Gemotions

"Finally," Mark breathed, the word a soft exhale as he leaned back in his chair. He had the corner office now, with the view his mentor, old Mr. Abernathy, had always coveted. The glass of scotch he'd poured himself felt particularly satisfying in his hand, the amber liquid swirling invitingly. He’d never thought he’d see the day.

A slow smile played at the corners of Mark's lips. He’d worked tirelessly, patiently, waiting for this moment. Abernathy, with his endless pronouncements and nitpicking, was gone. Now, the path was clear. His path.

He swirled the scotch again, savoring the moment. He rose, walking to the panoramic window, his shadow stretching across the polished floor. The city glittered below, a vast canvas awaiting his brushstrokes. He took a long, slow sip.