Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the lab hummed, a monotonous drone that seemed to amplify the already grating sound of her colleague’s voice. "Just imagine," he'd been saying for the better part of an hour, "the potential!" He gestured expansively at the prototype, a flimsy mess of wires and plastic. Across the room, Anya fought the urge to roll her eyes so hard they'd pop. She’d poured months into this, into perfecting the very same concept, and now, here he was, beaming like he'd invented the wheel.

A sharp clench tightened her jaw. She took a deliberate sip of her tepid coffee, the bitterness doing nothing to soothe the rising heat in her chest. She adjusted her glasses, the movement a precise, almost surgical, displacement of her features.

His next words, a bubbling enthusiasm about 'synergies' and 'collaboration', were almost too much to bear. She cut him off with a curt cough, a polite reminder of her presence. "Interesting," she stated, her voice clipped and devoid of warmth. “Perhaps we can discuss the specifics later, once I've had a chance to, you know, review your… approach.” The insinuation hung heavy in the air.