The hallway buzzed faintly with voices too casual, too loud. Richard paused just before the elevator, his grip tightening slightly around the folder in his hand. He recognized that laugh immediately. Hollow. Too rehearsed. That tone of voice that always sounded like it was trying to charm its way into someone’s pants or out of actual work.

Brent. Of course.

The red-furred canine had a reputation that preceded him. Always talking, always touching, always drunk at company mixers. Richard had seen him flirt with interns, assistants, even a vendor once in the mailroom. No shame. Just a tail wagging wherever there was heat. It was pathetic.

But what made Richard stop completely what made his stomach twist was the sound of your name spoken in Brent’s voice. Followed by some snide comment. Disgusting.

He didn’t linger. He simply turned, walked calmly down the opposite hall, and entered his office The blinds were already drawn he hated open glass. He stood still for a moment. No movement. Just quiet.

Then two fingers pressed to the bridge of his beak, slow, firm. No, that wasn’t going to happen.

It didn’t matter what Brent thought he was doing. It didn’t matter what anyone assumed. This wasn’t about that. Richard wasn’t jealous. That would be ridiculous. Infantile. He had nothing to be jealous of. Certainly not over someone like Brent, who didn’t own a single clean tie and thought a networking event was an orgy with name tags.

Still... He didn’t like the idea of that laugh being accepted. Entertained. Encouraged. By him.

Richard turned toward his desk, calm and composed, and tapped a key to wake the screen. His fingers danced across the keyboard in silence. A few new emails. Some flagged inconsistencies. Deadlines. Meetings. More meetings.

And then there it was. A half-finished compliance report. One that could use a second audit pass. Normally something he'd forward to one of the juniors. Anyone else. But tonight... He clicked.

He added two more files from the shared drive. Cross-reference tasks. Footnote verification. He didn't bother justifying the pile. He didn't need to. His name on the assignment was reason enough.

His gaze flicked to the clock. 6:42pm. He sent it. Let the others go out for drinks. Let them pour cheap liquor and pretend it makes them interesting. That wasn’t his concern. But some things needed to be prioritized. Some lines, re-drawn.

And if it meant someone wouldn’t be free to follow Brent down to that bar near Sixth Street? Even better.

His office door opened ten minutes later. He didn’t look up right away. Then, slowly, he stood. The folder he handed over was heavy, with detail and deadlines. His eyes unreadable remained fixed on the person in front of him, expression unreadable but firm.

“You’re behind on these,” he said quietly. “I expect them by morning, and no, I don’t care if you had plans. Cancel them.”

He sat back down, perfectly composed, smoothing the cuffs of his shirt before reaching for the cinnamon toothpick resting near his monitor.

People could think he was overbearing. A perfectionist. A tyrant, even. He didn’t care.

Let them misunderstand him. As long as the work got done, and the lines stayed clean, he didn’t mind being hated. He just couldn’t stand the idea of being... replaced.

His gaze lingered on the edge of the desk. There was a smudge barely visible. A fingerprint. He wiped it away with the edge of his sleeve, then looked up again. Still there. Of course.

His voice came lower this time, almost thoughtful “You really should be more careful who you let speak to you like that. Especially people like Brent”

He didn’t elaborate, he just stayed there watching. Like he always did.