“It’s simply unusual.”
“What?”
“This.”
He gestured at her.
Camille looked down at the silver gown.
“My clothing?”
Arthur smiled.
“Let’s just say our engineers don’t normally arrive dressed for a royal wedding.”
Everett laughed.
Camille did not.
“I attended an event before coming.”
“Of course.”
Arthur looked toward corridor.
“Who told you to come here?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
That changed both men slightly.
Not much.
Enough.
Arthur said:
“Daniel is unavailable.”
“Where?”
“In technical review.”
“On aircraft four?”
Arthur paused.
“Yes.”
“I’ll join him.”
“No.”
The word came more firmly.
Camille studied him.
“Why?”
“Because we have guests tonight.”
“I’m not interested in guests.”
“I am.”
Arthur’s tone sharpened.
“And I’m responsible for maintaining a certain atmosphere.”
Camille almost admired the honesty.
“You believe my presence harms the atmosphere?”
“No.”
“But having unauthorized people walking into maintenance areas does.”
Camille reached into her coat.
She carried a slim black folio.
Inside were inspection notices, lease documents, and copies of maintenance-access provisions.
She removed one sheet.
“This should resolve authorization.”
Everett glanced.
Did not read.
He took the folio from her hand.
Too quickly.
Camille’s eyes hardened.
“Give that back.”
He smiled.
“Let’s not make this theatrical.”
“You took something from my hand.”
“You’re standing in a controlled facility.”
“And that means?”
Arthur stepped closer.
“Everett.”
But not to stop him.
To manage scene.
Everett opened the folio.
He saw corporate headers.
His expression changed only slightly.
Then he looked at Camille.
“You printed some paperwork.”
Camille stared.
“You should read the first page.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That is an interesting approach to aircraft documentation.”
Everett’s face tightened.
Behind them, two mechanics slowed.
Watching.
Arthur noticed.
He lowered his voice.
“Ms. Vaughn, let’s move back toward the reception area.”
“No.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“You need to cooperate.”
“I have been cooperative.”
Everett closed the folio.
Then tossed it onto a stainless-steel tool cart beside the corridor.
The impact made one clasp open.
Papers shifted.
Camille looked at them.
Then at him.
“Pick it up.”
Everett laughed.
“No.”
Arthur said:
“Come on.”
Not to Everett.
To Camille.
“We’re not doing this.”