Gemotions

The spreadsheet was a desert of figures. Amelia drummed her fingers against the desk, a rapid-fire rhythm that matched the frantic thrumming in her chest. Days like these, she swore she could feel the slow, heavy crawl of time itself. She glanced at the clock – barely ten. The fluorescent lights hummed, an irritating counterpoint to the quiet desperation building inside her. She needed something, anything, to break the monotony.

A tap on her shoulder startled her. It was Mark from accounts, his face unusually flushed. “Heard a rumor,” he whispered, his voice hushed. “About a buyout. The whole damn company.”

Amelia leaned in, a flicker of something new – not quite excitement, but a sharp, undeniable interest – sparking in her eyes. The desert of the spreadsheet suddenly seemed a little less vast.