His Plump Mate (Book 1: The 'His' Series) novel Chapter 218

Chapter 218 Turbulent Air

Cecilia’s pov

I stood from the sofa.

“You’d better get going,” I said, voice even. “Time waits for no one-especially

not your pilot.”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with something murky-a blend of frustration,

regret, and the kind of silent math people do when trying to calculate how

much damage they’ve done.

“Yes, Ms. Secretary,” he said, aiming for humor and landing somewhere near

desperation.

He gave me a shallow smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then turned and

walked toward his room, shoulders tight beneath his perfect shirt.

The second he disappeared down the hall, I returned my attention to Muffin,

dangling a feather toy just out of her reach.

She batted at it with single-minded determination. Loyal. Predictable. Soft in

all the ways people rarely are.

Sawyer seized his moment, reaching over to scratch Muffin behind the ears.

“Listen, Cecilia… the Alpha really didn’t mean to abandon you last night,” he

said, lowering his voice like this was some kind of spy movie.

“It was Tang’s fault-he freaked out and told Sebastian you were safe. And Luna Regina was actually in danger, like real danger, not

society-scandal-danger.”

“It’s fine, Sawyer,” I said quietly, smoothing Muffin’s fur. “I understand. I’m not

angry.”

Sawyer gave me a look that said it all:

177

Sure. And I moonlight as the Queen of England.

Before I could add anything else, Tang bounded over like a golden retriever who knew he’d chewed the wrong shoes.

“It’s all my fault!” he said, eyes wide and hands flailing. “If I hadn’t left the

ballroom to report to the Alpha… I should’ve stayed with you! If you’re mad, just-just throw something at me. I deserve it.”

I laughed. Not bitter. Not cold. Just tired.

“Throw something at you? Please. I’d sprain my shoulder before I made a dent in all that gym membership.”

“Please, Cecilia…” His voice cracked a little. Real guilt. Real regret.

With a theatrical sigh, I grabbed Muffin’s tiny paw and tapped it against Tang’s chest.

“There. You’ve been officially paw-slapped by my legal representative. All is

forgiven.”

He looked down at the little gray paw like it had absolved him of war crimes.

And I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t mad.

Not at Tang. Not at Sawyer.

Not even at Sebastian, if I was being painfully honest.

Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped expecting people to show up just

because I would’ve.

Turns out, being someone’s priority isn’t something you get to assume.

When they come through? That’s luck.

When they don’t? That’s just people.

Chapter 218 Turbulent Air

Eight a.m. sharp.

Time to leave for the airport.

Tang wasn’t on the original manifest for this trip, but he’d volunteered- wide-eyed and eager, like a golden retriever begging for a second chance.

Sebastian hadn’t objected.

When we reached the SUV, Tang practically launched himself into the passenger seat like it was the last lifeboat off the Titanic.

Perfect. Just perfect.

With the front occupied, I slid into the back-where Sebastian already sat like

a storm cloud in a tailored coat.

The moment I settled in, his arm reached across me to grab the seatbelt.

The scent of his shower clung to him. Clean. Controlled. Dangerous.

It wrapped around me before I could stop it.

“I can handle my own seatbelt, Alpha,” I said, voice clipped.

“Oh,” he murmured, arm still stretched across my chest, eyes locked on mine. “I was afraid you might not know how.”

I gave him a thin, civil smile and pushed his chest back-gently, but firmly.

Sebastian withdrew, no argument, but I could feel the weight of his gaze like

static against my skin for the rest of the drive.

I turned my face toward the window, watching the blur of early-morning

Denver slide past.

Streetlights still blinked like they hadn’t gotten the memo sunrise was here.

Up front, Tang and Sawyer sat in a silence so thick, it buzzed.

If they spoke any less, I’d have to check their pulses.

We hit the airport curb a few minutes later, the kind of quiet still hanging that usually precedes either a confession or a crime scene.

At the airport, Tang and Sawyer practically launched themselves out of the

SUV like they’d just escaped a haunted house tour that went a little too real.

The reality of what lay ahead hit them all at once:

Ten hours.

One private jet.

Zero exits.

We boarded in efficient silence.

No one made small talk. Even the engines sounded like they were holding

their breath.

Once we were airborne, Sebastian had breakfast served.

He gestured for me to sit across from him, but I calmly sidestepped the offer, sliding into the seat beside Sawyer instead.

I unpacked my laptop and spread out my files with surgical precision.

Message received: not moving. Not interested.

After breakfast, we all buried ourselves in work.

Spreadsheets, reports, emails-the holy trinity of emotional avoidance.

Eventually, Sawyer and I took a breather and drifted into easy conversation.

We talked about the London office situation, swapped stories from past trips, and laughed over British oddities like how pubs close at 11 or that one cab driver who insisted the Queen shops at Tesco in disguise.

Sawyer was mid-story about ordering “chips” and getting fries instead when I

felt it-

That shift in pressure.

Not from the cabin’s altitude, but from Sebastian’s stare.

Cold. Focused. Unblinking.

Sawyer noticed too, His words trailed off like a man realizing too late he’d

wandered into a sniper’s range.

“I, uh… need to use the restroom,” he mumbled, standing like his chair had caught fire. Then, with laughable diplomacy: “Maybe chat with the Alpha,

Cecilia. He looks bored.”

“Better hurry before you wet yourself,” I replied sweetly, not looking up.

Sawyer took the escape hatch with zero hesitation, practically speed-walking to where Tang was teaching a flight attendant how to shuffle cards.

The cabin felt twice as wide with just Sebastian and me.

I flipped open my laptop again.

Break over.

Work mode re-engaged. Conversation unnecessary.

Especially with anyone emotionally radioactive.

Sebastian stood.

Claimed Sawyer’s empty seat like it was a throne.

“I know London like the back of my hand,” he said, smiling as if we were two friends on vacation. “You should let me show you around, Cece.”

Without lifting my eyes, I replied evenly, Please address me as Ms. Moore,

Alpha.”

He leaned in, voice softer. “Cece, we’re off the clock.”

I shifted away until my shoulder pressed against the cabin wall.

“How is a business trip ever off the clock? Every hour is billable, remember?”

“I’m the boss,” he said, inching closer.

His breath was warm, too close. “I decide when we’re working.”

With nowhere left to retreat-short of phasing through the fuselage-l

snapped my laptop shut and turned to face him fully.

“Fine. You’re the boss. You own the plane, the company, the air we’re

breathing. Congratulations.”

My voice was cool, but my eyes didn’t flinch.

“But I don’t want to talk to you.”

That landed.

Sebastian looked like I’d slapped him with a signed affidavit.

I pointed to his original seat. “Go back over there. During personal time, I get

to choose who I talk to. And right now, I’m choosing silence.”

His brow furrowed with something almost vulnerable-frustration laced with

regret.

“Cece, can we please just talk about this?”