Gemotions

He'd been so careful, double-checking the contact. But there it was: the text, now sent, a venomous indictment of his rival's recent success, sent to his rival's personal number. He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. The carefully constructed facade of civility, of professional respect, had crumbled.

He could almost feel the other man's smug amusement, the barely concealed satisfaction. His face burned. He’d made himself look foolish. And there was nothing he could do to fix it.

He pushed his chair back, the screech echoing in the otherwise empty office. He felt the sudden urge to smash something.