Gemotions

He stared at the lilies, their sickly sweet scent already making his stomach churn. Mark clenched his fists, knuckles white. The damn things were sitting on his desk, right in the middle of his carefully organized, sterile office. No note. No signature. He spun his chair around, the plastic scraping against the floor, and glared at the closed door. A cold sweat prickled across his skin. He imagined the smug face of whoever had done this, the silent laughter echoing in the empty space. “I’ll find out,” he snarled under his breath, the words tight and strangled.