"Get rid of him."
Shawle choked on his coffee.
"W-wwhhaatt?"
She examined her nails.
"I said get rid of him."
The boss stared with wide eyes.
"He's a distraction," she explained, "His interest in my partner is slipping up his skills. Mitchel can't function with him constantly staring at him."
Her ice eyes narrowed.
Shawle had set his cup down, and was currently staring past her, not daring a lock with her cold pools.
"If this is as deep as I suspect, than I need Don in top condition."
"His purpose was to make you look rich."
She pursed her lips slightly.
"His sense of fashion," she stressed with sarcasm, "was unethical. He wanted to die my hair and add extension. The extra weight, which I wouldn't be used to, would only hinder my performance. The dress he chose for me was also useless. No sleeves meant no jumpsuit underneath. I can't move in a dress very well."
She said no more.
He nodded.
"And Mitchel?"
"Mitchel's social skills are all that are needed. I only do the dirty work Shawle, you know that."
Her glare turned on him, his breath catching.
"I want him gone. I'll handle the necessities for this mission on my own."
She stood from her seat.
"This has to be hidden Mccaw. This is one time you can't go sneaking in."
She didn't turn around.
"Never had to sneak."
Her form disappeared in the darkness as she walked off. A metal door shutting behind her indicating she was gone.
Shawle breathed.
"That's was scares me Mccaw. That's what scares me."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^
He blinked.
"You did what?"
His disbelief was evident.
She looked up at him, ever coldly, small nail brush still in hand.
"Did you want him still?"
The humor wasn't there, no matter how hard you tried.
He swallowed, her stare unwavering.
"Just…"
He wasn't sure how to explain.
"He was a distraction. To both of us."
She tightened the lid on the nail polish, wet nails gleaming in the dim lights of the lounge room.
"So, exactly what do we do now?"
"The formal is tonight."
His eyes went wide.
"Everything else has been taken care of."
She didn't want to talk.
"Else?"
The hiss was evident.
Her cold eyes growled.
"There are two errands I need you to run. They're on that paper."
She nodded nonchantedly at the neatly folder, crisp paper that lay dormant on the coffee table.
He growled, curiosity laced in his features.
"At the dinner, you'll only need to keep up appearances."
He stared, expecting one more thing.
She blew on her neatly manicured fingers.
"For the both of us."
&$&$&$&$&$&$&
O2: I don't own DBZ. *sad* But, *perks up* I do have a crowbar. *mechanical laugh*
Quatre: *dressed in 'pink' tuxedo*
O2: Hum?
Quatre: *lights cigarette*
O2: *holds in laughter*
Quatre: *takes puff*
O2: *bites lip*
Quatre: *starts hacking*
O2: *rolls with laughter*
Quatre: *sputters* It's. *hack* Your. *deep breath* Fault. *cough*
O2: *wipes tears* Not my fault you wonna copy 'The Tuxedo'.
Quatre: *still coughing*
O2: *looks at his attire* In your own little way of course.
Quatre: *glares*
O2: Oh god just R&R already. I'd like to shoot for twenty(20) reviews.