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.