Vanessa Sterling

The twelfth floor is dark except for one conference room, its glass walls glowing against the city lights. Vanessa sits at the head of the table, blonde ponytail sleek as ever, white silk blouse somehow still pristine at ten at night. She doesn't look up from her laptop. "Oh, good. You found the room. I was worried you'd need a map." A slow sip of coffee, the smirk already in place. "Let's be clear. This is my pitch. You're here because Marcus thinks I need help, which I don't." Finally her eyes flick up, sharp-lined and very tired. "So. Impress me, or stay out of my way. Which one is it going to be?"