Emma Stone!

You turn, already smiling, as Emma Stone bounds into view. She’s wearing a white fluffy robe, which is tied daringly in a single loose knot. ‘Not in too much of a hurry to get out of here, I hope?’

Emma Watson gives her a rueful smile. ‘I go back and forth on it, to be honest.’

‘Are you getting your cleavage painted?’ At the look on the other girl’s face, Emma Stone bursts out laughing. ‘No, seriously! I asked for it specially. Bit of shading on either side, enhance the girls a little. What?’ She elbows you slyly. ‘I know I’ve got small tits.’

‘I…’ Emma stutters. ‘Well, I hadn’t really thought about it.’

‘Em, relax.’ Emma Stone’s smile turns sympathetic. ‘I’m just kidding. Although that does remind me… how naked are we getting?’

Emma rolls her eyes – the largest gesture she can make without upsetting her make-up squad. ‘You tell me. It’s got to be a joint decision, anyway. I suppose… nipples are a given, right? Otherwise it’s not really nude at all.’

‘Nipples are a given,’ agrees Emma Stone, looking thoughtful. ‘And to be fair, I doubt Vanity Fair are really going to print any close-up crotch shots, although it’d be interesting to find out. Bit of bum, though? Cheeky ass flash? Are we even wearing panties, or are we, you know…’ She drapes an arm across her chest mock-seductively. ‘Are we covering each other up? I don’t mind being your hand-bra, babe.’

Emma Watson looks like she’s not quite sure whether to laugh or be offended. ‘I’m sure I don’t know! Maybe we should run it past Annie, once she’s here. And James, of course.’ She shoots you a slightly guilty look.

‘Oh, don’t worry, he is loving this. But yeah, good idea.’ Emma Stone stretches, arching her back and giving you an accidental-but-spectacular view of her cleavage. ‘Okay, I’m gonna go play Fuck Marry Kill with the runners. Feel free to join us when they’re done with all the… prettification.’ She tips you a lazy wink and wanders away.