“Derek.”
He laughed.
“Relax.”
Wendy watched.
“Whatever you’re considering doing, don't.”
That should have been enough.
It was not.
Derek stepped closer.
“For someone who supposedly has an executive meeting, you're very demanding.”
Wendy said:
“Put the drink down.”
His grin widened.
Then he tilted the cup.
Cold cola struck the top of Wendy’s head.
The first splash shocked her more than the cruelty.
Ice.
Liquid.
Sudden weight.
Then the cup tipped farther.
Dark soda poured through her hair.
Across her forehead.
Down the side of her face.
Over the shoulders of the black coat.
Into the lace edge of her camisole.
Across one side of her ivory trousers.
Brown liquid hit the marble.
Ice cubes bounced.
One rolled beneath the reception desk.
Wendy did not move.
For perhaps one full second, nobody did.
Derek emptied the cup.
Then lifted it away.
A final stream dripped from the rim.
Silence.
Then Samantha laughed.
Loudly.
Too loudly.
Nervous laughter becoming cruelty because cruelty offered safety.
Another receptionist covered her mouth.
Then laughed too.
Derek stared at Wendy.
Waiting.
He wanted a reaction.
Yelling.
Crying.
A shove.
Anything he could use to rewrite what had just happened.
Wendy gave him none.
Cola ran from the ends of her hair.
A droplet moved down her cheek.
She blinked once.
Then slowly removed her sunglasses from the neckline of her coat where she had tucked them earlier and placed them into her handbag.
Her hand trembled.
Only once.
Derek noticed.
Smiled.
“Guess you needed cooling off.”
Samantha laughed harder.
Somewhere behind Wendy, someone gasped.
Michael finally moved from the security desk.
“Derek.”
His voice was firm.
Too late.
Derek turned.
“What?”
Michael approached.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Derek lifted the empty cup.
“It was a joke.”
Michael stared.
“That wasn't a joke.”
Samantha lowered her phone.
Wendy looked toward her.
The camera was recording now.
Good.
Wendy turned toward Derek.
“What is your full name?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Your full name.”
“You know my name.”
“I know Derek.”
Wendy reached into her handbag and removed her phone.
She unlocked it.
Tapped the recording application.
Placed the phone visibly on the reception counter.
“State your full name.”
Derek laughed again.
But thinner.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Michael said, “Ma’am, perhaps we should—”
Wendy raised one hand.
Not at him.
A signal to wait.
Then:
“Your full name.”
Derek stared at the phone.
“Derek Patterson.”
“Job title?”
He looked around.
“You can read my badge.”
“I want you to say it.”
Something in her voice unsettled him now.
“Senior reception supervisor.”