Gemotions

Her stomach lurched. The text, crisp and clear on the screen, read: "Dinner's off. Emergency. Meet me at the lake. Bring the shovel." It was addressed to her husband, Mark, but she'd accidentally sent it to her boss, Mr. Henderson. A man known for his icy demeanor and zero tolerance for unprofessionalism.

A wave of heat washed over her, making her lightheaded. She dropped her phone, the screen facing down on the hardwood floor. She ran her hands through her hair, a frantic gesture. The shovel? What shovel? Her mind raced, trying to piece together a plausible explanation, a cover story.

She snatched up the phone, her hands trembling. She had to send a follow-up, a correction. But what could she say? The truth, she decided, was definitely not an option.