Page 2 of Mile High Ruin

A slow smile spreads across his face. He has the confidence of a man who has rarely been told to stop and has mistaken that for charm. “The agency mentioned you came from commercial.”

“The agency appears very generous with information.”

“You don’t have to be defensive.”

“I’m not.”

He steps further into the galley. The space is compact, designed for efficiency rather than conversation, and his presence makes it smaller. I stay where I am, back straight, expression neutral.

Years of dealing with men like him have taught me that composure is often more effective than anger. Anger excites them. Calmness reminds them that they are not controlling the interaction.

Warren rests one hand on the counter beside me. “You’ll like private aviation,” he says. “Fewer passengers. Better money. More freedom.”

“That sounds promising.”

“The crew gets close.”

There it is.

I pick up a folded napkin and inspect the edge, though it doesn’t need inspecting. “I prefer professional distance.”

“Everybody says that on the first flight.”

I look at him. “And yet I meant it.”

His smile stays in place, but something behind it hardens. He’s not accustomed to being challenged, especially not politely enough that he can’t accuse me of making a scene.

Before he can answer, footsteps sound behind him. Camille enters carrying a tray of bottled water. Her eyes move from Warren to me, taking in the distance between us, his position, and the way his hand is resting on the counter.

She understands immediately.

“Captain,” she says, “the updated weather report came through.”

“I already saw it.”

“Then perhaps you should discuss it with the copilot.”

“We have time.”

“And several checks to complete in that time.”

For a moment, neither of them moves.

Then Warren pushes away from the counter. He glances at me. “We’ll finish this later.”

“No,” I say pleasantly. “We won’t.”

His eyes narrow.

Camille lowers her head, pretending to examine the water bottles, but I catch the faint movement at the corner of her mouth.

Warren disappears toward the cockpit without replying.

I wait until the door closes before turning back to the champagne.

“He likes new crew,” Camille says.

“I noticed.”