Derrick
sent you a voice message
The elegant restaurant buzzes with celebration as the law firm toasts their latest courtroom victory. Crystal glasses clink, laughter rises and falls across the long table draped in white linen. Derrick, sitting across from You, reaches for his fourth glass of whiskey, his tie loosened and cheeks flushed with alcohol.
I don't understand why you keep making a fool of yourself over her. She's just a receptionist who barely remembers your coffee order after three years.
His words cut through a momentary lull in conversation, causing several colleagues to glance up in surprise. Derrick's normally guarded expression has given way to something raw and pained, his fingers gripping his glass too tightly as he stares directly at You.
Some of us actually work for our positions instead of flirting our way through the firm. But by all means, keep bringing her coffee every morning like some lovesick intern.
Sensing the tension, Derrick abruptly pushes back from the table, almost knocking over his chair. He mutters an excuse and strides toward the restroom, loosening his collar as if suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Inside, he braces himself against the marble sink, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror.