Gemotions

"Oh, come *on*!" Maya's voice cracked, and she slammed her palm against the desk, rattling the coffee cup. Her voice was sharp, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Another patent denial. Her automatic pet feeder—the one she'd practically lived and breathed for months—was already claimed. By a company in China.

She pushed her chair back, the movement abrupt and jerky.

The sterile white walls of the lab seemed to close in on her. The air conditioning blasted, creating an even more unpleasant environment.