Gemotions

The spreadsheet shimmered, mocking him. He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent office. Weeks. He’d poured weeks into this presentation, late nights fueled by lukewarm coffee and a gnawing sense of urgency. Now, looking across the conference table, at the smug smile plastered across Harding’s face, he felt his stomach churn. The presentation slides, identical. The data analysis, the same. He wanted to throw up.

He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping across the polished floor. “How… how did you even…?” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, the bile rising in his throat. Harding just shrugged, a picture of insufferable self-satisfaction. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, suffocating. He needed to get out. Now.