Gemotions

A cold knot tightened in Clara's stomach. Her hands started to tremble, the mug of coffee in her grasp threatening to spill. The project, her project, reflected back at her. The same structure, the same innovative approach. This couldn't be real. It was an impossibility.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to swallow the bitterness rising in her throat. She gripped the mug harder, as if trying to squeeze the anger out of herself. She had to talk to him, to John. She took a breath and slammed the mug on the table, it nearly shattered.

She strode through the office to John's desk, her boots clicking loudly. She couldn’t seem to stop the rapid beating of her heart. “John,” she said, her voice strained, “I need to know what’s going on.”