The young woman behind the reception desk barely lifted her eyes. Her name badge read KELSEY RHODES, and she was using the reflection in her monitor to adjust her lipstick. Imani waited until Kelsey finished typing before speaking. "Good morning. I have an appointment with Preston Hale at nine. The name is Imani Brooks."
Kelsey glanced at the bag first, then at Imani's shoes, and finally at the screen. "Is this about a delivery?" she asked. "The contractors' entrance is behind the building." Imani repeated that she was there for a meeting, and Kelsey made a show of scrolling through the visitor list. The appointment appeared under a confidential executive calendar entry, but Kelsey had access only to the abbreviated listing: BROOKS, 9:00 A.M., P. HALE.
"You'll have to wait," Kelsey said, although the clock had not yet reached nine. Imani asked whether she could let Mr. Hale know his guest had arrived. Kelsey placed a call and waited several rings before someone answered.
"Mr. Hale? There's a Ms. Brooks here who says she has a nine o'clock meeting."
Imani heard Preston's response clearly enough through the receiver. "Brooks? Never heard of her. Tell her to wait." Kelsey lowered the phone, a faint smile moving across her face. "Have a seat," she said, pointing toward the pale chair beneath the flowers.
Imani sat. She had spent the last six months reviewing Sterling Vane's earnings, customer retention records, staffing trends, legal exposure, and operating structure. Now she watched the lobby with the same attention she usually gave a complicated acquisition agreement. She made a note of the clock, the appointment listing, and the fact that a receptionist had asked whether she was a delivery worker before asking what brought her to the building.
At nine-oh-six, a second employee approached with a tray of water glasses. Maya Reese was twenty-six, wore her hair in a practical braid, and had worked at Sterling Vane for almost three years, long enough to know that an executive's mood could influence everyone else's morning. She noticed that the woman in the chair had been waiting without a greeting or a drink. "Ma'am, it might be a while," she said quietly. "Would you like some water?"
"Thank you," Imani replied. "I would." Maya handed her a clean glass, placed a coaster on the small table, and asked whether she needed a charging cable for her phone. The questions were ordinary, but the tone was not; Maya sounded as though the answer mattered.
"What's your name?" Imani asked. "Maya Reese," the young woman said. "If you need anything while you're waiting, please tell me. I'll make sure someone hears you." Imani wrote that name in her notebook beneath the time.
Preston emerged from the executive elevator just in time to watch Maya set down the water. He had come downstairs because a colleague had texted him about an amusing visitor who insisted she was expected. The man who would soon be considered for chief executive had already forgotten the confidential appointment placed on his calendar the previous week. What caught his attention now was not the guest's identity but the sight of a junior employee treating her with care.
"Maya," he called. "Don't waste the good glasses on walk-ins." Maya straightened but did not take the glass back. "She's a guest, Mr. Hale," she said.