"Not arguing that. I've talked to Cobb repeatedly about why he chooses to hang around a stick in the mud like you and it's obvious that you're good at what you do. And you're right, without you he'd be deader than dirt, but if you keep obsessing over every tiny little detail and getting set back and stressed like this? You're not going to be around to keep him alive. Maybe it'll be an aneurysm or a stroke, but the point is slow down."
"I don't need you to tell me to do my job. My part of the arrangement is set. I'm just waiting on the rest of you to get sorted out so we can move forward already. At the pace we're going at though it'll be at least a year or two before you and Cobb make up your minds on whether or not we have enough." He can't help but feel a little angry at the other's implications. Sure Eames enjoyed himself and played around a bit more than he should, but he never did a half-assed job. He was the best in the business for a reason after all.
He expression is neutral as he pulls the knife from his pocket in a fluid motion, slipping the freshly sharpened blade to the material. He barely gives the other time to recognize the glint of metal before he cuts through the offending material, pulling it free and pulling back with a smirk. "Too bad. I don't like them. Stick to something a little less garrish, darling.", he smiles, his expression playful though his tone is cold. He grabs the papers he needs to without another word, tucking the tie in his pocket to throw away later as he heads right for the door.