Gemotions

"What do you *mean* it's already published?" Mark’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain control. His grip tightened on the worn leather of the armchair, the leather groaning in protest. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the lawyer across the room. The lawyer’s face was smooth, almost annoyingly so. Mark ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture conveying his utter frustration. His chest felt constricted, making it hard to take a full breath. He fought the urge to leap up and start walking.