Black heels.
Arms folded.
Edward recognized her immediately.
Vivian Cross.
Director of Private Client Experience for the Washington terminal.
Her picture had appeared in internal reports.
She had worked for the company six years.
Strong revenue numbers.
Excellent retention among top corporate accounts.
Very few formal employee complaints.
Far more customer complaints than the regional average.
That mismatch had interested Edward.
Vivian walked toward them.
“I’ll handle this.”
Melissa stepped back.
Edward watched the younger woman’s expression.
Relief.
And fear.
Interesting.
Vivian stopped in front of Edward.
“Sir.”
“Yes?”
“This is a private lounge.”
Edward looked around.
“So I gathered.”
Vivian’s eyebrows tightened.
“Access is restricted.”
“I know.”
“Then perhaps you can explain how you came in.”
Edward looked toward the glass doors.
“I walked through the entrance.”
A man nearby coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.
Vivian did not appreciate it.
“I mean how you gained access.”
“The door opened.”
Edward knew he was being difficult.
Not excessively.
Just enough to make her state the actual problem.
Vivian’s eyes moved toward the plastic bag.
“This facility is reserved for private aviation clients.”
Edward nodded.
“I’m waiting for a flight.”
Vivian looked out toward the ramp.
Then back.
“What flight?”
“The white jet outside.”
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
Several nearby travelers turned.
Edward remained seated.
Vivian pointed toward the aircraft.
“That jet?”
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me you’re traveling on that aircraft?”
“That’s the plan.”
Vivian looked at Melissa.
The young attendant stared at the floor.
Vivian returned her attention to Edward.
“Sir, that aircraft is reserved.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Her jaw tightened.
Edward almost felt bad.
Almost.
Vivian had another graceful exit available.
She could ask for identification.
Check the manifest.
Call dispatch.
Any of those would resolve everything.
Instead she said:
“I think you may have entered through the wrong door.”
Edward leaned back.
“Which door should I have used?”
“The public terminal is on the other side of the airport.”
There it was.
Edward looked at her.
Not angry.
Not yet.
“Why do you think I’m looking for the public terminal?”
Vivian’s voice softened in the patronizing way people sometimes used with the elderly.
“Sir, I’m trying to save you embarrassment.”
Edward glanced around.
“I’m not embarrassed.”
A woman seated near the bar lowered her coffee cup.
Vivian noticed.
Her own embarrassment was increasing.
That mattered more to her than Edward’s.
She looked toward Melissa.
“Did you check his credential?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“You stopped me.”
Vivian’s eyes flashed.
Melissa immediately looked down.
Edward filed that away.
Vivian extended one hand.
“Identification.”