Gemotions

He stared at the roses, deep crimson blooms, nestled in a glossy black box. Delivered to his office, addressed simply: "To the man with the knowing smile." There was no name, no sender. A thrill, sharp and unfamiliar, jolted through him.

He excused himself from the meeting, claiming a sudden headache. In the privacy of his office, the scent of the roses was intoxicating, filling the air. He ran a thumb across a velvety petal, the texture oddly stimulating.

The blinds were already drawn, a habit he'd developed. Now, however, the shadows seemed to deepen, the light filtering in, fractured and suggestive. He found himself restless, unable to focus on anything beyond the roses.

He called for his secretary and, without a word, had her bring him a glass of water. As he drank it, he studied the flowers, the petals, the thorns, the promise of something just out of reach.