The time was steadily ticking away. Martin pooled some cold tap water into his cupped hands and dunked his face into it.
The damned near ice cold water woke him back to reality. Clarkson wouldn’t wait long. Patience was not a virtue of his.
“Come on, Bro.” Stevenson stood behind Martin in his rumpled dress shirt and tie. Martin wondered, not for the first time, if he just dressed out of a suitcase every morning.
“It doesn’t start until I get there, right?” Stevenson nodded. “Then we have time.” Martin sounded much more confident than he felt in that moment.
He didn’t want to fight Clarkson. No one did. Especially not on the unfinished and unoccupied fifteenth floor of their office building. The one without surveillance cameras.
But what could Martin do? He had been challenged.