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Chapter 3: Not Everything Can Be Calculated
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2025-06-21 01:40:31Sebastian Mason arrived at 8:30 a.m. sharp.
As always. He appreciated rhythm. Structure. Routine. So when he turned the corner into his office and spotted the new addition to the creative wing — Katherine Brown — already seated, already typing, already talking to herself, he mentally re-evaluated his expectations for the day. She was wearing orange. Again. Bright, unapologetic, eye-watering orange. Her shoes were even brighter. He sighed and kept walking. --- Katherine was mid-rant — to her laptop, not a person. “If the button’s going to be that small, why put ‘D******d all’ on it? That’s just UX cruelty.” She wasn’t whispering. She never whispered. But when she spotted Mr. Mason pass by her glass wall, she snapped her fingers twice at herself. “Right. Serious. Grown-up. Shhh.” She added a smiley face next to the word “shhh” on her notes. Because, really, some things needed color. --- The creative team was small. Katherine was still learning names. So far she had: Mark, the intern who feared fonts. Dana, the copywriter who whispered everything. And Claire, the designer with stress-induced eye twitches. Katherine, by contrast, had brought in her own mini cactus, her own Bluetooth speaker (volume low, promise), and a whole drawer full of candy no one had asked for — but everyone had raided. “You’re a lot,” Claire said that morning, watching her unwrap a fourth yellow highlighter. “In a good way. I think.” “You say that like it’s a diagnosis,” Katherine grinned. “I prefer the term ‘stimulus-rich.’” --- At 10:00 a.m., she was called into a review session. Mr. Mason was there. So were three other team leads. Katherine entered with her notepad, two pens, and a printout of her revised concept board — annotated, marked, peppered with small stars in the corners. Not for flair. For clarity. Sebastian didn’t look up right away. When he did, it was brief. Assessing. “Miss Brown,” he said flatly, “your edits were delivered later than projected.” “But still before the deadline,” she replied, setting down her copy, “and with sparkles of brilliance.” “We do not measure productivity in sparkles.” “Pity.” The room was silent. Then someone coughed. Katherine didn’t flinch. “I’ve also brought two alternatives. One more conservative, one more daring. In case you’re feeling bold today.” He didn’t dignify that with a response. Just opened the file and began flipping through. --- He said very little during the session. Just notes. Quick, technical. Precise. She answered with diagrams. Motion. Ink. Color. He circled something once. A red arrow too large. “Scale down. This isn’t a billboard.” “It could be,” she said brightly. “Someday.” “Today is not someday.” --- After the meeting, Katherine stayed behind to collect her materials. No one asked her to — she just couldn’t bear leaving her purple pen behind. Sebastian stood by the window, typing something on his phone. She hesitated for a moment, then walked past him to grab a forgotten folder. “You know,” she said, not looking at him, “you’re kind of terrifying.” “I’m not here to comfort anyone.” “Yeah, I got that.” She zipped her bag. “But it might help to blink once in a while. You know — show you're alive.” Still no reaction. She left. --- He didn’t watch her go. But the scent of something citrusy lingered in the room for longer than he cared to admit. He erased it from his focus. Then opened her concept file again — alone. And this time, he noticed that the margins were lined with sticky tabs… labeled by fruit flavors. --- He stared at the tabs a moment longer. Strawberry. Grape. Lime. Each color coordinated to a different section of her pitch. Utterly unprofessional. Annoyingly methodical. It irritated him how thorough she was. Sebastian closed the file, shut the laptop, and stood. He needed air. Or caffeine. Possibly both. --- Downstairs, Katherine had started what she called her “Unofficial Team Reboot”. It involved: Candy (gummy bears in labelled jars), Sharpies (color-coded by intensity of deadlines), And a printed sign over her desk that read: “We Can Do Hard Things (But We Prefer Doing Fun Things First).” Claire stared at the sign in visible distress. “You’re going to give Mason a heart attack.” “He needs the cardio,” Katherine replied, unwrapping a caramel. “You’ve seen how still he stands? Like he’s buffering internally.” “He’ll fire you.” “For printing joy? That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.” She winked. The others chuckled quietly — still cautious. But she saw it: the tension in the room was softening. Her chaos was spreading. Slowly. Just the way she liked it. --- Later that day, she joined the internal task force review. She was five minutes early. Again. Sebastian entered last, glanced around the table, eyes barely landing on anyone — until they hit the end of the table, where Katherine had placed… a small bowl of lollipops. No explanation. No context. Just a bowl. Right next to the quarterly charts. “What is this?” he asked sharply, stopping in front of her. “Morale support,” she replied cheerfully. “Also, statistically, sugar improves focus.” “We don’t conduct analysis over snacks.” “Then you’re missing out. Cinnamon-flavored data is far more palatable.” He didn’t respond. He just picked up the bowl and moved it to the edge of the table — closer to himself. But not in reach. Katherine blinked. Did he just confiscate candy? --- The meeting was painfully dull. Numbers. Ratios. Trajectory projections. All things Katherine could make sense of, but not enjoy. So she doodled in the margins of her printouts. Not cartoons. Not jokes. Just patterns. Lines, stars, tiny repeating arrows pointing toward things that didn’t exist. At one point, Sebastian glanced over from across the table. His brow tightened — just slightly — when he saw her sketching. “Miss Brown. Your attention.” “Fully present,” she replied, without looking up. “Then stop drawing.” “It’s cognitive engagement.” “It’s distraction.” She met his eyes. Calm. “Some of us just process differently.” There was a pause. Sharp, but silent. He didn’t argue. But he didn’t look away right away either. Then: “Proceed.” --- By the time the meeting ended, the rest of the team dispersed like smoke. No one stayed longer than necessary. Katherine, however, lingered. Not to provoke. Just to collect her notes. And because, frankly, she hated rushing. Sebastian remained seated at the head of the table, scanning through minutes on his tablet. She didn’t speak. Until— “You ever think maybe people are just… wired different?” He looked up slowly. “Define ‘people.’” “Everyone. Me. You. That guy from analytics who always eats lunch exactly at 12:17.” “That’s discipline.” “That’s a ritual. Big difference.” He didn’t answer. She grabbed her folder. “Anyway,” she added, stepping back toward the door, “if you ever want to try one of those lollipops, I’m partial to the sour ones. Builds character.” He looked back down. “I don’t eat candy.” “Tragic,” she whispered. And left. --- An hour later, back at her desk, Katherine found an envelope. No note. No name. Inside? One cinnamon lollipop. Unwrapped. Sealed. She glanced around. Everyone looked busy. Innocent. Too innocent. She smiled to herself, tucked it into her drawer — and didn’t say a word. --- Upstairs, Sebastian rechecked his schedule. Meetings. Calls. Numbers. And something unexpected: “Creative Check-In: Katherine Brown — Thursday 5:30 p.m.” He didn’t remember scheduling it. He certainly didn’t approve it. But there it was. Blocked. Recurring. Weekly. He closed his calendar. Stared at the screen. And said, out loud, to absolutely no one: “Unacceptable.” But he didn’t delete it. ---
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