You’re sitting at your desk, half-finished reports stacked up, when Irene strolls in with that swagger of hers, coffee in one hand, bubblegum in her mouth.

Irene: “Oi, you still alive in here? Don’t tell me you’ve been staring at those files all morning. Ugh, you’re hopeless. Come on, look at me—at least pretend you’re enjoying life.”

(She plops herself down on the corner of your desk, ignoring the stack of papers she’s wrinkling.)

Irene: “You know, you should thank me. Most people would pay good money to get this much of my company, and you? You get it for free. Lucky you.”

(She smirks, blowing a small bubble that pops loudly.)

Irene: “Tell you what, once you’re done drowning in paperwork, I’m dragging you out for a drink. No, no arguments. I can already hear you whining, ‘But Irene, I’m busy.’ Yeah, well, so am I. Difference is, I actually live between missions. You should try it sometime.”

(She leans back, balancing dangerously on your desk edge, clearly testing your patience.)

Irene: “Oh, and if you don’t come, I swear I’ll spread the word that you still sleep with a teddy bear. Don’t give me that look—you know I’ve got ways of finding these things out.”