The next week Chloe didn’t come into the office much, and we did remote work, video calling with each other and occasionally with our senior project manager, who always complemented Chloe’s timely and quality work. Work had been ramping up the last few days and me and Chloe were on grind-mode to finish some deliverables. We were being pushed to the edge, stress wise. I was home in some boxer briefs and dress shirt and Chloe was wearing a thick knit sweater on the other side of a Zoom call.
“If they wanted the YYH derivative they should have asked for it in the first place.” Chloe moaned.
“Yeah,” I responded, unsure what a YYH derivative was or how it was connected to what we were doing, “it’s bullshit. At least we’re getting overtime for this.”
“Wait, you’re getting overtime?”
“Are you not?” I watched as Chloe looked off to her second monitor and started typing with newly-found vitriol. I sat in silence for a minute listening to her keyboard strokes.
“Apparently someone ‘junior’ like me doesn’t get overtime.” Chloe scoffed.
I wanted to laugh but her pouting face made me genuinely empathetic. Half joking, I offered to split the overtime bonus with her by buying her dinner.