Gemotions

The spreadsheet blurred before Amelia's eyes. Months. Months she’d poured over this data, crafting the perfect algorithm for their new marketing campaign. Now, staring at Mr. Henderson’s presentation on the projector screen, she felt a pressure building behind her eyes. He was using the exact same variables, the same damn formulas. The vein in her forehead throbbed.

She clenched her fists beneath the table, the plastic digging into her palms. Henderson was a yes-man, a corporate climber who couldn't have come up with an original thought if his life depended on it. The audacity! He was practically reciting her work, word for word, slide for slide.

Amelia’s chair scraped loudly as she stood, the sudden movement drawing a ripple of surprised glances. “Excuse me, Mr. Henderson,” she bit out, her voice tight, “perhaps you could clarify where you obtained these findings.” She leaned forward, a predator sizing up its prey.