Mid-forties.
Pale skin.
Silver watch.
No tie.
A smile that assumed itself charming.
“Ma’am.”
Camille stopped.
He held one hand loosely in front of her.
“Private area.”
“I’m aware.”
“Event floor is back there.”
“I’m not looking for event floor.”
His smile remained.
“Then perhaps I can help.”
“I’m going to aircraft four.”
The smile changed.
“Why?”
“Maintenance review.”
He looked at her gown.
Then slowly at her hat.
Then back to her face.
Camille had been underestimated in many rooms.
This particular version was familiar.
The person in front of her had already decided there was no possible connection between the woman he was seeing and the words she had spoken.
He laughed softly.
“Maintenance review.”
“Yes.”
“You’re wearing enough crystal to blind a pilot.”
Camille said nothing.
The man extended a hand.
“Everett Shaw.”
She knew him.
Director of guest relations and operations for Atlas Crown.
Former luxury-yacht executive.
Not one of Sovereign Arc’s owners, but close to them.
“Camille Vaughn.”
She waited.
No recognition.
Interesting.
Everett said:
“Ms. Vaughn, if somebody promised you a private aircraft tour, they should have arranged it through me.”
“Nobody promised me a tour.”
“Then what exactly are you doing?”
“I told you.”
“Maintenance.”
“Yes.”
Everett’s smile vanished.
“Hangar Two is a controlled technical area.”
“I know.”
“Guests can’t wander around because they’re curious.”
“I’m not a guest.”
“What are you?”
Camille could have ended it.
She almost did.
Then she heard her father’s voice.
Not literally.
Memory.
He had spent thirty years running a commercial refrigeration company before Camille was old enough to understand what ownership meant.
Whenever he visited one of his warehouses, he dressed simply.
No warning.
No entourage.
He used to tell her:
“If people treat you well because they know who you are, you learned nothing.”
So Camille looked at Everett.
“Someone with authorization.”
He smiled again.
“That’s what everyone says.”
Then another man approached.
Older.
Fifties.
Charcoal blazer.
Open-collar white shirt.
Sandy hair.
Arthur Niles.
General manager of Atlas Crown.
Camille knew his name from reports.
They had never met.
Arthur looked at Everett.
“Problem?”
Everett gestured toward Camille.
“Ms. Vaughn would like to conduct a maintenance inspection.”
Arthur looked at her outfit.
A small laugh escaped.
Camille noticed.
Arthur caught himself.
“Apologies.”
“For?”
“Nothing.”
“No, please.”
Camille’s voice remained calm.
“Finish.”
Arthur shook his head.