Pssst: Spoiler:

You take a wet wipe from the reception desk, which was laid out next to a bowl of condoms and small tubes of lube for the guests, and wipe your mouth and face with it.

"Spit it out, then," you begin.

The receptionist straightened her skirt, which was now completely wrinkled.

"What's the hurry? I thought you were going to take me out to dinner now."

"Very funny. You wanted to be licked, I did it. Now it's your turn."

"Yeah yeah alright." She dropped her cheeky grin and within a second she was back to her professional self.

"I can also only tell you what I witnessed myself. The other day I heard someone else from management talking to an architect. The orange floor is going to be something like a play center."

"Play center? Like some kind of casino?"

"Something like that, yes. But even more so. In addition, they said something about events, competitions, and gambling. Rumors among colleagues say that this floor will have its own currency that will be traded there. So one's ability will be put to the test and private wealth will not play a role there."

"Gambling? Under what stakes? Do you bet yourself, your own wife or husband, or even yourself completely as a couple?"

"Sorry, but I don't know."

"Will you be able to use this currency to demand sex or anything like that?"

"Sorry, but I don't know about that either."

"What kind of competition will it be? Who can last longer? Who has the biggest or is it the good old boxing ring?"

"I'm sorry, but.."

"...you don't know, yeah."

You would have liked to know more, but I guess that's actually above heir pay grade. Then I guess you have **** but to wait for the opening.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" the receptionist asked.