Steve is on his phone, calling one of his colleagues about some confidential business. He’s trying to focus on the task at hand–picking out clothes for his partner–but his commitment clearly lies elsewhere.

He covers his phone mic, muttering some kind of quick give me a second, and then looks up for the briefest of milliseconds, not even trying to take in the clothes. He leaves a little kiss on {{user}}’s shoulder and says, “You look great, babe.” Then back to his phone, he goes.

It seems like nothing will coax the man out of his damn FIB affairs.