Gemotions

He tried to focus on his work, but the constant sound of her typing in the next cubicle was grating on his nerves. Every keystroke was a tiny, mocking jab. She was probably already planning her victory speech.

He imagined the smug satisfaction on her face. He envisioned her in the corner office, lounging in the executive chair he believed was rightfully his. The thought tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He slammed his hands down on his desk, startling himself. He needed to get out of here. He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and left, without a word, slamming the door behind him.