And she had mastered one particular corporate skill better than almost anyone.
She knew exactly whom she needed to impress.
Unfortunately, she also knew whom she believed she did not need to impress.
Claire treated executives with warmth.
She treated clients with charm.
She treated assistants with impatience.
And she treated maintenance workers as if they were part of the furniture.
That morning, she was already angry.
A potential client from Chicago was scheduled to arrive in less than thirty minutes. Claire had spent weeks preparing for the meeting. If the account closed, it could be worth several million dollars.
She wanted everything perfect.
When she entered the lobby and noticed a faint streak near one of the glass doors, her expression tightened.
Then she saw Naomi.
Black suit.
Beige blouse.
Standing beside a cleaning cart.
Claire did not ask a question.
She did not look at Naomi's leather portfolio.
She did not notice the quality of her suit.
She did not consider that an executive might simply be standing near a cart.
Her mind completed the story instantly.
Cleaner.
And because Claire believed she knew exactly what kind of person she was looking at, her voice changed.
“You.”
Naomi looked up from her phone.
Claire pointed toward the floor.
“Yes, you.”
Naomi glanced behind herself, almost wondering whether Claire was speaking to someone else.
Claire walked closer.
“There's a streak on that glass.”
Naomi looked toward the entrance.
Then back at Claire.
“I'm sorry?”
“The glass,” Claire repeated, louder this time. “There's a mark on it.”
Naomi studied her for a second.
“I see.”
Claire waited.
Naomi did not move.
Claire's eyebrows lifted.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren't you going to clean it?”
Several employees passing through the lobby slowed slightly.
Not enough to openly stare.
Enough to listen.
Naomi looked at the cleaning cart beside her.
Then she understood.
She felt the familiar sensation she had experienced many times in her life: not surprise exactly, but disappointment arriving on schedule.
“You think I work with the cleaning staff?”
Claire gave a short laugh.
“You're standing beside the cleaning cart.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Claire's smile disappeared.
Naomi continued.
“I asked why you think I'm responsible for cleaning that window.”
Claire glanced at the cart again as though the answer were obvious.
“Because you're standing right there.”
“So are you.”
Someone near the security desk lowered his head to hide a smile.
Claire heard it.
Her cheeks tightened.
“I don't have time for this.”
Naomi remained perfectly calm.
“Then perhaps you should continue with your morning.”
Claire stepped closer instead.
There was something about Naomi's calmness that irritated her.
People Claire considered beneath her were supposed to become nervous when she used that tone.
They were supposed to apologize.
They were supposed to obey.
Naomi was doing none of those things.
Claire pointed at the cart.
“Pick up the cloth and clean the glass.”
Naomi stared at her.
“No.”
The word was quiet.
But it changed the atmosphere around them.
Claire blinked.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
Now people were definitely watching.
A receptionist had stopped typing.
Two junior analysts near the elevator pretended to discuss something on a tablet while listening to every word.
A security officer glanced toward them.
Claire's face hardened.
“Do you know who I am?”
Naomi almost smiled.
It was such a predictable question.
“No,” she said. “But I'm beginning to learn.”
“My name is Claire Whitmore. Vice president of client relations.”
She emphasized the title.
Naomi nodded.
“Congratulations.”
Claire's eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“I said congratulations.”
The receptionist looked down quickly.
Claire stepped even closer.
“You have a very strange attitude for someone in your position.”
“And what position would that be?”
Claire gestured toward the cleaning cart again.
Naomi looked at it.
Then back at Claire.
“You keep pointing at that cart as though it proves something.”
“It proves enough.”
“No,” Naomi said. “It proves there is a cleaning cart in the lobby.”
Claire laughed sharply.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It is.”
Claire reached toward the cart and grabbed a folded cleaning cloth.
Then, in a gesture so casual and degrading that several people around them visibly reacted, she held it toward Naomi.
“Here.”