Jane let out a small scoff.
"Oh, come on… a young janitor and you're already shaking like that? No wonder all you're good for is mopping floors. A normal guy would at least be a supervisor or some staffer, not dusting off a woman's chest."
Caleb ran the cloth over her shoulder, then slowly down her arm. A faint smile tugged beneath his mask, the phone on the desk kept recording, its tiny red light blinking.
"Quiet, huh?" Jane tilted her chin up. "Of course. Janitors don't have the guts to talk back to their boss. You guys just scrape by on minimum wage, obedient, invisible."
Another spray. Psshh.
A mist of clear liquid landed near the collar of her blouse. Caleb wiped carefully, precise, like some dutiful worker just finishing a task.
Jane clicked her tongue. "Bet you're the kind of man who's useless at home too. Maybe your parents regret having a son. Look at you—wasting your life to be what? A chair polisher?"
