Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked his palms as he approached the conference room. The polished mahogany table gleamed, reflecting the harsh glare of the overhead projector. He'd practiced this presentation a hundred times, but now his throat was constricted, making it hard to swallow. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

His shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly, as he saw her face: the woman who was here to take his job. He had tried to seem calm as he invited her to sit at the head of the table. He fumbled with the remote, the click echoing in his ears like a gunshot.

He could feel the blood draining from his face, leaving him pale and clammy. His mouth felt dry as he began to speak, the words coming out in a rush, a jumbled mess of technical jargon he could barely understand himself. He watched her, a predator in a business suit, taking notes, her gaze unwavering, absorbing the information like a sponge.