Bond will recognize this look. This is the calculating look that professionals give other professionals. One might think he were a hitman, if he didn't have that classified folder.
"....Thank you. But no."
Vaguely british accent, in the middle of what is-was-his office-
"-were you the contact that Brighton said would be coming?" Where the hell's the man's visitor pass?"
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She quirks a brow and peers at the file curiously. She doesn't speak, but she does give his shoulder a light pat.
Hopefully the shock of red hair and the bright green eyes combined with the tan don't startle him too much.
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His tone brokes no argument, "-Nadia, can it wait five minutes?"
Yes, he can be a bit of an asshole in the office.
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Her name is not Nadia.
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Jack grimaces, "-Alright, that's-"
The shock of an unfamiliar face is enough to make Jack Bristow stare pointedly, "-Who the hell are you?"
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Seemingly satisfied with whatever he was reading-he reaches for a pen only to realize-
This is not his desk.
The sound of a chair knocking to the floor can perhaps be heard all over the bar.
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Suppose James has to go help him, now, right? Sighing, Bond stands up and rushes over to the other man. "Need help getting up?" he asks.
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Bond will recognize this look. This is the calculating look that professionals give other professionals. One might think he were a hitman, if he didn't have that classified folder.
"....Thank you. But no."
Vaguely british accent, in the middle of what is-was-his office-
"-were you the contact that Brighton said would be coming?" Where the hell's the man's visitor pass?"
Reply
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