Gemotions

He kept replaying the interview in his head. Did he say the wrong thing? Should he have been more assertive? John ran a hand through his hair, finding it already damp with sweat despite the cool office air. He had to have this. The mortgage, the kids, the sheer exhaustion of just keeping things afloat – it all hinged on this promotion.

He glanced across the aisle at Maria, the woman also in the running. She was meticulously organizing her pens, a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor running through her hand. He knew, he *knew*, that look. It was the same one he felt.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the sound amplifying the silence. The clock on the wall seemed to be mocking him with its slow, deliberate ticks. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, the metallic tang of blood a small, unwelcome reminder of his own fragility.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as the boss's assistant walked by. "He's ready for you," she said, her voice a little too loud.