Page 8 of Mile High Ruin

The younger man near the window coughs into his fist.

The man with the portfolio lowers his eyes.

Vadim doesn’t smile, but something cold and interested settles over his features. “You find safety procedures amusing, Miss…”

“Mercer. Sloane Mercer.”

“Miss Mercer.”

“I take safety very seriously. I simply don’t believe the bag requires further discussion.”

Silence settles over the cabin.

I’m aware of Camille watching from the galley. I’m aware that this man owns the aircraft and, apparently, the company that hired me.

I’m also aware that I’m right.

Vadim leans back in his seat. His gaze moves over my face slowly, not lecherously like Warren’s, but with an intensity that feels far more intrusive.

“No,” he says at last. “I suppose it does not.”

“Will there be anything else?”

“Not yet.”

I incline my head and turn away. My pace remains measured as I walk back toward the galley. Only after I’m beyond his direct line of sight do I release the breath sitting beneath my ribs.

Camille stares at me.

“What?” I ask.

“You should be more careful.”

“I was perfectly polite.”

“You told Vadim Chernovar that his concern didn’t require further discussion.”

“He agreed.”

Her mouth opens, then closes.

Behind us, one of the men says something in Russian. Another replies with what sounds suspiciously like laughter.

I begin preparing the remaining drinks.

I know three things about Vadim Chernovar.

He is powerful.

He is rude.

And despite the silver hair, the expensive suit, and the force of his presence, I already dislike him enough to make this flight considerably easier.

2

VADIM

I should be listening to Iosef.