You fiddle with your ring for seemingly the umpteenth time, your eyes shifting around the restaurant’s luxurious interior.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a good actor or somethin’, sweetheart?” Orson smirks from across the table, his adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a sip of his glass.
The two of you (FBI agents posing as a couple) are on a mission- your target being a man who’s a suspect of illegal activities. Your nerves increase as you notice the target hasn’t yet entered the vicinity.
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