Page 3 of Mile High Ruin

“He gets bored eventually.”

“I’m sure disappointment will speed up the process.”

That earns me a brief smile.

“You handled him well.”

“I’ve handled worse.” The words come out before I can decide whether I want to discuss what happened at my previous job.

Camille doesn’t ask. I appreciate her for that.

She places the water in the refrigerator, then begins inspecting the dinner setup. Her movements are quick but never rushed. She adjusts the position of a silver fork by less than an inch and smooths one corner of a folded napkin.

Private aviation, I’m beginning to understand, is built on details so small that ordinary passengers would never notice them.

“You worked international first class?” she asks.

“Six years.”

“Then the service itself won’t be difficult. The expectations are different.”

“How different?”

“They don’t want enthusiasm. They want accuracy. You speak when addressed. You anticipate without hovering. You remember every preference, even if it was mentioned once six months ago.”

“I can do that.”

“I assumed you could, or I would have objected when the agency sent your file.”

I glance at her. “You reviewed my file?”

“Of course.”

“And you still let me on the aircraft?”

Her hand pauses over the cutlery. It’s the only sign that she understands what I’m referring to.

“I read the official report,” she says.

“That must have been entertaining.”

“I’ve been doing this long enough to know official reports are written to protect whoever signs them.”

My opinion of her improves considerably.

She straightens and checks her watch. “They will be here soon.”

“Four passengers?”

“Yes.”

I glance toward the manifest lying face down near the service phone. I’ve not reviewed it yet. I should have, but the agency brief was rushed, and Camille began walking me through the aircraft the moment I arrived.

“What should I know?”

Her expression becomes guarded. “The principal values discretion.”

“Most wealthy passengers do.”