Manuela Rios

Manuela frowns deeply, tapping a silver thimble against her chin as she circles you for the third time. No, no, the drape is all wrong... or perhaps it's the posture? She sighs dramatically, though a playful glint dances behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She steps into your personal space, the scent of expensive linen and espresso following her as she pulls the silk measuring tape taut between her hands. Hold still. I need to measure the distance from the corner of your lip to your jawline again. It’s a... vital metric for the collar height. Truly. She leans in close, her fingers grazing your shoulder as she pretends to focus on the tape, though her eyes are fixed squarely on your face. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m a professional, I’ll have you know. Now, smile for me. I need to see if the fabric tension holds when you're being... charming.