CHAPTER EIGHT :Marketing Olympics
1140 Words
ARIELLE
The morning began with the scent of pine and the distant hum of lake water brushing against the wooden docks. Arielle stood on the balcony of her room at the resort, cradling a steaming mug of coffee. The quiet was unfamiliar, but welcome. It had been a long time since she'd felt this still. Not responsible for breakfast. Not pacing the apartment floor trying to calculate how to make rent and groceries work in the same week.
Here, with sunlight dancing on the lake and creative minds buzzing all around her, Arielle felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in years—freedom.
Nina joined her, hair a tousled mess, oversized sweater slouched over one shoulder. “Is this what rich people do for strategy?” she asked, holding her own mug like a lifeline.
Arielle smirked. “Apparently.”
They both watched the sun break fully over the horizon.
“So…” Nina nudged her with an elbow. “You and Damien. What’s the vibe now?”
Arielle sighed. “Complex. Confusing. Less stabby.”
“Progress.”
“He apologized.”
Nina’s brows shot up. “Shut up. Damien Locke? Mr. Arrogant Apology-is-for-the-weak?”
“He said he wasn’t good at it, but he tried.”
Nina whistled. “Girl, if that man is cracking open his stone heart for you, don’t look away. That’s rare.”
Arielle didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. Damien had come closer to the truth last night than he ever had before. And it left her... unsettled.
DAMIEN
He didn’t know what woke him that morning. Maybe the quiet. Maybe the weight of last night’s truce.
He hadn’t expected her to smile. Definitely hadn’t expected her to bring him cocoa.
And still, the way they’d sat beside each other, side by side in a silence that didn’t scream with expectation—that stayed with him.
He found himself walking the grounds, breathing in the early morning air, feeling the sting of memory press at his temples. The last time he’d been in nature like this, it had been with his siblings. Before everything fell apart.
His phone buzzed. A message from Anastasia.
“Don’t forget to breathe today. And maybe talk to people who aren’t terrified of you.”
He smiled slightly. Ana, his bright star. She never gave up on him. Even when he tried to push her away.
He replied: “I spoke to someone last night.”
“Was it a hostage negotiation?”
“No. Just… a conversation. It felt good.”
“About time.”
__
Midday Session
The second campaign session began with teams split into groups for a branding sprint. Arielle took lead again—clear, eloquent, in command without being controlling.
Damien hung back, observing. She drew people in, not just with her ideas, but with her ability to listen. To encourage. To highlight others.
She didn’t need his validation. And that made him want to give it more.
After the break, Damien called for the team to regroup by the outdoor amphitheater.
Everyone gathered with notebooks and iced teas in hand. Arielle sat in the front row, legs crossed, pen poised.
Damien cleared his throat. “This isn’t just a campaign. It’s a statement. If we’re going to lead this, it has to come from the truth. From something more than just data.”
He paused.
“I saw that yesterday in Arielle’s direction. That’s what we’re chasing. Not just performance, but connection.”
Arielle’s eyes widened slightly. Public praise. From Damien. Twice in two days.
Felt like Christmas came early.
And Nina nearly choked on her water.
Later when the session ended, Arielle stood to leave. Damien caught up to her.
“I meant what I said,” he told her.
“I know.”
She studied him. There was something gentler behind his usual armor. Maybe not trust—but something close.
“You’re different here,” she said.
“So are you.”
They both lingered a second too long.
“I think we work better when we’re not trying to prove who’s right,” she said.
“Agreed. But I’m still usually right.” he said, with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
She laughed again. It was starting to become a problem for him—how much he liked that sound.
__
During the evening games that night, the resort hosted a bonfire and team challenge. Think adult summer camp meets marketing Olympics.
Arielle ended up in a relay involving trivia and balancing plastic cups on her head. Nina documented every second with her phone for potential blackmail, grinning ear to ear like she just won a jackpot.
Damien watched, arms crossed, amused. Especially when Arielle tripped on a grass root and fell flat, laughing too hard to be embarrassed.
He helped her up without thinking.
“You alright?” he asked.
She nodded, catching her breath. “Are you enjoying the show?”
“Very much.”
Someone yelled for Damien to join the next round. Suddenly, everyone paused and looked at him. Even the person who had invited him over already had dread on her face. She had just decided to try her luck since she saw her boss helping another lady up.
Everyone wasn't going to be surprised if they resumed work the next day and the lady who called him was missing from work… fired, infact.
Surprisingly, he didn’t decline. Arielle raised a brow as he jogged into the circle. Even Nina had her brows raised in denial, and a playful scoff around her lips.
“You know,” Nina said, sidling up beside her friend, “I think the ice king is melting.”
Arielle smiled. “And here I thought hell would freeze first.”
Later That Night
Back at the firepit, the team sang off-key renditions of old pop hits, someone brought out marshmallows, and Arielle found herself beside Damien again.
“You’re different here,” she repeated softly.
“I remember when work didn’t feel like war,” he said. “It’s… nice.”
She turned toward him. “Why did it ever have to become war for you?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Maybe because I didn’t know any other way to survive.”
That silence between them returned. But it was heavy now. Not uncomfortable—just full.
He looked at her. Really looked.
And then, quietly, “Thank you. For calling me out. For not letting me be comfortable in my own armor.”
Arielle reached for another marshmallow, but her fingers brushed his instead. She didn’t pull away immediately.
Neither did he.
Whatever was blooming between them, it wasn’t sharp anymore. It wasn’t about battles.
It was something softer.
And it was growing.
- Writer
