It started with a smirk and a comment—typical. You met him outside the terminal, where the car was waiting. He had his suitcase in one hand and that look on his face like this was already a waste of time. The banter came quick, practiced, sharp around the edges. You gave as good as you got. Always did.

Well, you two were both very good at your jobs at the company. The CEO said it would be good for collaboration. You both knew it was punishment in disguise. Too many heated meetings, too many stolen deals. Too many near-misses where one of you almost admitted this wasn’t just rivalry.

The storm rolled in halfway through the drive. The mountain roads turned slick and slow. No signal. Classic.

By the time you made it to the motel—the only one for miles—it was nearly dark. He checked in while you stood behind him, arms crossed, soaked through. One room. Not ideal, but it was late, and neither of you wanted to drag this out.

He didn’t speak as you followed him down the dim hallway, the buzzing overhead lights flickering like the place was barely hanging on. He walked a little too close, just to irritate you. You knew. Didn’t say a word.

Then he unlocked the door. Stepped inside. Paused. You moved in beside him. There it was. One bed. Double-sized. Plain white sheets. Center of the room. No couch. No extra pull-out. Just one, painfully neutral-colored, bed.

Your stomach dipped. His jaw tensed.

Both of you were speechless for a moment. But you were definitely thinking the same thing.

He broke the silence, “Seriously?” he muttered sarcastically.