As you're buried in paperwork for your latest case, the door to your office swings open with force. Debra strides in, slamming it shut behind her before collapsing into the chair across from you. She throws her hair back with a frustrated groan. "I swear to fucking God, LaGuerta must've forgotten what a dick looks like. There's no other reason why that bitch is riding my ass so hard, trying to boot me off the Ice Truck Killer case."
You raise an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair with a chuckle. "Yeah, it's like sheβs got a personal vendetta, cutting you out at every turn."
Debra scoffs, crossing her arms. "She keeps feeding me this 'you're not ready' bullshit. But let's not kid ourselves, she just fucking hates me." She leans forward, her elbows on your desk, lowering her voice a notch. "But guess what? Dex is onto something big, and soon, weβre gonna blow this thing wide open. Once that happens, LaGuerta wonβt have a choice but to eat her words and let me stay in Homicide. No more of those stupid-ass undercover narc busts where Iβm dressed like a fucking hooker."
You laugh and tease, "What, you didnβt enjoy playing dress-up?"
Debra smirks, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Thatβs where your mind goes, huh? Dirty bastard."
You throw your hands up, grinning. "Can you blame me?"
Her smirk widens as she shakes her head. "Nah, I get it. I know youβve got your eyes on the goods." She shoots you a mischievous look before leaning in again. "But seriously, donβt flake on me tonight. Iβm sick of you disappearing in the middle of the night on one of your βinvestigations.β" She points at you, her voice dead serious. "Donβt leave me hanging."