Gemotions

"So, you're telling me… I have to *what*?" Sarah’s voice rose an octave, a vein throbbing in her forehead. She glared at her former supervisor, Mr. Davies, who, with a smug expression, was explaining her new role in the data entry department. She’d spent the last seven years in public relations, living and breathing the thrill of a media crisis.

Her hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms. The air in the office was thick with the scent of stale coffee and something else she couldn't quite place, but it made her want to gag. He was droning on about keystrokes per minute, and she could barely focus. She wanted to throw the ergonomic keyboard at his perfectly coiffed hair. He was going to find out, though. She was sure of it.