This is Why Being A Horrible Coworker Really Only Bites Your Own Butt

Chartreuse 397U.

“Huh. Well, well.” Snark bounces off the Renaissance fresco on the ceiling. “Say, Kati, that’s not quite chartreuse, now, is it?”

A solid beep. The drone stops.

Annoying. “No, I suppose not,” comes the reply. “What are you doing?”

More snark comes her way. “You think that’s acceptable? Garbage in, garbage—”

“Garbage up your ass, Simeon. Please be quiet.” Another solid beep, and the whirring resumes. Far below the drone, Kati continues: “It's a non-problem, fixable at post, we talked about it. Can we just leave it?"

Simeon can’t decide between a laugh, a grump, or a huff. Something between the three. “How about no?”

He presses a button on the keyboard again. A third beep.

“How about we let it stop?”

Kati's patience wears thinner.

“How about,” he begins…

“…you let,” taking a step closer…

“…the experts do it—”

“For God’s sake, Simeon, you want to solo this whole project?” Kati snaps. “Fine, Simeon, okay. Obviously you know more.” She spits a glare at his face. “Sorry the Polish guy only had a Pantone sampler. Sorry I couldn’t go with your kit.” She strides towards her laptop.

“Wuh—”

“You want your London pal with you, right? Go right ahead.” A briefcase clicks shut, and heels echo on floor. “His jank-ass Old Street startup can obviously do better. Seriously. I'm sure it'll be period-accurate.” She slips past him.

He reaches out for her silhouette. “Hey, come on!”

But Simeon has never been an intelligent man.

“Project’s all yours, Simeon,” she sings, turning ‘round the corner. “Just tell me when you lose your restoration license, go over budget, and get some seven figures in fines, because that Reddit post is going to be sooo fun to write.”

Her singsong voice fades away.

Simeon blinks.

“Kati? Hello?"

Silence.

"Kati!"