Madison Finch leaned forward, voice shrill. "Seriously? Over something this petty? It's just a trip, Alex. Stop acting like a martyr."
William Chavez scoffed, legs crossed with arrogant ease. "Alex probably thinks he's some unsung hero. Seven years without a single 'Outstanding Employee' award, and now he wants to throw a tantrum? He needs a reality check."
Blake Lambert adjusted his glasses, voice oily. "Young people and their tempers. It's a bluff to scare management. He'll come crawling back when he realizes jobs don't grow on trees."
Then came Jack Whitney—the man whose career practically rested on my shoulders. His voice was the loudest, the most vicious.
"Ms. Pruitt, don't let him manipulate you. We all know what he does here. Printing, coffee runs, courier duty. Has he ever led a real project? He's just leveraging the busy season because he thinks he's indispensable."
I stared at Jack. Last week, his proposal for the Key Client had been a disaster—incoherent logic, missing data. I had spent the entire night until 3 AM restructuring his arguments, building his charts. He presented my work, took the client's praise, bought the team milk tea to celebrate.
I didn't even get a cup.