Gemotions

The elevator doors opened, and Emily stepped out onto the executive floor, her stomach twisting. She felt like she was wading through molasses. The air conditioning was suddenly too cold, chilling her to the bone. She'd spent months preparing, crafting presentations, networking, and sacrificing her personal life. The job was hers, she was sure of it.

Her breath hitched as she saw the door to her boss’s office, the polished mahogany reflecting a distorted image of her own face. Her legs felt weak.

She'd imagined this moment so many times, rehearsing the conversation in her head. Now, the carefully constructed script had dissolved into a jumble of unconnected phrases.

Taking a deep breath, Emily grabbed the door handle, her knuckles white.