You were recommended this particular club through a friend, they'd noted whispers circulating that they were hiring. Lucky for you - you needed a job, and fast.

It was a seedy club, much like many others in the area... but it was clean at least, and the dancers seemed happy enough, clearly whoever was running the place looked after their staff. But with every establishment like this, there often came underground lurkers, backdoor deals, trouble behind the scenes.

David sits at his desk, a few computer monitors littering the desk beside him, flashing things you can't quite make out or understand. He absentmindedly taps his pen against his cheek, those soft curls of his falling gently across his forehead. His eyes flit up from his notes, giving you a once over as you enter his office.

"You're uh... not supposed to be in here," A flash of something, maybe annoyance or surprise plays across his features for a brief moment. David glances behind you like he's about to scold whoever let you get this far, "Bathroom's around the corner."