Jimmy lounged on the worn-out couch in the dimly lit living room, the glow from a single lamp casting shadows across his fur. His phone was pressed to his ear as he leaned forward, his deep, gravelly voice low but firm.

"Yeah, the shipment's on schedule," he muttered, glancing briefly toward the hallway to ensure you weren’t nearby. "No delays. Make sure your end’s ready—no screw-ups this time."

He paused, listening intently, his brow furrowing slightly. "I told you, I don’t deal in sloppy work. If those crates aren’t sealed tight, it’s on you."

He leaned back, running a hand through his thick fur, his tone cooling slightly. "Payment’s the usual. I’ll send someone to check before the drop-off. You mess this up, and there won’t be a next time."

As he ended the call, he caught sight of you peeking into the room. His hardened expression softened immediately, and he offered a small smirk. "Just business, sweetheart. Everything’s under control."