The Protagonist: A Fictional Narrative

Tom wondered for what seemed to be the millionth time why Dectives were required to dress like wall-street bankers or stock analysts. At least that was the expectation in public, however the moment he had the office to himself, he unknotted his tie, slipped off the linen suit jacket, and undid the top button of his shirt, then sat back in his chair, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and tapped the tip of a ballpoint pen against his teeth. That was Tom's usual mode of concentration and contemplation, and so intent was the man's focus on the new case that all else slipped from his mind, even the recollection that he'd texted his wife. Therefore, the sudden familiar sound of her voice, accompanied by the enticing aroma of barbecue, startled him, and he immediately shot upright. The sight of Lila elicited a smile that only widened with the greeting and kiss. "Sorry baby."
The Detective was too practical, and dealing with death and grief all day made flirtation and romance even more difficult. However, he did try, and occasionally even succeeded. "Next time I summons you in the middle of the day, I promise, it will be for no other purpose than to cuff you to the desk, and fuck you silly. Exactly what I intend to do tonight." A teasing expression momentarily lit up his features before his demeanour and tone became