“Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that.”
The Black woman wiped one drop from her wrist.
“You kicked that at him.”
“He’ll survive.”
“He almost slipped.”
The blonde woman rolled her eyes.
“He works maintenance.”
The older man lowered his gaze.
That bothered the Black woman more than the liquid staining her clothes.
Not what the blonde woman had said.
The fact that the maintenance worker had heard it before.
She folded the wet cloth once.
Carefully.
Then placed it on the cart.
“You should apologize.”
The blonde woman laughed.
“To him?”
“Yes.”
The smile faded slightly.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Something in the Black woman’s tone irritated her.
The blonde woman stepped closer.
“You know, people who work here usually understand that customers come first.”
The Black woman looked around.
“You’re a customer?”
The question should have been harmless.
Instead, it struck pride.
The blonde woman’s expression sharpened.
“My family runs the largest store in this plaza.”
The Black woman glanced toward the boutique behind her.
Its windows displayed handbags, jewelry, and expensive clothing arranged beneath spotless lighting.
She had noticed the store earlier.
Everyone noticed it.
The lease file for that boutique had been sitting inside a black folder on her kitchen table at six that morning.
She knew the monthly rent.
She knew the proposed expansion.
She knew the store’s sales numbers.
She knew its renewal request asked for another ten years.
She knew the tenant’s attorneys had been negotiating aggressively for three months.
And she knew that the final renewal authorization required one signature.
Hers.
The blonde woman had absolutely no idea.
That was not because the young Black woman had deliberately disguised herself.
There was no costume.
No fake job.
No secret badge.
She had simply arrived without announcing it.
That had apparently been enough.
The blonde woman crossed her arms.
“Do you know who my father is?”
The Black woman nearly smiled.
It was the most predictable question possible.
“No.”
“You should.”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
The maintenance worker tried again.
“Please. Let’s just—”
The blonde woman snapped toward him.
“Nobody asked you.”
He stopped.
That did it.
The Black woman took one slow step forward.
“You don’t speak to him like that.”
The blonde woman stared.
“Or what?”
The Black woman looked at her for several seconds.
Then said quietly:
“Nothing.”
That confused her.
“Nothing?”
“I’m not going to shove you.”
“I’m not going to scream.”
“I’m not going to throw anything back.”
The blonde woman smirked.
“So you’re going to clean it?”