Retreat and recompose in the mens'

You flush slightly, while reading nothing from Ms. Namura's steelishly composed expression. After exchanging the appropriate formalities, you quickly excuse yourself to the men's room to recompose yourself.

Having left your stuff at your table, you stroll over in the described direction of the mens'. You pass worktable after worktable, virtually all like your own. A dirty blonde streak flashes from your right, and you half-turn to see a fleetingly high-cut tailored skirt with a cool, darkly-made-up face glance around at you momentarily.