He looked up without surprise as though senior executives wandered through the service corridor regularly. Miss Callaway, he said. Something wrong with the climate control on this floor? I do walkthroughs, she said. I know, he said with just enough of a pause to suggest he wasn't entirely sure this counted as one.
The HVAC on 9 has been pulling about 3% low on the east zone. Not enough to be uncomfortable yet, but it'll get there. I'm getting ahead of it. You do a lot of that. Getting ahead of things.
He considered that it's easier than fixing them after they break. He held her gaze. Usually, "Sir, there was a beat of something she didn't know what to do with." "How long have you worked here?" She asked.
"3 years in February. Do you like it?" He smiled just slightly, the same smile from the elevator corridor. "I like knowing that things work because I showed up." "Yeah."
She nodded and continued down the hall and told herself she was conducting a walk through. She saw him with his daughter on a Friday afternoon. It wasn't planned. She was leaving late, taking the parking structure elevator to level two where she kept her car, and the elevator opened onto a scene she wasn't prepared for. Marcus was crouched beside an older model pickup truck, a tire iron on the ground, working a lug nut that wasn't cooperating.
And sitting on the hood of the truck, wrapped in a bright orange winter coat, with her legs swinging freely over the bumper, was a little girl with two braids and enormous dark curious eyes narrating the tire change in real time. That one's being stubborn, the girl observed. It sure is, Marcus agreed, not pausing. Can I try? Maybe when your arms are longer.
My arms are fine, the girl said with the offense, only a seven-year-old can load into three syllables. Your arms are great. The bolts just being difficult. Different problem. The girl considered this with visible seriousness, tilting her head in the way that meant she was deciding whether to accept the argument.
Then she looked up and saw Viv standing at the elevator. Children do not operate the same social filters adults do. They never got the memo that you're supposed to pretend not to notice the most powerful person in the building. Hey," the girl said, pointing. "You're the lady."
Dad got out of the elevator. Marcus looked up. His expression cycled through surprise. A flash of something private and then settled into that familiar warmth. Hey, Miss Callaway.
Flat tire. Nothing serious, just taking longer than I'd like. He nodded toward the girl. This is Lily. She's supposed to be in the lobby.