Gemotions

The elevator ascended slowly, each floor a mile marker on the journey toward potential disappointment. John shifted from foot to foot, his palms clammy against his suit. The tenth floor, the VP's office.

He caught his reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. His face was a mask of forced composure. He hated the way his tie felt, constricting his neck. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

He imagined the meeting, the probing questions, the subtle judgments. Sarah, his rival, was a natural, at ease in these situations. John felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He wished he could just disappear.