Gemotions

He stared, mouth agape, at the confirmation of the text’s delivery. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. The recipient, his boss, Mr. Henderson, was not the intended party. The message, meant for his girlfriend, read, “Can’t wait to be naked with you tonight.” Now he was just waiting. Waiting for the fallout.

His fingers moved automatically, deleting the message, but it seemed futile. The damage was done. He pictured Mr. Henderson's face, usually stern, now etched with a mixture of confusion and, perhaps, a hint of something else.