A Little Drabble Do Ya: Mr. Popularity

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

Napoleon groaned when the phone rang for what seemed the hundredth time that morning. “Please answer that, Tovarisch, it’s probably another secretary wanting me to escort her to UNCLE’s dinner dance. Whose stupid idea was that, anyway?”

“Your superior’s,” Illya replied as he answered the phone. “Kuryakin. No, he is not. I will tell him,” he said before hanging up.

Napoleon held up his hand. “Don’t tell me; I’ve made up my mind who I’m taking.”

“Who?”

“You. Unless you have a date, let’s go stag so I can avoid alienating my dating pool.”

“You are lucky I like you.”