I admit to having had him repeat the rules back to me, allegedly so I could prove he was listening but also a little bit to piss him off. He's not the kind of guy used to giving up even a tiny piece of control and his jaw flexed each time I made him do something or check something.

We are now over an hour into our walk and not making as good time as I would have hoped or expected given his stated level of experience. I mean, we haven't even reached the end of the path I usually guide the kids down.

The crisp snow crunches underfoot as I trudge down the path, humming the Swiss national anthem as my pacing because it's stuck in my head. And we are walking that slowly.

"Can we stop to rest?" Mr. Know-it-all asks from behind, slightly out of breath.

"It's barely been an hour and you want to stop? Are you feeling alright, Mr. Serrano?"

"I'm sure I'm fine, I'm just having a little trouble breathing?"

Fuck.

"Okay, let's stop here." I scan the terrain I walk almost daily, looking for a path I know must be coming up. "There's a clearing just up ahead. Do you think you can make it?"

He nods, and he's able to talk to me, so it's not an emergency yet. Regardless, I'm not losing someone out here, so I pull out my radio and tune to the channel the shop is on. "Cliffside Lodge this is Amelia Conti. Do you copy?"

Bee loves the 'secret code' of radios. I have no idea how they work beyond the spy movies I watch.

"Hello Amelia this is Cliffside Lodge. You have Beatrix. We copy."

"Bee! Thank goodness. Mr. Serrano is having some difficulty breathing. Going to triage here but prepare the rescue equipment just in case, please."

"Roger that, Amelia. If you don't report back in fifteen minutes I'll send them out."

I glance back at Damien pulling at his scarf. "Make it ten."

Crackles on the other end of the line. "Missed what you said, Amelia. Over."

"Send them in ten," I say again.

"We read you. Ten minutes unless you call them off."

"Thanks, Bee."

"You got it, Captain."

She brings the call to a close and I find the clearing, pulling the bush out of the way and letting Damien slip through. His breathing looks mostly normal, and it doesn't seem like he's struggling to walk, but you never know with these things.

"Do you have asthma or any other breathing problems I should know about?" I ask, flopping my bag off my shoulders so I'll have easier access to the first aid kit packed right at the top for just such a reason. "Any allergies I should know about?"

I have all of this information on a piece of paper in my pack, but if he's capable of telling me, it's faster.

"No allergies. I did have mild asthma as a child but I've never needed medicine for it as long as I can remember." And he's still talking without needing to pause for breath. All good signs.

"Okay." I point to the large rock I usually sit on to read stories to the children. "Sit there and take a break. Just relax. I'm going to sit here and observe to make sure everything's okay but we're just going to monitor you for a minute. You seem to be breathing okay now that we're stopped. That's a good thing. I think you're going to be okay."

My smile is probably completely obscured by my scarf and jacket so I nod, trying to be reassuring.

He sits on the rock and crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at me as though I were the cause of his hardship and not the person making sure he stays alive. His knee bounces as he waits, twisting his scarf ends between his fingers.

"You're going to need to try not to bounce, Mr. Serrano. The more relaxed you are the better I can assess you. It's going to be fine. We have emergency services on standby if you need it, but I don't think you will."

He nods. "I just... umm... might have misrepresented my level of experience with physical activity on the form."

I groan audibly, I'm sure. And I'm even more sure when he shoots me a glare I can see even though the fog newly forming on his goggles.

"You have to tell me these things." I'm trying very hard not to fume, gripping my hands in fists, wiggling my toes, and imagining my favorite song playing live in front of me. But it still comes out harsh when I say, "We need to calculate more time for those with less experience. Even with all the extra time I built in for emergencies we might not make it to your meeting in time."

"We have to make it!" He practically shouts, though we are mere feet away from each other.

"Well, we might not if I have to keep a slower pace. We could have left earlier. We could have scheduled this meeting later or closer. We could have done literally anything but get stuck on the side of a mountain because you were too stubborn to tell me the truth." I do manage not to throw in the expletive or two that popped into my mind.

"I'm not too stubborn to tell you the truth. Quit calling me stubborn; you don't know me at all. And I can tell you don't like me, probably because I have money and like to spend it, but I didn't lie on purpose. I'm just starting to think I misunderstood the damn question."

"Well, at least we know your lungs are working," I quip back. "You've had plenty of energy to shout at me."

"I'm shouting at you because you are dishonoring me."

"Dishonouring you? That's rich! You have done nothing but belittle me since you arrived. So let's call it even, shall we?" It's really really hard not to roll my eyes.

Deep breath. "Give me a minute to recalculate some things. We'll go as slow as we can to get there on time and if you can't manage it I'm going to have to call to reschedule your appointment or turn back."

"We have to make the appointment."

"So you've said. But no business is worth your life."

"What good is my life if I have nothing?" He snaps back, baiting me to ask what he means, but I'm not walking into that one. This is just a job and I need the money. All I have to do is get through this and that's all I intend to do. Clients' tragic backstories are not in my job description.

"Do what you need to do," I say. "You're fine for now and I have things to do."

I cannot stand to look at his pretentious ass right now, so I wander out of the clearing back to the main road and radio back to Bee to let her know all is well for now and relay the plan for the new speed and distance calculations.

Bee taps away at her computer, recording the updated information in case we need search and rescue. "Why is it these big shot suit-wearing men always think their however many hours a week in the gym are going to be sufficient for these things? Do they also think themselves capable of running marathons?"

"Some of them might," I do let myself roll my eyes this time. "What I wouldn't give to see them all try."

"Peak reality television," she agrees. "We should pitch it to the network. You know anyone well-connected?"

"In television?" I ask. "Let me just check my extensive list of people I went to Prep School with. Oh, wait!"

"You know, they'd probably never agree to it," she says once she stops typing. "They'd probably just send their assistants to do it for them and give a big donation to a charity or something."

"Big to us," I correct. "Very small to them."

"Ugh, you're right. It didn't get better. Good luck. Let me know if you need me to reschedule the meeting."

"Will do. I should know in about an hour."

"Good. Keep me updated so I can find you some place to go if the storm rolls in. Still looks like the timing's about the same, but you know how weather is."

I do. And we were supposed to be there safely long before the storm hit, but I've had to readjust. Part of me wonders if I should turn back now, but he seems just stubborn enough to not let me do it. And truthfully I'm pretty sure if I don't get paid for this trip I'm going to be staring down an eviction notice by next week. Until I'm sure it's not going to work, I'll keep toughing it out, but only so long as it's safe.

I can shorten our route, but make it harder, or lengthen it slightly but ease the difficulty.

And the only way to tell which way I should go is to speak with the man himself. And we're off to a great start with politeness and rapport so I'm sure it's going to go so well.

This is why I'm a professional. Because I suck it up and trudge back into the clearing and walk right up to him. "Excuse me, Mr. Serrano? Could I ask you a question?"

"Are you going to insult my intelligence again?"

"I didn't—" Deep breath. "No. I just want to know which path we should take. And I'm sorry for insinuating you lied earlier. If you could tell me what kind of physical activities you're used to, that might help me find the best path for you so we can make the meeting in time."

He actually pulls the goggles away from his eyes and places them on top of his toque like a little beacon. Then he looks me over, not that there's much to see in the snowsuit.

"Mr. Serrano, I really think this is the best plan to get everyone there safely. I don't want to turn around any more than you do but this standoff is wasting time."

"I like weightlifting," he says, slowly sitting down. "And of course I do cardio. Which is why I thought I was equipped for this hike."

"The gear and the packs and the snow add a lot of resistance," I point out. "Catches a lot of people out at first, though they usually figure it out while they're packing their bags."

He knows I've thrown a barb and his eyes dart around my face, but I'm stoic and neutral. Figure it out without any clues, Jerkface.

"I also love rock climbing, but all the rock faces out here look like solid sheets of ice or snow."

"Oh, we're going to make an ice climber out of you yet," I laugh. "But not today. Today we're getting you safely to your meeting. Because as you know, we cannot miss it."

A little ghost of a smile brightens his eyes and I realize they really sparkle in the bright sunlight.

I shut that line of thought down really quick. I need to be a professional out here. "Pack up and get ready to go," I tell him. "I'm going to run a few more calculations and then we're getting you to that meeting."

I don't wait to see if he listens. I don't want to know. And we don't have time, anyway. I have a bad feeling about this.