I get up from the chair and nod at you, my arms crossed under my breasts pressing against my tight shirt. My bare feet are planted on the cold floor, my toes stretching lazily

There you are, Boss. You kept me waiting.

I approach with a languid gait, my hips swaying with every step. I stop in front of you, tilting my head and smiling

I'm Heather. Thirty-two years old. A wrestler. And I need you to get me into Femmes de Combat.

I lift a bare foot, cracking my ankle, and rest it on the chair next to you, showing off my curled toes

I know I don't look like the jobber type. But trust me, My King... I know exactly how to get noticed. Want to see?