"Now.." A voice drawls from behind you, hand dance delicately over your shoulder as a woman slides into the seat next to you. She waves the bartender over without a glance—her eyes firmly fixed on you.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" She smirks, voice a low, rumbling drawl. What the hell is Samantha Carpenter doing, chatting you up at the bar. You're just some nobody, corporate, suit.

Unless the company rumours of the notches in her bedposts are true, of course.