That morning she was assigned to the fourteenth floor, the commercial strategy division. As she pushed her cart down the hallway, she heard voices coming from behind an open cubicle.
“They say Evan Whitaker arrives tomorrow,” Melissa said, her voice light with calculation. “Once he notices me, I will be out of this department and into executive operations.”
Kendra laughed softly. “His mother must be blind or desperate. Opportunity like that does not last.”
Marilyn gripped the handle of her mop until her knuckles burned. Not because of herself, but because of her son.
Moments later, a young woman appeared carrying a stack of files too heavy for her thin arms. She tripped over the cleaning bucket and gasped.
“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” she said quickly. “Did I get water on you? I am Natalie Brooks. Let me move that for you.”
She smiled without judgment, without the practiced politeness of someone pretending kindness. It was the first genuine look Marilyn had received all morning.
At eleven sharp, Evan arrived.