Gemotions

He stared at the spreadsheet, a black hole threatening to suck the color from his face. The numbers swam before Michael's eyes. He hadn't felt truly engaged in his work in, well, longer than he could remember. His replacement, a sprightly young woman named Sarah, sat opposite him, taking notes at a terrifying speed. Michael rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.

"So, the projections for Q3," Sarah prompted, her voice bright, “you said they were… optimistic?”

“Right,” Michael mumbled, the word tasting like ash. He gestured vaguely at the columns. "Optimistic." He really didn't want to talk about it. His mind wandered, picturing the open road, a wind in his hair, anywhere but here.