Love without a Compass. Lindy Zart

he specified that it should be located in Avery Scottam’s—that’s me—least favorite kind of place: outside. Outside is gross. It’s dirty, and there are bugs, and my hair does not respond well to heat.

      To add more salt to the wound, Ben Stitzer is the last person I want to see me at anything less than completely composed, so of course Duke paired us together. It has nothing to do with the fact that I did something awful to Ben and he’s hated me ever since. Things have been tense around the office, and wherever I turn, there’s Ben, plotting his revenge. But that’s not why we’re here. Right. Nope. Not at all.

      Our boss’s words repeat in my head, bringing inner calamity and outer perspiration with them.

      Wilderness retreat.

      Improve team-building skills.

      Rely on one another.

      And the most upsetting words of all…

      Ben and Avery, you’re partners.

      I shoot a look in Ben’s direction. More likely, he chose the setting. As if sensing my eyes on him, his head turns, his eyes slicing me in two. The look lasts all of one second but has enough vexation in it to steadily burn through many, many lifetimes. There was one single night that could have been the start of something amazing, but I ruined it.

      I think we both know you’re not my type.

      The words echo through me, bringing an uncomfortable twinge with them.

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I reply with a sniff. “I’m sure you made up some fantasy scenario in your—”

      A bitter laugh comes from my side, cutting off my words. “Trust me, you’re not in any part of my fantasies.”

      I stop walking, my eyes shooting to my coworker’s. Ben gazes stonily back, his bespectacled brown eyes scalding me with their animosity. I sigh and face forward, absently scratching at the most recent of countless bug bites. Mountains, rocks, and trees greet me, splashing the immediate vicinity in shades of brown and gray, speckled with green. They remind me of Ben’s eyes, actually, except without the perpetual loathing in them.

      “What’s the hold up?” he demands, hands on his hips.

      “You.”

      One dark eyebrow quirks.

      I know men fantasize about me. I’m not being vain. I’d rather only one man want me over all the rest, and it’s the one next to me, looking at me as if I’m diseased and contagious. That’s irony for you.

      “If I simply stand here all day, will I wake up and realize this has all been a really bad dream?” I ask without looking at Ben.

      “The better question is: will I?”

      I swallow a snort and take the rubber band from my wrist, twisting my hair into a sloppy bun. I don’t understand how Duke Renner could drop us off in the middle of nowhere with a gleeful wave and shouted well wishes. But then, since I started at Sanders and Sisters over six months ago, I’ve realized that the only constant with my boss is that he is unpredictable.

      Things were much simpler in Montana.

      Ignoring the sharp pain that accompanies thoughts of my life before I relocated to Illinois, I set my shoulders back and once again take on the dusty trail to an unknown destination.

      “Where do you think the others were taken?” I ask.

      Our six coworkers are somewhere within the miles-wide expanse of Shawnee National Forest, paired with the person they get along with the least, working on their own quests. I wonder how Juan Narvaez and Nate Schroeder are faring. Nate went out with Juan’s ex-girlfriend a while back and came home that night to find all the beer in his fridge reduced to empty cans strewn about the kitchen.

      To most people, that wouldn’t be a big deal, but to Nate, who loves beer, it was catastrophic. Juan showed up to work the next day with the scent of alcohol seeping from his pores and a smug expression on his face, silently naming him as the culprit. Nate was not happy.

      The wind picks up, bringing authentic country dust with it. Even though my mouth is closed, I still taste its gritty, chalky flavor on my tongue. I haven’t navigated through much of Illinois yet. I have to say, I can think of better reasons to explore the state.

      Ben’s jaw is tight as he walks beside me. “We may be partners, and yes, we are obligated to work together to get through today but talking is not a requirement. In fact, let’s not.”

      It’s supposed to be four days of this. Four days of hell spent trekking over countryside with a man who loathes me. Wonderful. Exactly how I want to spend my time, following a map and compass with checkpoints through uncivilized terrain. I kick at the ground, hurting my big toe in the process.

      I stop and pull the map from my back pocket, pretending Ben didn’t say that. Pretending he isn’t justified in his aversion to me. One day, he’ll forgive me. I am going to make sure of that. But for now, we need to focus on what’s required of us to pass our mandatory continuing education class.

      “Let’s see what we need to do first,” I offer just to irritate Ben, and come to a stop.

      Ben turns toward me and shoves his glasses up his long nose, the ever-changing shade of his eyes striking against the backdrop of his olive skin and dark hair. I envy the golden sheen of his skin. He’s probably one of the lucky people who never burn, their skin only darkening with sun exposure.

      Fair-skinned and fair-haired, I am prone to burn instead of tan. Regrettably, I freckle too. My skin is already feeling the effects of the early morning sun.

      “I’m going to look at the map now,” I announce loudly in an attempt to get a reaction from Ben.

      There isn’t one.

      As the seconds tick by and I simply watch Ben, he gives me an exasperated look and gestures for me to continue. I lift an eyebrow, the map remaining closed.

      His teeth are bared as he says, “Will you please check the map, Avery?”

      “Yes, I will, Ben, thanks for asking,” I reply pleasantly, hiding a smile when Ben rolls his eyes.

      I unfold the map and study the colorful landscape paired with specific directives. Although I know it isn’t, the marked-off area we are to navigate seems endless. It’s pocketed with lakes, caves, trails, and other vague, ominous wildlife pictures. I chew on my lower lip, wondering about the sanity of this whole thing.

      It seems an archaic form of employee bonding to me. But then Extreme Retreat, the company Duke hired to orchestrate this obstacle course of madness, is known for their wild, sometimes dangerous, means of bringing coworkers together. No electronic devices, including cell phones, are allowed. They didn’t even let us have first-aid kits or flares. I think whoever runs the organization is partially crazy.

      Their motto is actually “There is no don’t, only do.” Being nontraditional himself, I can see why this organization appealed to Duke.

      Anne Dobson, one of our coworkers, got into a tug-of-war match with an Extreme Retreat employee when they attempted to take her cell phone from her. Besides the map I hold, all we were given is the backpack presently resting on Ben’s shoulders and were told it has everything we’re allowed to have, or will need for the day. Unless there is a room inside it with air conditioning, running water, and takeout cuisine on hand, I tend to disagree.

      I read the first objective on the list. Goal number one: Hike Crow Hill. Retrieve red flag.

      “The first checkpoint is at the end of a two-mile hike.” I look up, frowning. Working at keeping my voice unconcerned, I say, “It’s called ‘Crow Hill.’ Why do you think it’s called that?”

      Ben resumes walking, not answering.

      I lengthen my stride, catching up to him.

      He scowls and moves faster.

      I do the same, minus the