Page 109 of Mile High Ruin

I’m in Vadim Chernovar’s hotel suite, where practically everyone who comes through the door works for him, and my phone disappeared sometime after I went to sleep.

I know exactly who I’m blaming.

I grab the hotel robe, pull it around myself, tie the belt tightly enough to make a point, and head for the bedroom door with several increasingly creative insults already forming in my head.

The moment I step into the sitting room, I start talking. “If stealing my phone is your idea of what comes after almost having sex with someone, I should probably warn you that⁠—”

The rest dies in my throat.

Vadim is not alone.

Marek is sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee in one hand, looking far too awake for this hour, while Anton stands near the windows with a tablet and the grim expression of a man who has probably already been working for several hours.

Both of them turn toward me. Then, very predictably, their eyes move to the robe.

I tighten it around myself.

Marek’s mouth twitches.

Anton has the decency to look away.

Vadim does not.

He’s sitting at the head of the table in dark trousers and a black shirt, one hand resting beside a cup of coffee, and he looks irritatingly composed considering the fact that less than a few hours ago he was naked on a balcony accusing me of espionage while still hard enough to make the conversation deeply confusing.

His gaze stays on me for a second longer than necessary before he says, “Good morning.”

I stare at him. “Where is my phone?”

He picks up his coffee as though I have asked whether it’s raining outside. “Sit down and eat.”

The calmness of the answer irritates me more than outright refusal would have.

“I’m not hungry, and that was not what I asked.”

“There is breakfast.”

“I can see that.”

The table is covered with enough food to feed everyone on the floor, including eggs, fruit, bread, smoked salmon, pastries, yogurt, coffee, and at least three covered dishes I can’t identify from where I’m standing.

None of it matters.

“Where is my phone?”

Vadim takes a sip of coffee before answering. “Sit down first.”

I laugh once, without humor. “You can’t seriously think I’m going to sit down for breakfast while you avoid telling me why my phone disappeared in the middle of the night.”

“You barely ate yesterday.”

“Yesterday included an attempted assault, a gunfight, a dead pilot, a hospital visit, and you accusing me of doing something I don’t even understand, so forgive me if my nutritional routine became slightly inconsistent.”

Marek lowers his cup very carefully.

“There was a tracker found in your bag,” Vadim says quietly.

“Excuse me?” I say.