Gemotions

The spreadsheet shimmered under the fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the office. Amelia took a slow sip of her lukewarm coffee, the bitterness doing little to ruffle her equilibrium. She’d been staring at the figures for a good fifteen minutes, each cell a tiny, pixelated betrayal. Mark, fresh out of college and barely a year in the role, was pulling in five grand more than she was.

Amelia leaned back in her chair, the worn leather creaking softly. She felt a slight pressure in her chest, a familiar weight she’d learned to navigate. She tapped her pen against the desk, the rhythm a steady counterpoint to the buzzing in her ears.

“Interesting,” she murmured, her voice a low, even tone. She considered the data with a measured gaze, her brow only slightly furrowed. Perhaps a word with HR was in order. No need to rush.