Gemotions

The stapler slammed against the desk with a force that rattled the already precarious stack of invoices. Brenda glared at the printer, the infernal machine spitting out another error message. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, her jaw clenched. She knew she was supposed to be working on the Johnson account, but the constant technological sabotage was pushing her to the limit.

Then, Mark, from accounting, walked by. "Morning, Brenda! Tough day?" he asked, attempting a friendly smile.

“Tough?” she snapped, instantly regretting her tone but unable to rein it in. “It’s been a complete disaster. This printer is a paperweight.” She felt a heat crawl up her neck.

Mark chuckled, a sound that grated on her nerves. “Remember Camp Clearwater? Always something breaking down there too, right?"

Brenda froze. The color drained from her face. Clearwater? The camp where, as a kid, she'd lost the annual talent show to a kid named Mark? "You went to Clearwater?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.