"Jack. Data analysis is part of your reporting duties. It's in your job description."
He froze. His smile faltered like he'd swallowed a lemon. He wanted to explode, but the office was watching.
"Come on, help a brother out. We're all friends here."
"Sorry." I kept typing. "I'm busy too."
He stood there, face flushing. Finally snatched the spreadsheet back. As he turned, he muttered loud enough for me to hear: "Gave you a chance to save face. Idiot."
Next came Blake.
He approached with his laptop, pointing at error messages on screen.
"Hey, Little Alex," he said—that condescending nickname he loved. "Code's bugging out again. Looks like that issue from last month. Fix it for me?"
I didn't even look up.
"Blake, I'm not tech support. I can't fix your code."
He adjusted his glasses, his tone dripping with that habitual, command-giving arrogance. "Just take a look. It won't take five minutes. I have a meeting to get to."
"I really don't know how," I lied, my voice steady.
He opened his mouth to argue, then clamped it shut. Frowning, he tucked his laptop under his arm and stormed off, muttering loud enough for me to hear. "Why do young people these days have zero team spirit?"
The office settled back into a hum, but the peace didn't last. As lunch approached, the atmosphere shattered.
A major client under William's jurisdiction had suddenly demanded a preliminary proposal draft. The timeline had been slashed; the first draft, originally due next week, was now required by end of day.
William was catastrophically unprepared.
He spent twenty minutes frantically rifling through files, clicking through folders. With every passing minute, more color drained from his face.
Finally, he snapped. He marched over to my workstation and slammed his fist down.
Bang.
My pen holder rattled. A highlighter skittered across the desk.
"Alex! What game are you playing?" he roared. The entire open-plan office fell silent. "You have all the previous concepts and materials! Send them to me, now! If we lose this client, can you handle the fallout?"
Heads turned. Some colleagues watched with gloating smirks, others with morbid curiosity.
I slowly raised my head.
"William." I kept my voice low, forcing him to lean in. "That proposal is your project. From initial planning to client coordination, you've handled the entire process. I don't have any materials."
I paused, letting the silence stretch.