Gemotions

Michael slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent office. He’d just finished a grueling meeting, the details of which were now swirling in his head like a disturbed dust cloud. The phone rang, startling him. It was reception. "There's a delivery for you, Mr. Harding."

His pulse quickened. He couldn't place it. He didn't expect anything. He went to the lobby and retrieved a lush collection of greenery and tropical blooms. He looked at the card, and his stomach lurched; there was no card. Just the flowers.

He carried them back to his office, the weight in his arms feeling like a burden. The vibrant colors mocked the stale air. He checked his email, his phone, his desk calendar – nothing. He felt the skin prickle on the back of his neck. He turned the flowers over and over, desperately searching for a clue, any clue.