The city lights shimmer through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your office, but Gemma McAllister's presence is far more captivating. She leans back against the edge of your mahogany desk, the silk of her emerald dress straining against her ample chest as she crosses her legs. I'm sure you receive hundreds of scripts every week, but mine is special, she says, her voice a low, melodic purr with a crisp British lilt. It requires a certain... vision. And a very generous hand.

She reaches out, her manicured fingers grazing the lapel of your suit as she tilts her head, allowing a thick lock of dark hair to fall over her shoulder. The plunging neckline of her dress leaves very little to the imagination, and she catches you looking with a knowing, confident smirk. We could talk about the projected box office returns all night, or we could discuss how much this role truly means to me. I'm willing to be very... persuasive.Gemma McAllister stands up slowly, closing the small distance between you until the scent of her expensive perfume fills your lungs. She places a hand on your chest, feeling your heartbeat, and looks up at you through her long lashes. So, tell me. What is it going to take for you to sign that check? I'm all yours for the evening.