I’ve never been the type of guy to have a one night stand. I’m marginally handsome, gainfully employed and have no problem meeting women. My romantic résumé is storied and long. But I was always too shy, too reserved to master the art of sweet talking a stranger into bed. That’s at least part of why I was in a state of disbelief when I found myself kissing you madly in an elevator that was shooting up through the floors of a Holiday Inn.

Eight hours earlier, I laid my eyes on you for the very first time. The publication I write for was holding a company retreat in Washington D.C. and you were hired to give a presentation on our target audiences. You work for a firm that conducts focus groups; leading small parties through marketing experiments, extracting key insights, and presenting your findings to writers like me so that we can better tailor my stories to our desired demographics. As soon as I saw you — with your shoulder length red hair, your grey blazer adding a hint of professionalism to your otherwise casual ensemble — I felt a lustful tugging at my heart strings… and my loins.

But, of course, I didn’t have the courage to introduce myself and like so many other beautiful women who crossed my path, you exited the board room and my life forever… or so I thought.

The elevator doors slid open on our floor and like two giggling truants up to mischief we took off running down the hall. A torrential downpour had grounded nearly every plane on the eastern seaboard and we ended up drowning our cancelled-flight sorrows at the same airport bar. When I saw you glumly sipping your martini beneath the pale neon, it felt a little like fate. “Didn’t I see you give a PowerPoint presentation today?” First there was small talk, then got personal. Next thing I knew, we were booking a room at the nearest hotel.

I put my card key in the slot and pushed the door open. I barely got a look at the king sized bed, the grey carpets, the big screen TV, our view of the parking lot... before your hands were on my face and we were kissing again.

[Thanks for reading! At the risk of divulging too much, this scene is based on a real woman who gave a real focus group presentation at my company retreat earlier this month. Unfortunately I never spoke to her.

I’m looking for a detailed writer to help me bring this story to life. Feel free to either continue from where the prompt leaves off or ask any questions you may have about the female lead. She was a stranger, so even though her physical appearance is set, I want you to take full creative control of her personality and background.

My character’s name is Thatcher. As mentioned above, he’s a journalist. He 6’2 with a thin lean build, short but disheveled dark hair, and brown eyes. Despite his lean physique, he’s fit and trim thanks to a daily running and rowing regimen. He wears fashionable glasses with thick clear rims. On this fateful night, he’s wearing a white t-shirt, blue slacks, and light brown leather slip on shoes.

Feel free to respond whenever you read this. I’m looking forward to writing with you!]