Gemotions

He found himself fighting down a grin. The situation was ridiculous. He, Mark, the meticulous accountant, and Brenda, the perpetually late marketing executive, trapped in a confined metal box. The absurdity of it all was overwhelming. He watched Brenda frantically tap the button for the tenth time, a twitch forming at the corner of her mouth.

Mark had to fight to suppress a snort. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the cool wall. His heart felt light, as though a heavy weight had lifted. He observed the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight filtering through the slightly ajar doors. It was like a miniature ballet, a private performance.

“Well,” Brenda finally huffed, deflating slightly. “This is just great.” Mark stifled the urge to say, "You're telling me." A chuckle escaped, a low rumble in his chest. This was far better than balancing spreadsheets.