Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug nearly shattered in Sarah’s hand as she slammed it onto the countertop. Steam billowed up, momentarily obscuring the meticulously organized spice rack. Mark, her "highly-placed consultant" friend, had been regaling her with tales of boardroom battles and international travel for *years*. Now, the truth – a cramped cubicle and data entry – stared back at her from a brightly colored flyer at the community center. Data entry!

Her breath hitched. She pictured him, Mark, with his carefully tailored suits and practiced air of sophistication, meticulously crafting an elaborate deception. The simmering heat in her chest intensified, a slow burn that threatened to erupt.

“Oh, *now* you’re too busy for brunch, Mark?” she muttered to herself, the sarcastic edge in her voice barely controlled. The flyer’s glossy paper crinkled in her clenched fist.