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You can hear the site before you see it these days. Music blasts from industrial speakers Chris installed "for worker safety announcements"—a technicality that makes him untouchable according to union regulations.

Dennis's temples throb in time with the bass. Third day this week he's arrived to find his own construction site turned into some kind of protest against his authority.

"Volume violation," he snaps as he passes Chris, who's leaning against a support beam, managing to look both perfectly competent and completely insubordinate.

"Actually," Chris drawls, not even looking up from his tablet, "OSHA guidelines state that workers need to be able to hear safety warnings over machinery noise. I've got the calculations right here if you'd like to review them. Sir."

The 'sir' sounds like 'fuck you'. Chris's dimples appear, the kind of perfect smile that probably got him out of detention in high school. Probably still gets him out of speeding tickets.

"Just because you know the regulations—"

"Better than you do?" Chris finally looks up, eyes wide. "Someone has to, since our fearless leader's too busy picking out imported marble for his office floor."

Of course Chris would know about the marble. Probably looked up the price just to have ammunition.

"The support beams—" Dennis starts.

"Are ahead of schedule." Chris straightens up, suddenly all business. Rattles off load statistics and completion percentages that prove, yet again, that he's actually brilliant at his job. "But please, tell me more about how music's disrupting our productivity. I love when you try to sound like you know what's happening on your own site."

The worst part is he's right. The project's never run better.

Dennis has also never wanted to punch someone more.

The music follows Dennis all day. Someone—definitely not Chris, Chris insists with that infuriating smile—has rigged the speakers to track movement. The volume increases whenever Dennis approaches any work area.

"Sound carries better at height," Chris comments during the morning inspection, watching Dennis climb scaffolding while Rocky's theme blasts. "Something about acoustic waves. But you probably learned that at Harvard, right?"

The crew snickers. They used to at least pretend to hide it.

"The bamboo supports—" Dennis has to raise his voice over the chorus.

"Need adjusted tensioning, already handled it." Chris doesn't even consult his tablet. Just spews a bunch of specifications that prove he's three steps ahead. Again. "Unless you'd rather stop everything so you can double-check my math? I know how much you trust the guy who actually builds things for a living."

More snickers. Chris has got them all in his pocket now. Probably brings them coffee and remembers their kids' names, the kind of personal touch Dennis's father had always acted like was beneath their position.

"Some of us earned our positions," Chris adds, like he can read Dennis's thoughts. "Instead of inheriting them."

"My degree—"

"From daddy's alma mater?" Chris's smile turns sharp. "Tell me, did they teach you how to actually construct anything? Or just how to look pretty in a hard hat?"

The thing is, Chris is not wrong.

Dennis knows theory, knows design, but Chris...

Chris knows how buildings breathe. Knows exactly how to bring Dennis's vision to life.

The fact he does it while simultaneously destroying his authority is like watching a master class in psychological warfare conducted by someone who looks like they model safety gear in their spare time.

"Delivery's here," someone calls around noon. "Boss needs to sign."

Both Chris and Dennis move toward the truck.

"I've got this, princess," Chris says, already reaching for the clipboard. "Wouldn't want you straining yourself with actual paperwork."

"I'm the project lead," Dennis says, trying not to scowl.

"And I'm the one who knows what we actually ordered." Chris is already signing, his handwriting annoyingly precise. "Unless you memorized the bamboo specifications? The grade requirements? The tensile strength variations?"

Dennis has, actually. Spent weeks researching sustainable materials before choosing suppliers.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Chris is already directing the unloading, throwing around terms that make the delivery guys nod with respect.

The whole crew moves like a well-oiled machine under Chris's direction. Even the new guys anticipate his instructions, sliding support beams into place with practiced ease.

It's beautiful to watch.

It's aggravating to witness.

Dennis’s glare could bore holes into Chris’s back, but work is getting done, so he’ll choose his battles.

He clamps his mouth shut. Breathes in. Breathes out. Stalks off to his office as normally as possible so nobody can tell he’s stalking.

"Need anything else?" Chris asks later, appearing in Dennis's office doorway on the second floor.

Dennis had moved here from the downstairs site office’s shared space to get away from Chris, but here he is anyway.

"Maybe someone to explain the big words to you in those reports?"

Dennis sighs. Massages his temples with the tips of his fingers. “ What are you even doing here?”

Even to himself, he sounds resigned, after weeks of having to put up with Chris and his obnoxious remarks.

“My job?” Chris leans on the door frame, arms crossed. Crosses one leg over the other so the toe of his work boot—surprisingly well-fitted, high quality leather with perfectly tied laces—rests on the floor. "It’s in my contract to make sure this site runs smoothly, and with you around, I’ve got to keep an extra close eye on things."

"Don't you have actual work to do?" Dennis tries not to snap. He does try his best to remain professional because someone needs to be the adult here.

"Already done. Turns out when you grow up actually building things instead of playing with daddy's blueprint sets, you learn efficiency.

The music starts again. Someone's rigged it to Dennis's office door sensor now.

"It’s not actually getting to you, is it?" Chris raises an eyebrow, then his dimples appear. "Or do they not teach stress management at fancy business school?"

By three, Dennis has barricaded himself in his office, reviewing permit applications that Chris has probably already handled better than he could. The music's switched to "We Will Rock You"—the bass line perfectly timed to the construction crew's hammering.

A shadow falls across his desk.

"Structural inspection's here early," Chris says, not bothering to knock. "Thought you'd want to know. Unless you're too busy color-coding those tabs?"

Dennis glances at his perfectly organized files. Feels his jaw clench.

"The inspection's next week."

"Schedule changed." Chris's smile is all teeth. "Good thing someone here keeps track of these things. Speaking of..." He drops a stack of papers on Dennis's desk. "You might want to review the support calculations. I had to make some adjustments to your original specs."

"You what?"

"Had to account for real-world physics." Chris taps the top page. "You know, the kind they don't cover in theory classes?"

Dennis waits till Chris has sauntered out of the room. Then he grabs a handful of sheets from the top of the pile and scans the pages.

Chris's modifications are perfect. Better than Dennis's original design. The bamboo supports will hold twice the weight with half the environmental impact.

It's brilliant.

Dennis hates him so much he wants to scream.

"The inspector's waiting." Chris’s head pokes back in around the door. Plush, plump lips twist into a smirk when he sees Dennis with two fistfuls of the documents. Then he adds: "Try not to mention daddy's company too much this time. Last inspector almost pulled a muscle rolling his eyes."

The music changes again. "Born with a Silver Spoon" blasts through the speakers.

"Really?" Dennis calls after him through gritted teeth.

Chris's laugh echoes down the hall. "What can I say? I'm a classics fan."