Isabel needs to reach the Lost & Found

Isabel sat on the closed toilet lid in the stall, her ruined jumpsuit crumpled at her feet. The damp fabric sagged, wrinkled, and stained beyond repair. She stared at it as if sheer willpower might undo the damage, but she knew better. The jumpsuit was finished, and she was stranded in her bra and underwear.

The thought of her plain cotton set made her cheeks burn. It was old, the kind of undergarments chosen for comfort, not something to be seen. The fabric was thin from years of washing, and under the harsh fluorescent lights she worried it was more revealing than she dared admit. From some angles, she feared it was even slightly transparent. She wrapped her arms across her chest, as if that could shield her from the possibility.

Her mind ran through options. She could call a friend to bring clothes, but that would take hours. She could pretend to be sick and sneak home, but her Zoom meeting with the executives was scheduled for later that day. Missing it would end her chance at the manager’s role before it even began. Ryan would be there, polished and ready, and she would vanish from consideration without a word.

She needed clothes, and soon.

The lost and found box on the third floor was the only possibility. She remembered it from a supply closet she’d once passed: a jumble of forgotten sweaters, jackets, and gym clothes. Not flattering, but better than standing half-naked in the bathroom.

But getting there meant leaving the stall.

The elevator was closest. She could slip out of the bathroom, cross the short distance to the doors, and pray they carried her down without interruption. But the elevator was a trap. She couldn’t control who might already be inside when the doors opened, or who might join her along the way. One unlucky moment, and she’d be cornered in a box, standing in nothing but her too-thin underwear.

The stairs were safer once she was inside. The problem was reaching them. The stairwell was at the far end of her floor, past the open cubicles and glass-walled offices. She would have to walk across the very space where her coworkers worked, any of whom could look up at exactly the wrong moment. Worse, Ryan sat on this floor too. If he saw her like this, any chance she had of being taken seriously—for the promotion or for anything else—would be destroyed.

Isabel pressed her back to the stall door and closed her eyes, her breath quickening.

Elevator or stairs. The unknown inside the elevator, or the certainty of crossing Ryan’s territory in the stairwell.

Those were her only options.

And she had to choose.