She never liked giving in, or out to anything or anyone.
But at this particular moment, her very control of bodily functions quivered so precariously toward a glorious end, her knuckles burned bone white.
So, this professional woman in her 40s sat rigidly in her chair waiting for it to come. Despite the relatively cool confines of her office, her body radiated a scorching heat enough so that a balmy mix of sweat and the runoff of her make up painted her face into a brilliant blend of earth tones; the long ends of her perspiration slid down her back turning the threads of her executive attire into a sponge. The heat rose further still to the top of her head where her once stylish blonde hair wilted against the pressure; the beads of sweat, like glue to paper, plastered strands of her hair against her forehead. Her labored breathing quickened into pace and orchestrated the rest of her less than stoic composure.
What was left of her demeanor were merely broken pieces: unbuttoned parts of her dress and legs spread like a compass so far out that any remnants of prim and proper that once stood tall daily against vicious stockholders and CEOs was now just an afterthought.