Derek shrugged.
“Fake seal.”
“Is that your final answer?”
“Absolutely.”
Wendy nodded.
“Good.”
Derek frowned.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
He stared.
Something about her calmness finally frightened him.
Not enough yet.
But the first crack appeared.
Michael noticed too.
“Ma’am,” he said quietly, “would you like a private room while I contact building management?”
Wendy looked at him.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I'll remain here.”
Derek laughed.
“Of course you will.”
Wendy looked toward Michael.
“But I do want you to contact your supervisor.”
Michael nodded.
“Immediately.”
He reached for his radio.
Derek said:
“Mike, don't make this bigger than it is.”
Michael looked at him.
“You poured a drink over a visitor.”
“She was disruptive.”
Wendy said:
“I have not raised my voice once.”
Michael nodded.
“No.”
Derek turned toward him.
“Whose side are you on?”
That question told Wendy more than almost anything else.
Side.
Not fact.
Not procedure.
Not safety.
Side.
Michael’s expression changed.
“My job isn't to pick a side.”
“Then do your job.”
“I am.”
He spoke into the radio.
“Supervisor to main lobby.”
Derek cursed quietly.
Jenna finally moved.
She came around the reception desk with a stack of clean paper towels.
She stopped a few feet from Wendy.
“Ms. Anderson?”
Wendy turned.
“I’m sorry.”
Derek snapped:
“Jenna.”
She ignored him.
First time.
“Can I help clean your coat?”
Wendy looked at the towels.
Then Jenna.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Jenna approached carefully.
She dabbed one shoulder.
The cola had soaked deeply.
The black coat hid much of the staining.
The ivory trousers did not.
Brown streaks spread across one leg.
Wendy felt sticky.
Cold.
Humiliated.
She hated that word.
Not because it was inaccurate.
Because humiliation described what someone else successfully made you feel.
Derek wanted her humiliated.
Wendy refused to give him ownership of the emotion.
She was furious.
Embarrassed, yes.
But not reduced.
Jenna whispered:
“I should have called.”
Wendy looked at her.
“We’ll discuss it later.”
The young woman froze.
The phrase sounded strange.
Later.
As though Wendy had authority over whether there would be a later.
Wendy saw realization flicker.
Not identity.
Possibility.
Jenna whispered:
“Who are you?”
Wendy looked toward the revolving doors.
“Someone with an appointment.”
Then footsteps echoed from the entrance.
Several.
Slow.
Confident.
Employees near the doors straightened automatically.
Michael turned.
So did Jenna.