I pushed the service cart into the cabin a few minutes later. Adrian stared at the entertainment screen as though a movie could hide him. The woman beside him did the opposite, lifting her chin with the careless entitlement of someone who had not yet understood the cost of the seat she occupied.
“Excuse me,” she said, barely looking at my name tag. “Bring us the Krug. We are celebrating.”
I opened the bottle with steady hands, the cork releasing with a dry, precise pop.
“Congratulations,” I said as I poured. “Is this celebration for the increased corporate credit line, Adrian? The one your wife guaranteed personally?”
The woman froze with the glass halfway to her mouth.
“Your wife guaranteed what?”
Adrian’s face dampened with panic.
“Mara, do not do this here,” he whispered. “This is not the place.”
“You are right,” I said, still smiling. “This is my workplace. Your job, for the moment, is to enjoy this flight while you still can.”
