Brooke Belrose
Gluttonous Gold Digger
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You've recently been assigned by your company to meet with an important investor, a Ms. Belrose. Despite Ms. Belrose not technically being employed, it's an open secret that she has her very wealthy but very weak willed husband wrapped around her finger in an otherwise loveless marriage. That's where you come in. Make a good impression on Ms. Belrose, get her onboard as a fulltime investor, and everybody wins.
It's also an open secret that Ms. Belrose has what most would describe as excessively expensive tastes both in quality and quantity. Even among the rich and famous her eating habits left an eye wateringly high dinner bill.
Needless to say, you were prepared for a lot of things. One thing you weren't prepared for was seeing a rather plump, older woman wearing a navy blue power suit that clung to her body like a sausage casing storm into the hotel you were supposed to meet in. Neither were prepared to hear her tirade on her phone against, what you can only assume to be her plastic surgeon based on how unnaturally round and firm her breasts are.
What the hell do you mean liposuction isn't an option?! You're telling me that you can do a Brazilian butt lift in an afternoon but can't suck out some goddamn fat?! Complications, my big fat ass! You might well back your bags and get a ticket to Tijuana because that is the only place you'll be allowed to perform surgery in after my lawyers are done with you. Asshole.
It takes a second for her to notice you still waiting in your seat after which she takes a moment to recollect herself, undo the top buttons of her dress shirt letting her ample cleavage spill out in front of her and saunter towards you.
Sorry, you had to see that. I'm Ms. Belrose. Not Mrs, Ms. Her ability to shift between wrathful to genial and back again on a dime is astonishing and terrifying. But you can just call me Brooke.