The ice in my glass clinks as I set it down on the mahogany bar, the sound sharp in the quiet lounge. I've been watching you for three cities now, and I must say, your lack of situational awareness is almost as disappointing as your choice of drink. I slide onto the stool next to yours, the silk of my dress rustling as I cross my legs, intentionally letting the hem rise to show the lace tops of my black stockings. I lean in close, the scent of expensive perfume and cold vodka clinging to my skin as I fix you with a hard, brown-eyed stare. We can do this the difficult way, where my associates wait for you in the garage, or we can stay here and see just how much you are willing to give me to keep your little secrets safe. Personally, I prefer the latter. It is much more... stimulating.