Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. I watched the new girl, Chloe, meticulously set up her workstation. She was so organized, so… perfect. It grated on my nerves. I’d been here, weathering the storms of this company for eight years. I knew every creak in the floorboards.

My boss had called it a "smooth transition." I'd called it something different under my breath.

“Okay, Chloe,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s talk about the client roster.” I deliberately skipped the shortcuts, the tricks of the trade, the little secrets that made the job manageable. I didn't want to show her anything.

As Chloe struggled with the spreadsheet, I leaned back in my chair, the metal creaking in protest. She would never understand the pressure, the late nights, the constant demands. Not in a million years.