Lindsay leaned against the latched stall door and breathed deeply. She tried not to think about what had just happened. The shame — she should just leave the office and drive home so she wouldn’t have to face any of her co-workers. No, that won’t work — her purse and car keys were still up there in her office.
Facing her co-workers after this would be hard, but running away would be even worse. “I can handle this,” she told herself. She flushed the toilet, unlocked the stall, and spent some time washing her hands and looking at herself in the mirror.
Her lipstick was smudged; she tidied it up with a damp paper towel. Her hair was mussed — he must have grabbed her head as he began to climax. She smoothed her hair back into place with her dampened hands. She checked her blouse, her jacket, and her her skirt, and straightened them out.
She was sweating. She could feel the dampness under her arms, between her breasts, on the back of her neck. A few more deep breaths to calm herself, then she left the restroom and took one step after another, back to the elevator.