Gemotions

The elevator doors opened with a whoosh, and Michael stepped out into the lobby. The polished marble floor seemed to mirror his own uncertain expression. He felt the familiar weight of his briefcase in his hand.

He had rehearsed his arguments, polished his presentation, prepared for every possible question. The confidence he had meticulously crafted seemed to unravel at the announcement. He was used to success, to being the one in charge.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he resisted the urge to wipe it away. He looked up, the harsh fluorescent lights reflecting off the ceiling. He felt as though he was a child again, lost in a crowded market.