The Collision of Two Worlds
The Collision of Two WorldsThe rain in the Pacific Northwest didn’t just fall; it conducted a personal vendetta against anyone with suede shoes. Clara Jenkins, currently sporting exactly those, scrambled toward the porch of "The Serenity Suite." Her arms were wrapped around a vintage typewriter, three canvases, and a bag of artisanal sourdough that was rapidly becoming artisanal soup."Serenity, my foot," Clara muttered, kicking the door. It swung open to reveal a room that smelled aggressively of cedar and—unexpectedly—expensive cologne.Standing by the window was a man who looked like he had been curated by a team of German architects. He wore a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up to a precise three-quarter length, revealing a watch that probably cost more than Clara’s entire liberal arts education. He was holding a tablet. In a "Digital Detox" cabin."You’re late," the man said without looking up."I’m not late. I’m the guest," Clara panted, dropping her soggy bread on the hand-woven rug. "Who are you? The ghost of productivity past?"The man finally looked up. His eyes were the color of a well-maintained Excel spreadsheet. "I am Arthur Vance. And according to my booking confirmation, I have this cabin for the next seven days to finish the restructuring plan for a mid-sized logistics firm."
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