"Mr. Green, please have these documents sent to Indra as soon as possible. Gosh, this woman has been a total nightmare from day one of this new exhibition project. I don't understand, I've gone through every single document four times myself! Yet, she always found something to halt the process with." Clarke ranted as she entered the lift.

"Dr. Griffin, I've gone through the documents thoroughly myself. I'm sure this time will be it." Monty replied politely, as he pushed the button for the 8th floor.

"Pray to the lords, I hope that you're right."

"Yes, Doctor. However, there's some-" Monty started, without being able to finish.

"Mr. Green, how does my schedule for the remaining of the week look like?" Clarke asked tiredly, as she rubbed her temples.

Looking at his tired boss, Monty dutifully pushed down what he was going to say, and replied to her first.

"With the contract signed, there's nothing that can stop both our side and the British to fully cooperate and finalise this exhibition. But, there's something else."

"Yes?"

"There is someone by the name of Thelonious Jaha from immigration, that's been trying to reach you." At the mention of this name, he could see his boss, cringe a bit. So he quickly added:

"I've told him that you're busy of course, with everything going on. However, doctor, is there something you need help with?" He finally added, his voiced laced with concerned.

Relaxing, Clarke gave him a weak smile, as she stepped out the lift. Turning around, she shook her head lightly.

"Thank you, Monty. But there's nothing to worry about. Leave me his contact details on my desk and I'll deal with it. It been a long week. You can leave after you sent those documents. Bye!"

She waved as the doors to the lift closed. Letting out a large sigh, she turned on her heel, heading without doubt, to yet another laborious meeting with her boss.

Standing outside his office, Clarke raised her hand to knock on the large oak doors, but stopped herself before impact. Fighting the pounding of her headache and sleep deprived body, she took a large breath and inhaled. Letting it all out, she forced herself too look, if not cheerful, at least alert before knocking.

"Doctor Griffin, when can I expect this grand exhibition of the Egyptian Legacy that you've so well promoted?" said the calm, but cold voice of Marcus Kane, Head Curator of the Smithsonian.

Without blinking, Clarke answered with an equally cold voice, devoid of any of her aggravating emotions.

"The project is at its finalising stages, so it will meet the deadline of three months' time from now."

"Three months you say? Doctor Griffin, if memory doesn't fail me, I recall vaguely a similar statement made half a year ago." Kane had not raised his voice, but he was sitting utterly still on his ambassador chair, behind an old desk, an antique no doubt. Not that it was her area of expertise or anything.

Clenching her fists, she schooled her face, and replied.

"Unforeseen mishaps, sir."

"Clarke, honey, this is not an interrogation. Please, all I want to know is that this time for sure, nothing will cause a loss for the institution. As grand as the returns for your little project might be, that you assure us of by the way, all I can see so far, is that the costs has been exceeded and the request this time for the extension is pushing us thin. Do we have an understanding?"

Curse that hag, Indra! If she had only approved of her request all those months ago, things might have sailed on a different course. But pushing the blame on someone else, is not professional, and neither is it going to solve the problem.

"Of course, sir. Now, if there's nothing else, I'd like to leave. I have many things to oversee before the opening date for my little project."

Clarke was all but ready to leave that dreaded office, that stunk of sour old coffee and dust, but was stopped, before she had the chance to flee.

"I see you are among the 2 candidates for the next promotion. It seems like people like you here." Kane, started again, browsing through a heap of paperwork in front of him, not acknowledging her presence.

Liked? She had been working her ass off for this institution the moment she landed in this god forsaken land. Surely, being British might make one believe that she would be well received on account of her "exotic" background, however, her slightly posh accent from the upbringing in Oxford, labelled her as a stuck up bitch instead of the opposite. As for the few fellow kinsmen, they all had their own struggles; there was no bonding of kinship here, no.

Kane's statement was loud and clear. If this exhibition for some reason did not meet this new deadline, or that it would not bring in the revenue she had promised, promotion would be the least of her problems. Curse this sodded place! Clarke left the office, and did her best not to slam the door after her. She did try.

There, Clarke just signed the last document. After the meeting with her boss from hell, she had decided to stay at work and go through some more documents to vent off some steam. It was amazing how much one can accomplish with a mind filled with murdering scenarios. She checked her cell for the time, and let out a sigh. It was 3:28AM. Guess old Gustav, would have to let her out again. Her authority badge would no longer work, and she did not want another reason for Kane to dismiss her promotion any further.

Just when she grabbed her coat and her hand bag, her phone started to buzz.

"Hello?" She answered tentatively.

"Clarke? Good god, woman, why are you still up? What time is it over there? 4AM?" Raven's voice echoed in the silent building.

"Just a bit past half three, actually. Besides, you called me knowing very well, that I would answer."

Clarke finally relaxed and settled down on her chair again.

"Fine, you win. You're no fun."

"Well, isn't that's why you exist?" Clarke asked, smiling.

"Damn, you're right I am." Raven answered within a heartbeat.

"So, spill it. What is it now?"

"We're getting married." Came Raven's cool voice. Her tone suggesting that it wasn't a big deal or anything.

"Oh my days…"

"So clear that busy schedule of yours, and get your ass over here by Saturday." Raven commanded.

"That's in two days' time! You want me to drop everything and fly across the country for you?" Clarke's astonished voice replied to the audacity of her friend. Her only friend in this foreign country. So of course she would drop everything. She was, in fact, shuffling papers and files across her desk, trying to locate her diary.

"What are you saying, sister? Are you going to leave me at the altar all by myself?" Raven's mocked hurt tone forced Clarke to hold a giggle.

"Tell me something though. What's up with the short notice? Don't tell me you're showing?"

"Hah! Like that would have stopped me?"

"True. So what is it? Can't wait to make the enslavement official?"

"Kyle? Honestly, I would not care if we got married or not. And even if we had too, I wouldn't mind a Vegas one either. But Kyle is a bit old fashioned. He has this thing going on."

"You mean, he's being romantic?" By this point, Clarke had given in, and was giggling like mad.

"Oh, hush." Raven tried to play it cool. But soon gave in herself.

Clarke finally found her diary. But on top of the diary laid her favourite baguette from o'Neils around the corner, with shredded duck and mango chutney. Attached to it, was a green sticky note from her trusted assistant.

Eat, skipping on meals is not good for you.

"Clarke?" Raven asked worriedly.

Smiling, Clarke put the phone on speaker, as she unwrapped her present from Monty.

"Mhm."

"What's more important than my wedding?" Raven demanded.

Swallowing, Clarke replied.

"It seems like this country has its charm."

"Honestly Clarke, just go home. You can work as much as you like from there. The only difference is that you can nap in a perfectly functional bed, instead of that wooden chair at that office of yours."

"Raven, you've never been to my office."

"That's not the point. I'll text you the location. Looking forward to finally see you, hon."

"Indeed, I could use a break."

"Clarke, what's your opinion of blue?"

Stopping with her devouring motions, Clarke grabbed the phone.

"Raven!"