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.