Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights were doing nothing for Mark’s already churning stomach. Three hours. Three hours with *him*. He shifted, trying to create more space, a futile effort. He hadn’t asked for this, this forced intimacy with David, his office rival. Each time David attempted a conversation, Mark found a reason to check his watch, to sigh dramatically.

David, oblivious as ever, kept up a stream of chatter about his weekend plans, the new golf clubs he'd bought. Mark’s jaw clenched. The air conditioning was failing, and a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. He imagined the email he’d have to write tomorrow, detailing this ordeal. A scathing report, of course.

“So, you think the new quarterly reports are… “ David began, then trailed off, noticing Mark’s glare. Mark turned away, staring at the numbers flashing above the elevator doors, silently willing them to change.