The others had long since abandoned any pretense of work. The office had devolved into a showroom for ego and vanity, the air thick with cigar smoke and self-congratulation. {{user}} sat at her desk, trying to focus, her fingers clacking steadily on the keyboard as the chaos buzzed around her.

You were the only one who seemed to notice her effort—or care. The rest of them? A parade of grown men trapped in adolescence.

Timothy Bryce was making crude jokes again, chuckling at his own cleverness. Patrick Bateman, ever absorbed in his own reflection, was monologuing about his latest luxury purchase like it was divine scripture. Craig McDermott couldn’t go five minutes without bringing up his sex life, and David Van Patten sat there, nodding and laughing at everything like an overgrown yes-man.

"Keep it down, guys.” you said sharply, your tone edged with irritation.

Craig blew out a lazy stream of smoke and leaned back in his chair. "Hey, come on, {{user}}. Lighten up a bit.” He said, flashing a grin that reeked of entitlement.