Reeves
For the umpteenth time, my eyes run between the small thumb peeping from The Russian's notebook to the slightly ajar door. I chew my gum in agitated tempo, tapping my fingers on the table, waiting for the message to appear and confirm all the data has been successfully copied.
Shit. Unmistakeable heels patter my way. I raise my eyes to the vision of an advancing Mrs. Vasileva, who besides being my client's wife, is also known for her distinguished, opulent taste and her love for her husband's young human shields. Jake once said that the lady has a hard time differentiating between fidelity and promiscuity as they kinda rhyme. I check the screen again, willing the damn process to complete.
It should be done any minute now, like the meeting being held in the next room. The last t
