Chapter 6 - Crossing the Atlantic
Two days later, my meetings in London concluded ahead of schedule.
My boss called me into the temporary conference room at our European headquarters.
“Clara,” she said, smiling warmly over her tablet. “You handled the London acquisition flawlessly under extreme personal stress. We want to reward that. How would you feel about taking over as Senior Director of the North American Operations Division—based permanently out of our D.C. regional headquarters?”
My breath caught. D.C.
Home. Or rather, the city where my home was.
“I’d love that,” I said without a second hesitation.
“Excellent. Your flight back leaves tomorrow morning. Take the weekend to unpack and settle in.”
When I stepped out of the building into the cool London air, my phone buzzed.
It was a text from an unknown number, though I knew the sender immediately.
“Flight 482 out of Heathrow lands at Dulles at 4:15 PM on Sunday. I’ll be waiting at baggage claim. Don't argue with a federal marshal.”
I smiled, shaking my head. Julian Vance didn't waste time.
The long flight across the Atlantic felt shorter than usual. My mind wasn't clouded by anxiety about what family emergency was waiting for me, or what guilt trip my mother had queued up in my voicemail.
For the first time, when I thought about returning to the Washington D.C. area, I felt only anticipation.
When Flight 482 touched down at Dulles International Airport, I retrieved my single rolling suitcase and walked through the sliding glass doors toward arrivals.
Standing near the passenger exit, wearing a dark jacket and sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead, was Julian.
He spotted me immediately.
A slow, genuine smile broke across his handsome face as he walked forward, taking my suitcase handle from my hand with effortless ease.
“Welcome back to D.C., Clara,” Julian said softly, his dark eyes warm.
“It’s good to be back,” I replied, looking up at him. “Even if my family tried to turn your living room into a storage unit.”
Julian chuckled, placing a gentle hand on the small of my back as he guided me toward his car. “Well, the good news is, your sister and parents are currently dealing with a federal magistrate judge in Alexandria. Bail was set high enough that none of them will be bothering anyone for a very long time.”
May you like
I stopped walking for a second. “Wait… they’re actually being held?”
“Attempting to burglarize a U.S. Marshal’s safehouse while using forged property deeds tends to speed up the judicial process,” Julian said dryly, opening the passenger door of his SUV. “Federal prosecutors don't have much patience for family squabbles.”
