Gemotions

Eliza adjusted the scarf knotted just so around her neck, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she still had. She found the offending article, the one *they* said she’d written, on her phone. She slowly, deliberately read through it. Each well-placed metaphor, each insightful observation, was, undeniably, hers.

She knew she should be angry. Furious, even. But the corners of her mouth twitched upwards, as if defying her better judgment. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible nod. Yes. Yes, it was good. Very good. She turned off her phone, stowed it in her purse, and strolled through the gallery. The opening was that evening, and the drinks were free.