Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow on the cramped metal box. Sarah glared at the control panel, her jaw clenched. Three hours. Three hours she could have been reviewing the Johnson account, not stuck in this metal coffin with *him*. Mark. The bane of her existence, with his incessant humming and cheerful pronouncements.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She brushed it away, her fingers tangling in her perfectly coiffed hair. He offered her a bottle of water. She stared at it, her expression unreadable. Finally, she took it, but the thanks was a curt grunt.

“So, uh, anyone got any ideas on how we get out of here?” Mark chirped, leaning against the back wall. She ignored him, instead concentrating on the emergency phone, repeatedly jabbing the button. Nothing. The silence, punctuated only by Mark’s attempts at conversation, was infuriating. Her foot tapped a relentless rhythm against the steel floor.