Gemotions

Michael’s palms were slick with sweat. He kept wiping them on his khakis, leaving damp patches. The meeting room across the hall was a hive of activity, hushed voices seeping through the closed door. He knew what was happening: the rumors had been confirmed. The company, his livelihood for fifteen years, was going to be sold.

He felt a tremor run through him, starting in his toes and spreading upwards. He leaned back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant, but his heart was hammering against his ribs. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to flee the building, to just get away.

His gaze drifted to his coffee mug, cold and forgotten on his desk. He hadn’t touched it in an hour. He knew a few colleagues had left their jobs when they'd heard the rumors.