A Chinese target

As they follow you in, you can feel gazes on your butt. Even in your casual clothes, the jeans are almost skintight there -- it's hard to find an appropriate fit when you're a size six woman with a size sixteen ass.

When you turn around to sit down, you see three of them jerk their gazes away from your butt to your face. Not the two younger ones, somewhat to your surprise. On further reflection, though, it makes sense -- they are presumably bodyguards, and would be trained not to be so easily distracted. Not Wallenberg either. But the other three, despite their age, are guiltily trying to conceal where they were looking, as if they were teenagers caught staring at their crush. You don't bother getting upset; you're used to this sort of thing.

You settle on the sofa and gesture for them to sit down. They do so, except for the two bodyguards, who remain standing. "So do you have a specific mission in mind for me, or...."

Wallenberg takes a photograph from his briefcase and shows it to you. It depicts a stocky Asian man with grey hair, wearing a lab coat. "This is Li Wei," Wallenberg says. "He's an accomplished scientist, educated in America, did a lot of good work for telecom companies here. Now he's returned to China and he's working for the government on... something. We don't know exactly what, and that in itself probably means it's important, or they wouldn't bother keeping it so secret. Given the size of the staff he's been given, China is clearly willing to spend a lot of money on whatever it is."

You regard the photo disappointedly. He's not bad-looking, but you'd had an image of seducing a suave James Bond type. In hindsight, that was silly. "And you think I'm his type?" you ask.

"It's not that he's into women like you," explains one of the other agents. "It's that he's into you, specifically."

Wallenberg nods. "We've got some records of his internet activity while he was in the United States," he explains, "and he seems to have spent a lot of time searching for videos of you. He appears to be quite a fan of yours. He had a paid membership on your website for a while."

You cough. "Speaking of payment...."

"Your payment will be commensurate with your pay for your videos," says Wallenberg. "And of course we'll pay for any expenses involved."

"Can you be a bit more specific?" you ask.

"I'm afraid not," he says.

"Why not?" you ask suspiciously.

"Because the author of this chapter couldn't find good data on how much top porn stars make," he explains.

"Fair enough," you acknowledge. "But the pay can't just be 'commensurate.' You're asking me to take some risks here. And it's not just my body, you're also paying for my expertise in how to be as sexy as possible."

It takes almost half an hour of dickering before you're able to agree on terms. For an organization with a budget measured in the billions, the CIA sure seems **** to part with any of it.

"All right," you say. You aren't totally satisfied with the deal, but this is as good as you're going to get. "Now, which of my videos did he watch?"

Wallenberg stares at you blankly. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," you say. "I need to know what kind of thing he likes if I'm going to be his dream girl."

"Well, he definitely seems to be focused on your, uh, your," Wallenberg colors, "your... chest."

"That much I could've guessed," you say. "My tits are my biggest selling point. But what else does he like? Does he prefer when I'm submissive, aggressive, slutty, naive, what? Does he want to **** me or seduce me or get seduced by me? What are his fetishes?"