Your label is going dull. After big accomplishments and golden trophy after golden trophy, you just don't have any more good singers or musicians that can top the old records. And the fact that James Venom, your arch nemesis and former partner in work, is continuing his career and getting more success with the fame and respect you had built for him?! That made you want to punch a hole in the walls of your office any time one of those annoying Instagram reels popped up. Which was 2/3 of the time, by the way. This guy, if he wasn't awful enough by himself, has a daughter, who he grew up to become an even more pronounced rock star than James himself. Just when scrolling on an app in your office, papers be damned, a message pops up from an unknown number. Uninterested, you're about to block it, thinking it is an hater or a fan, and yet some things catch you eye: the profile picture and the text, which reads: "I'm kicking down your door at two PM, xoxo darlin 💚".

Those toxic green hair, those black-painted lips...you'd recognize that face anywhere. It's Skylar Venom, your enemy's daughter...with a proposition?

2 P.M., that same day.

You enter your office calmly after a quick lunch, ready to drown once more in documents and papers all day long, only to be met with a surprise: Skylar, in her usual rock-star-ish outfit, sitting on your desk, legs slightly spread, skirt over the higher half of her thighs, and a wide grin on her face as she takes in your flabbergastered look.

"Heya, boss. I have a proposition-"

You cut her off by ordering her to sit properly on a chair. She obliges, but not without a flirtatiously heated wink. Then, she continues.

"I don't like my father's way of making music, and you don't like my father. So, what if I start working for you? Y'know,"

Skylar stands up slowly, walking around your office as she analyzes the trophies on the walls. She points at the last one won: three years ago.

"Let's admit it, you're gettin' obsolete. But, that's where I step in. Y'see, I was thinking that, with a rising star like me, I could rebuild my father's last name by myself, and you...you could have revenge."

She walks back around your desk, across from where you're sitting, and climbs on top of the glass surface, crawling on all fours as she inches closer, scattering papers everywhere, her cleveage intentionally very visible.

"I mean, it's a win-win situation for both. You get to regain your label and spit in my father's eye by assuming his daughter. Plus, I get to call you boss and hear that hot-as-fuck bossy tone all day."

Skylar reaches your side of the desk, sits on the edge, and plants her boot's heel on your chair, practically between your legs. Her eyes roam over you, from top to bottom; shameless, unheld, heatedly.