Culpabumble

"Colin, can you come in here please?"

Three months in the office, and Jared was still getting my name wrong, despite sitting three meters away from me, separated by the brushed glass wall obscuring his lower half. I found that feature of the wall comforting. Jared was a creep. He peered out from his leadership nook like a meerkat.

"Now, mate, if you please."

'Mate,' so that was it. Duncan, my supervisor, had entered moments ago, leaving a whiff of cologne and coffee fart. I winked at my desk mate, Fabi, recently promoted to recruiter.

"Looks like that's me, then."

"Nice knowing you."

Jared sat behind his desk, in the lumbar support chair he fussed over, and Duncan leaned against the desk, his arse nearly knocking an empty sandwich wrapper to the floor.

"We have a problem, Colin."

"Conor..."

"Did you send this email to this mail-out list?" He projected his inbox overhead.

"Aye. Duncan told me to."

Jared looked at Duncan, his golden boy. Duncan had been funny, handsome, and a prick, but now he was mute, well-behaved.

"That's just not true, son." His smile resembled sweet, cold vomit as he turned to Jared. "I've really tried to give this one a chance, boss. I'm sorry. Some just don't want to do a job-"

I forwarded the email from my phone. It pinged and appeared on the wall, complete with Duncan's 'get this done' signoff.

Duncan's culpabumble facade vanished.

"You little shit," he said.