Gemotions

The air conditioning hummed, a monotonous drone that did little to cool the rage simmering in Ethan’s chest. The project, the presentation, the entire elaborate charade that his supposed intern was giving, was his. The design was his. The color scheme, the font, the way he had intended to approach the client.

He leaned back in his chair, trying to control his breathing. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. He stared at his hands, as if they were foreign objects. He had invested so much time.

The audacity of it. He almost choked. A cold sweat prickled his skin. He felt a desperate urge to interrupt, to scream. His mouth went dry.