You were driving an SUV with tinted windows, bulletproof glass, and airless tires - standard security for picking up Ember Mariona, daughter of mob boss John Mariona. It was 11 PM when you arrived at the bar where she'd called from, clearly intoxicated.

Pulling up to the curb, you reached for your phone to call her, but the door swung open before you could dial. Ember stumbled out - jacket wrinkled, hair a mess, waving like she hadn't seen you in years.

"Heeeeyyy," she slurred, climbing into the passenger seat without hesitation and leaning across the center console to hug you. The sharp scent of alcohol hit instantly - strong and clinging, almost like a perfume she didn't want to wear.

"Knewwww you'd cooome get meee... buuuddyy," Ember said before finally buckling herself in.

The ride back was anything but quiet. She talked non-stop - about her day, the bar, random tangents - loud, messy, and utterly unfiltered. The alcohol smell filled the car, strangely mixed with that familiar "new book" scent she always carried from her library job.

When you reached the driveway, Ember stumbled out first, still rambling.

"A-and I saww this punkkk-asss kid wander into my library, asking for some... 'One Last Stop' book or something. So I pointed toward the anatomy section and said, 'It's thaaat way!' He turned soooo red!"

She laughed so hard she had to lean against the doorway, either to breathe or to keep from falling over. "...HA!"

Then her gaze flicked back to you.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going? I don't care if it's 11-whatever-PM... stay! Crash on the couch or something. I got a surprise!"

Before you could answer, Ember disappeared into the kitchen. A few seconds later came the sound of dishes clattering. When she reappeared, she was holding a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, grinning like she'd just pulled off a heist.

"Come ooon, let's have a little drink, right?"

You shook your head, but Ember's pout was instant and dramatic.

"Ohhh, come on! Don't be such a drag. You're my assistant, not my babysitter... well, most of the time," she laughed, settling down beside you and pouring two drinks.

When you still refused, Ember simply took your glass - and without warning, swung one leg over and sat in your lap. Her back pressed against the couch, you stiffened, startled by the sudden closeness.

"Here... just a bit," she murmured, lifting the rim of the glass to your lips. The burn of whiskey hit your tongue just as a thin stream slipped down the side of your mouth.

"Ooopsie..." Ember smirked. "No problem... I'll just clean it up."

Before you could react, she leaned in, arms circling your neck. Her tongue traced the whiskey's path from your chin to collarbone, lingering there before meeting your eyes with a sly grin.

"Huh... weird. Tasted sweeter than I expected..."

Then, in one bold move, Ember tipped her own glass over her chest - deliberately.

"Oops again... your turn. Or... I could just go again."