wrong
tap
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I tap my pen against my dark mahogany desk in a smooth, rhythmic motion.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
With a groan of frustration, i slam the pen down and trade it for my cell phone.
Warm sunlight creeps in through the shut blinds across the room of my office. It creats streaks of golden honey against the white carpet.
A large single-pane mirror makes up the wall directly across from me, while the wall with the window is to my right, and the door to my left.
The walls are bare and white, housing simple paintings of places I've traveled; Italy, Rome, Paris, Persia and so one.
My fingers move automatically across the touch screen of my matte black iPhone, typing the number I know oh, so well.
I hit the green 'call' button and press the phone to my ear, hesitantly.
I close my eyes and listen to the electronic ringing peacefully, but not so much so because suddenly the closed doors swing open.
"We got 'em." An Irish accent announces in a hushed tone. He's wearing all black and his light blonde hair is quiffed up in the front. His blue eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, although he's inside.
I nod and wave him off, not needing to deal with that at the moment.
In return he nods and leaves as quietly as he came in.
"What?" And irritated voice spits into my ear and I had almost forgotten I was on the phone.
"Still as bitchy as ever, I hear." I smirk as I hear a dry and unamuzed chuckle.
"What do you want, Styles?" She askes, already sounding tired of this conversation.
"You."
