Of course you mess

Mr. B whispered to the receptionist. Her smile brightened.

"Of course, Ms. Swift. Bad joke. Sorry. You are expected in the oak room."

The elegant businesswoman walked ahead of you past the round white doors. The custom light fixtures shone brilliantly through the sheer hose concealing herass.

As soon as she left, the receptionist carefully removed her black miniskirt and crimson sweater, folded them, and carefully put them on her glass table. Her bra and panties were as red as the sweater. Mr. B had made her believe that she was over-warm, and that bra and panties were acceptable business casual attire.

After consulting the receptionist, you learned that Mr. B's bitch sister Amy was conducting a huge departmental meeting in the cedar room. Everyone was there, from agents to copywriters to photographers to accountants to models to pages and assistants.

You followed Mr. B into the brilliantly decorated office.