Sunday. Seven in the morning.

He slammed the door in an attempt to get the attention of the man at the table. But the assistant sat motionless, studying the contents of the documents. The office smelled of newness. The high walls gleamed in new browns and were successfully complemented by leather furniture.

Not bad settled down, - the dark-haired one commented and the assistant only nodded languidly.

Examining the new bookcase, littered with multi-colored folders, he went to the table and sat down in a large office chair.

Did Mironov list the grandmother? - the only thing that really interested at the moment.

“No,” the assistant replied dryly, annoyingly banging the buttons on his laptop.

What you think you are?

What am I? The man rolled his eyes. - I rummaged here. It looks like Mironov scammed you more than once.

"More," he demanded monotonously, leaning forward.

I hid the money, - he threw down the notes and returned his gaze to the computer screen. - The last time I screwed up with the goods. In general, deal with customers.

With customers? When the goods enter the trucks, Mironov is fully responsible for it! the dark-haired man said nervously, justifying himself. - And if the goods are lost, then Mironov will be lost too!

“I don’t advise,” Pavel shook his head. Then problems...

What's the problem, Paha? threw papers. - Problems will be with those who throw us. And then, who will deal with this business?

Pasha shrugged his shoulders, making a note in his notebook. The dark-haired man slammed his palm on the table loudly, to which the assistant did not react in any way. Didn't even flinch. The man exhaled noisily and stood up abruptly, trying to control his rising anger. For the last time he looked at his busy and calm colleague and quickly headed for the exit. He lit a cigarette as he walked, leaving the tart smell of expensive cigarettes in the office. And all the same roar of the door announced his departure.

Denis poured the coffee into cups and placed it on the tray. Perfectly complementing the picture of sliced ​​​​fruits and the semblance of a landscape of grapes and apple cubes, which I laid out on a plate.

I picked up breakfast, with which I spent an uncountable amount of time, and headed to the bedroom. He pressed his elbow on the doorknob, trying to enter the room as quietly as possible, so as not to wake his wife prematurely.

The red pillow brightened the already rich red hair. The crumpled blanket gave the ultimate view of a thin figure, covered in places with tattoos.Quietly he set the tray down on the bedside table. He sat down beside Alice and ran his fingers over the black treble clef around the girl's neck. The first tattoo she got.

The man allowed it as a wedding gift, although he himself had a negative attitude towards such body decorations. He hoped that his wife's passion would not develop into an obsession. And, of course, I was wrong. The first was followed by the second.

Wake up, good, - he leaned over and gently kissed his wife on the cheek.

A negative grunt in response, and Alice feebly waved away the suggestion to wake up. He ran his fingers over the black roses on her forearm. A bright drawing that was justified as a birthday present for a girl.

She smiled and turned on her side.

“I don’t wake up at seven in the morning,” she answered without opening her eyes. “Stop waking up so early.

So it's already twelve, - he barely restrained a chuckle. - Wake up. You still need to finish the job.

He was always amused by his wife's indiscipline. This was completely contrary to his principles, but he accepted the situation as it was.

Why are you dressed like that?

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at her husband with displeasure. Trousers, a white shirt with rolled up sleeves and a black classic vest.

We need to go.

Not! She quickly sat up in bed, pulling on the covers. – Who works on Sunday? You promised today...

I remember. I'll be back in three hours, and we'll go to rest.She stared into brown eyes, pursing her lips on purpose. Denis laughed quietly and kissed the girl on the neck, in an attempt to quickly smooth out the growing conflict.

She hugged her husband in response and pulled her strong figure towards herself, especially ruffling her neatly combed hair. Sincerely tired that the man practically lived in the office. And it was okay before, when the husband started from the very bottom, painstakingly and difficultly putting the business on its feet. But now everything worked according to the knurled scheme and without problems.

Tired of the irregular work schedule, from which Denis could not escape. I prepared to start another tantrum, but the man threw off his vest and climbed onto the bed.

"Let's have breakfast," he suggested, demanding coffee. “Although normal people are already having lunch.

“Bring cigarettes,” she said plaintively, holding the coffee in her hands. - There ... in the living room they are lying around.

Alice, I was serious yesterday! – snatched the cup, almost spilling its contents on the blanket. Stop starting the day with a cigarette! Eat fruit. Vaughn has prepared for you.

She made a skeptical face and turned away. So you look, this is a creative presentation, - Denis advertised. - I did my best.

Alice laughed out loud as she studied the fruit still life with her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered softly. “I appreciate everything you do.

Denis rested against the back of the bed, slowly drinking coffee. Happily watched as the artist's fingers hovered over the plates in an attempt to select the desired fruit.

Eight years of marriage turned out to be the brightest days and nights of his life. Being a nobody, but having a strong and persistent woman nearby, you can overcome any mountains of problems and reach the sharp pinnacle of success.

Dinner in bed and trying to calm his wife's irascible temper with quiet conversation did not help. All the same, he listened to dissatisfied exclamations and a rude opinion about his habit of working hard when the name has long been working for him. And not only the name, but also a lot of people.

Driving up to the office, he sent a message to his wife that he would ask her for rude swearing at night.

I parked and rummaged around in a pile of folders that lay on the next seat. Beethoven's Fifth Symphony made me jump with fright. Infection. Every time I forgot to change the ringtone. He threw a few caustic mats, looking at the phone screen, but answered.

Serezha, what do you need? He held the phone between his ear and shoulder. By the way, do you have the annual report? Red folder.

“Yes, I told you the day before yesterday,” the friend answered quickly. - I have.

He breathed a sigh of relief and slapped his palm on the stack of documents, chasing away his irritation from the long search for the folder. If only such a movement would also get rid of sclerosis.

I wanted to ask about investors...

Wait, - Denis hastily left the car. - Now I'll go to the office ...

Denis Mironov!

He hurried to turn around, recognizing a familiar male voice.

Oh, what are you...

The muffled shot was the answer to all questions. Denis collapsed to the ground, under the annoying howl of the alarm. Blood spattered the stonework profusely, drawing a red circle on the white shirt as the killer's footsteps echoed in his ears.