Gemotions

Agnes slammed the prototype against the workbench, the plastic clattering. Hours. Weeks! She’d sunk countless hours into this, and now, *this*. Across the crowded conference room, the smug glint in Bartholomew’s eye was enough to send her blood pressure soaring. He’d clearly been waiting for this reveal, arms folded, a complacent smile plastered across his face.

"So, Bartholomew," she began, forcing a tight smile, "Care to explain why your presentation seems… remarkably familiar?" She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, feeling a prickling heat behind her eyes.

He spread his hands in a gesture of innocence that did nothing to soothe her mounting irritation. "Coincidence, Agnes! Great minds, and all that." The lie dripped from his lips, thick and syrupy. She wanted to scream.