In RusTech
Author's POV
The sleek, chrome-and-glass conference room at RusTech's headquarters hummed with the residual energy of a high-stakes negotiation. Lev Petrov, CEO, stood as he shook hands with Anya Volkov, CEO of Stellar Dynamics, a rising star in the aerospace sector.
"A pleasure, Anya," he said, his voice a low, resonant baritone, a hint of his Russian accent lingering. "I believe this partnership will prove mutually beneficial."
Anya, a woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, smiled. "Indeed, Lev. I look forward to seeing the fruits of our collaboration."
As the Stellar Dynamics team filed out, Lev watched them go, a flicker of satisfaction in his steel-grey eyes. He turned to his assistant, Sergei, who stood patiently by the door.
"Reschedule my afternoon appointments, Sergei. And clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I need to be in my office."
"Of course, Mr. Petrov," Sergei replied, his voice efficient and respectful.
Lev entered his expansive office, a minimalist space with a panoramic view of the city skyline. He sank into his leather chair, the cool surface a welcome contrast to the lingering tension of the meeting. He pulled up a complex algorithm on his monitor, the intricate code a familiar comfort.
Just as he was beginning to lose himself in the lines of data, his phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID:
"Mama."
___________________________
In JFK airport
Evva's POV
The biting New York wind, a stark contrast to the balmy San Francisco air I'd left behind, whipped around me as I emerged from the JFK terminal. The scent of jet fuel and damp concrete filled my nostrils, a familiar, yet unwelcome, homecoming. I tugged my cashmere scarf tighter, the pale rose fabric a soft whisper against the harsh grey of the city.
My eyes, still slightly puffy from the long flight and the emotional farewell to my family, scanned the throng of people holding up signs and waiting for arrivals.
I'd just spent a whirlwind week celebrating my Aunt Isabelle's 60th birthday, a woman who seemed to defy time itself, her laughter as vibrant as the bougainvillea in her garden. The memories, sun-drenched afternoons, shared meals, and whispered family stories, still lingered, a warm glow in my chest.
My smile flickered, a ghost of the joy I'd felt just hours before. I hadn't wanted to leave. San Francisco felt like a sanctuary, a world away from the relentless pace of my life in New York. But duty called. La Vie En Rose Atelier, my eponymous fashion design company, demanded my attention.
I sighed, the sound lost in the roar of passing traffic. My assistant, Jackson, was supposed to be here, holding a sign with my name, ready to whisk me away to the organized chaos of my studio. I checked my watch, a sleek, minimalist design that reflected my own aesthetic. Five minutes late. Not terribly long, but enough to make me feel a ripple of irritation.
I shifted my weight, the wheels of my vintage leather suitcase catching on a crack in the pavement. The weight of the luggage, filled with gifts and the lingering scent of my aunt's lavender perfume, seemed to mirror the weight of my responsibilities.
"Jackson, where are you?" I muttered under my breath, my gaze still searching for her secretary in the crowd.
The rose-tinted glasses I wore, a signature accessory, couldn't quite filter out the grey reality of my return. The city, with its towering skyscrapers and relentless energy, felt both familiar and foreign, a demanding lover I couldn't quite shake off.
As I scanned the crowd, my gaze landed on two women standing near the information booth. One was older, with a regal bearing and a hint of sadness in her eyes. The other, younger, thinking she looked to be around the same age as my own sister.
They seemed to be waiting for someone, their eyes constantly scanning the arriving passengers. There was a faint familiarity about them, though I couldn't place it.
Just then, a tall, broad-shouldered man approached the women. He seemed to speak to them with a quiet authority. My attention was diverted as my phone rang.
"Jackson" I answered, my voice a mix of relief and impatience.
"Evva! I'm so sorry, traffic was a nightmare. I'm here, but I don't see you. Where are you?" Jackson's voice, usually calm, was laced with apology.
"I'm near the information booth, by gate 12. Look for a woman with rose-tinted glasses and a vintage leather suitcase," I said, keeping my eyes moving.
"Hurry, Jackson."
As I spoke, I turned and began walking towards gate 12, my focus shifting to navigating the throng of people. The image of the two women and the man faded into the background, a fleeting encounter in the chaos of the airport.
_______________________
Previous part
LEV'S POV
I glanced at the caller ID:
"Mama."
a soft warmth spreading through me. I hadn't heard from her in a few days, and a gentle wave of affection washed over me.
I picked up the phone, a soft smile playing on my lips. "Hey, Mom," I said, my voice quiet, a touch of tenderness lacing the greeting. The usual office tension seemed to melt away, replaced by a simple, comforting feeling.
"Yes, Mother, what is it?" I asked, shifting the receiver to my other ear, the smile still firmly in place. I leaned back in my leather executive chair, the panoramic city view blurring into an abstract backdrop.
Everything's fine here, Mother," I reassured her, preempting any worried questions. "Just working, you know. A few deals closing, it's been... intense."
I glanced at the stacks of reports and contracts littering my desk, a testament to the relentless pace of my life.
I listened intently, nodding occasionally, my eyes softening.
"No, no, I've been eating properly. Though, nothing beats your bouillabaisse," I chuckled, a mental image of her renowned 5-star San Francisco restaurant, "BLOOM," flashing through his mind.
Then, her voice, usually strong and clear, took on an unusual tone. "My son," she began, a hint of playful exasperation mixed with concern, "I've just landed at JFK."
My eyebrows shot up. "JFK? Mother! What are you doing in New York?"
"Surprise!" she declared, her voice regaining some of its usual vibrancy. "Your sister and I decided to come visit. We wanted to surprise you. But..." a slight hesitation entered her voice, "your father, who was supposed to pick me up, had an... urgent matter come up."
"And?" I prompted, a flicker of concern now mixed with surprise.
"And, darling, I know you're busy, but could you send someone to get me? I'm a bit overwhelmed, and your sister is handling the luggage."
I blinked, the image of her, the formidable owner of "BLOOM", standing amidst the chaos of JFK, momentarily jarring.
"Of course, Mother! Absolutely. I ain't that busy So,Just stay put, and I'll be there in a flash. What terminal are you at?"
I could feel the worry beginning to recede, replaced by a surge of relief and a faint amusement. My mother, always full of surprises.
☆☆☆☆☆