Jess Madison wasn't as smart as she thought she was. Another reason to pass me over for partnership. Another way I'd failed to be perfect enough.
The familiar panic started clawing at me—the feeling that I was drowning in expectations I could never quite meet, that no matter how hard I worked or how much I prepared, it would never be enough.
But underneath the panic, something else was rising. I was done with being dismissed by men who thought they knew better.
"Is there a problem being over prepared?" I asked, lifting my chin and letting my voice carry the edge I used in depositions.The one that made opposing counsel think twice before trying to steamroll me.
Sam's eyes flashed with approval. "Preparation would have been learning basic survival skills before buying gear you don't really need," he said, but there was a different quality to his voice now. Less dismissive. More engaged. Like I'd finally done something interesting. "This isn't thorough. It's expensive incompetence."
