An Unprompted Display
The cut-glass pitcher tipped forward, sending a stream of ice water splashing directly over the seated woman’s silver hair.
Drops splattered across the banquet tablecloth, soaking through the shoulders of her dark navy blazer and gray dress. She drew in a sharp breath through parted lips, blinking water out of her lashes.
Standing directly behind her chair, the younger woman set the glass pitcher onto the white linen cloth and crossed her arms. Her lips curled into a tight smirk as water continued dripping from the older woman’s chin onto the collar of her blouse.
“Maybe that’ll cool down your ego,” the younger woman remarked, leaning back slightly in her ivory suit jacket.
Around them, the chatter across the banquet hall faltered. Silverware clinked against fine china before stopping altogether.
A Quiet Retaliation
The seated woman reached forward with steady fingers and lifted her white cloth napkin from beside her butter plate. She pushed her chair backward and rose to her feet without wiping her cheeks.
Instead of cleaning her own soaked neck, she extended her arm across the space between them. She held the clean, folded cloth directly toward the woman who had poured the pitcher.
“You’ll need this more than I will in about five minutes,” she said, her voice measured and clear.
The younger woman gave a short, dismissive tilt of her head. Her amusement lingered as she watched the wet fabric cling to the older woman’s frame.
At the center table, a man in a dark suit abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up, looking between the two women. “What are you doing?” he demanded across the room.
“It was a joke,” the younger woman replied, shrugging her shoulders and resting a hand on her hip as onlookers stared.
The Podium Announcement
The drenched woman pulled a spare linen cloth from the table and pressed it against her neck, absorbing the moisture running down her skin. She kept her posture upright, her gaze fixed toward the curtained stage at the front of the room.
A man with dark-rimmed glasses walked up the stage steps toward the microphone stand, holding a silver folder marked with an official emblem. He adjusted his dark tie and leaned his hands against the podium.
Back at her seat, the woman in the ivory suit reached for a stemmed glass filled with bubbling champagne. She raised the glass toward her lips, taking a slow sip as the room quieted down completely.
The man at the microphone leaned toward the audio receiver. “Before we continue,” he announced, his voice echoing through the banquet speakers, “there is a professional matter we need to address.”
The rim of the champagne glass paused against the young woman’s upper lip. Her eyelids pulled wide, the glass held suspended mid-drink as the hall went completely still.
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