Mary sat up on her bed, reading through the finalized cabaret program. Mickey rested his head in her lap and played with his tie. The hitwoman glanced at him every now and then before eventually speaking up.
“You're procrastinating." She smirked.
“Is it that obvious?" Mickey chuckled and sat up. “This is what I get for being Flannigan's son. He drags me into all his diplomatic shite, but it bores me to tears. Feels like I'm stuck in some boardroom."
“You'll be fine and you'll survive, just like you always do." Mary reassured him.
Mickey stroked her cheek gently and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Her eyes darted sideways towards her phone on the bedside table, which didn't escape Mickey's attention.
“How many times you gonna check that phone of yours, mo pheata?"
“I told you my work
