At 9:15 PM, my phone buzzed. The screen lit up: Madison Finch.
I let it ring twice.
"Alex," she barked the moment I answered. "Where's the proposal for the new project?"
I leaned back on my sofa, remote in hand. "What proposal?"
"Don't play games. Ms. Pruitt needs it tomorrow morning. The client's pushing. Send it over!"
Her tone dripped entitlement—as if my email had been a hallucination.
"Madison," I said calmly. "The proposal is a core deliverable. That's your jurisdiction as project lead. I have no authority to access that data."
Pause.
"I'm just an errand boy," I added. "Strategic planning has nothing to do with me."
Two seconds of silence. Then her voice jumped an octave. "What do you mean?! You've always done it before!"
"That was before."
"Stop playing dumb! Just get it done!"
"Helping you was a favor," I said, cold as a winter draft. "Doing my actual job is duty. I don't have time for favors anymore. I'm watching TV."
"Alex, don't you dare hang up! You ungrateful—"
I tapped the red icon mid-screech.
Phone on silent. Tossed onto the cushion.
The next day, the office atmosphere shifted from mockery to confusion.