Chapter 68
Nora's POV
Julian's message burned into my retinas.
Henry stood beside me, scrolling through his own phone. I forced my expression neutral and typed back quickly: "I need to get home for dinner tonight. If there's something urgent, just text."
The elevator doors slid open. Henry looked up from his screen, confusion flickering across his face. "Everything okay?"
I shoved my phone into my pocket. "Yeah. Fine."
He didn't look convinced, but he let it go. "I was thinking of grabbing some wine on the way to your aunt's place. There's a good shop near the hospital. Want to meet me in the B2 parking garage in ten minutes?"
I nodded absently. "Sure. See you there."
We stepped out into the lobby. Henry headed toward the exit while I made my way to the parking garage, my mind spinning. Why is Julian here?
The underground parking garage was cold and dim, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I walked quickly toward my car, scanning the rows of vehicles for Julian's black Lincoln Navigator.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Incoming call: Julian Sterling.
I stopped beside my car and took a deep breath before answering. My voice came out tighter than I intended. "Julian?"
His voice was low, with an edge I hadn't heard before. "Hiding from me, Nora?"
I gripped my keys harder. "I'm not hiding from you. I just have family plans tonight."
A pause. It stretched too long, and my pulse kicked up.
Then his voice came back, colder. "With Phillips?"
The way he said Henry's last name—flat, clipped—sent a chill down my spine. I glanced around the empty garage. Is he watching me right now?
"Henry's a friend," I said quickly. "I'm just thanking him for helping with my mom. So I invited him to dinner at my aunt's place."
Julian made a sound—somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. Then the line went dead.
I stared at my phone screen. Call ended.
My stomach twisted. Confusion, guilt, and something else I couldn't name churned inside me. Why do I feel like I got caught doing something wrong?
---
Footsteps echoed across the concrete. I turned and saw Henry approaching, a wine bottle in hand. His smile was warm and easy. "I brought a Napa Valley Cabernet. Your uncle will love it."
I forced a smile and helped him load the bottle into my trunk. Henry was always thoughtful like this. It made me feel grateful and stressed in equal measure.
I slid into the driver's seat and turned the key. The dashboard lit up, but a yellow warning icon flashed immediately. LEFT REAR TIRE PRESSURE LOW.
My heart sank. "You've got to be kidding me."
Henry leaned down to check through the passenger window. "What's wrong?"
"Tire pressure warning." I killed the engine and climbed out.
Henry was already heading toward the back of the car when his phone rang. He answered it, and his expression shifted instantly—obvious delight blooming across his face. "Nora, I'm sorry. I have to get back to the department."
I waved him off. "Go, go! Don't worry about me."
"Call me if you need help!" He left those words behind as he turned and jogged toward the elevator.
I stood alone in the silent garage, the fluorescent lights humming above me. I crouched beside the left rear tire and found the problem immediately—a rusty nail embedded deep in the rubber. The tire was completely flat.
I popped the trunk and stared at the spare tire and jack. I have no idea how to do this.
I pulled out my phone to call a tow service, but before I could dial, a voice cut through the silence.
"So he just left you here?"
I jumped and spun around.
Julian stood a few feet away, leaning against a concrete pillar with his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
My pulse hammered in my ears. "How long have you been standing there?"
He pushed off the pillar and walked toward me, his movements slow and deliberate. "Long enough to see Mr. Phillips bring you expensive wine and then vanish when you actually need help."
I bit back the urge to roll my eyes. "He had an emergency. It's not his fault."
Julian stopped beside my car, looking down at the flat tire. "Do you know how to change this?"
"No."
"Neither do I." He pulled out his phone. "Better call roadside assistance."
I watched as he dialed, still trying to process the fact that he was here, in this garage, at this exact moment.
He finished the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Then he leaned against my car door, arms crossed, and gave me a look that was equal parts amused and wounded. "You know, some people are cold-blooded and ungrateful. They'd rather invite a friend who abandons them at the first sign of trouble than see someone who actually cares about them."
I blinked at him. Is he seriously doing this right now?
"Are you... sulking?" I asked, incredulous.
His mouth twitched. "I'm stating facts."
"You sound like a completely different person."
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
I couldn't take it anymore. I opened my car door and slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind me. If I can't see him, maybe he'll stop being ridiculous.
A sharp knock on the window made me jump.
I glared at him through the glass. He made a rolling motion with his hand. Lower the window.
I hesitated, then pressed the button. The window slid down halfway.
Julian leaned in, reached through the gap, and flicked my forehead.
"Ow!" I jerked back, hand flying to my head. "What the hell was that for?"
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "A little punishment for being ungrateful."
I gaped at him. This was the Federal Inspector General? The man who terrified local officials and commanded entire investigations with a single word?
"You—asshole!" I stopped myself, heat rushing to my face.
His smile widened. "Good. Looks like our relationship has made new progress. You're finally treating me like a normal person instead of some distant authority figure."
I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. He was right. I'd dropped the formalities without even realizing it.
My phone buzzed in my lap.