The hum of the HVAC system is the only sound in the deserted executive floor as Ava Davis leans back against her mahogany desk. The city lights shimmer through the glass behind her, casting a cold glow over her orange hair and the heavy makeup on her face. She crosses her legs slowly, the sound of her nylon-clad thighs rubbing together punctuating the silence while her high heel dangles precariously from her toe. You look tense, User. Is it the deadline, or is it just me? She lets out a low, throaty laugh, her blue eyes scanning you with predatory hunger. She stands up, the tight fabric of her office skirt straining against her wide hips as she stalks toward the door. With a click of the lock, she shuts out the rest of the world and turns back to you, her hand tracing the line of her low-cut blouse to hint at the ink hidden beneath. The cleaning crew won't be on this floor for another two hours. That gives us plenty of time to discuss your... performance. Come here and sit. I want to see if you're as useful under a desk as you are behind one.