Ron looked at him for a moment. "You’re not in trouble." he said finally, which was his way of indicating that Thomas might be approaching trouble if he wasn’t careful. "Just making sure you know I notice." Thomas nodded and pushed his cart toward the elevator. He understood what Ron was doing, not threatening exactly, but marking territory, establishing that he was paying attention. Thomas could work with that.
What he couldn’t do was give Ron anything more to look at, which meant he needed to be more careful about where he was visible and when. He was managing that calculation, keeping it balanced, when everything shifted on a Wednesday evening in the fifth week. He was outside the 40th floor conference room again, positioned near the service alcove, where he could be seen to be working while remaining close enough to respond if needed. The meeting inside had been running for 40 minutes.
Through the glass, Thomas could see the faces of the people at the table, seven executives, including Marcus Hale, who had the seat directly to Evelyn’s left again. Evelyn was speaking standing at the head of the table, one hand resting on the surface in front of her. Then her hand pressed flat against the table. It was a small gesture, the kind of thing no one in the room would register as significant.
But Thomas saw it the same way he had once learned to read small movements in environments where missing one could cost someone their life. The slight forward lean, the way her weight shifted to her arms, the fraction of a second where her voice almost certainly changed. He had been watching Evelyn operate for five weeks. He knew what composed looked like on her.
This wasn’t it. He picked up a folder from his cart, blank inside just paper, and walked to the conference room door. He pushed it open slowly the way service staff were supposed to, unobtrusive, unremarkable. Several people glanced up and then looked away again.
Thomas crossed the room at an unhurried pace, came around the far side of the table toward Evelyn, and set the folder down beside her as though delivering something requested. In the same motion, keeping his hand below the sight line of most of the people at the table, he placed a small white tablet in her palm. The fast-acting pain medication that Evelyn’s personal physician, Dr. Alan Reeves, had prescribed specifically for acute episodes, and that Thomas had been carrying in his breast pocket every night for three weeks, ever since Dr. Reeves had quietly walked him through the emergency protocol during a brief meeting arranged by Evelyn in the second week of their arrangement. Evelyn closed her fingers around the tablet without looking at him.