Chapter 42 Chapter 42
Lena’s POV
The morning of the trip arrives faster than I’m emotionally prepared for. My alarm rings at five, slicing through my half-sleep like a blade. I groan into my pillow, feeling the weight of exhaustion tug at my bones. I barely slept. Not because of packing—Avery practically forced me to overpack last night—but because my mind refused to shut up about one irritating, infuriating, annoyingly handsome man.
Sebastian.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his unreadable expression, heard his cold voice, replayed the moment he said “Remember why you’re hired.” I should hate him. I want to hate him. But then there are those stupid moments when he’s unexpectedly soft, or he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. And those moments ruin everything.
I drag myself out of bed, get ready, and head outside where a sleek black company car is already waiting. The driver greets me politely and loads my bags. As we pull away, I grip my phone like it’s a lifeline and try not to overthink everything that’s about to happen.
A work trip.
A private jet.
A confined space with the one man who makes my heart betray me every single time.
God help me.
When we arrive at the private hangar, I step out of the car and breathe in the chilly morning air. The building is quiet except for the soft hum of engines in the distance. Parked on the runway is a massive white private jet with the company’s silver logo gleaming on the tail.
It looks expensive. Like ridiculously expensive. Of course it is—he’s on it.
I pull my trench coat tighter around myself, inhaling sharply before walking toward the jet stairs. A flight attendant in a crisp navy uniform welcomes me with a warm smile.
“Good morning, Ms. Sawyer. Welcome aboard.”
“Good morning,” I reply, trying not to sound nervous.
The interior is even more luxurious than I expected. Cream-colored leather seats. Soft golden lights. Polished marble flooring. A conference table. A lounge area. The air smells faintly of cedarwood and something else… something familiar.
Him.
Sebastian is already inside.
Of course he is.
He’s sitting near the window, scrolling through something on his iPad, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that fits him so perfectly it should be illegal. His hair is slightly tousled—as if he ran his fingers through it a few minutes ago—and a faint shadow of stubble darkens his jaw. He looks unfairly good for someone who probably slept like a stone.
When his eyes lift to mine, his expression doesn’t change immediately. It’s that calm, cool, unreadable mask he always wears. But there’s a flicker—brief, subtle, like a spark he quickly buries.
“Good morning,” he says.
His voice is smooth but firm. Professional.
Right. Professional.
“Good morning,” I mirror, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel.
I walk past him toward my seat, pretending I don’t feel his gaze following me, tracing me like warm fingers across my back. I put my bag down and sit, but the leather is so soft it makes me sink, and I have to wiggle awkwardly to get comfortable.
Smooth, Lena. Very smooth.
He watches me with that annoyingly unreadable expression.
“Comfortable?” he asks, voice low.
“Yes,” I mutter. “Very.”
He hums, not quite a laugh, but close. And I hate myself for noticing.
The jet door closes, and the engines begin to hum louder. We’re the only two passengers. The silence between us grows heavy, thick with unspoken things.
I pull out my tablet and pretend to review the presentation materials. Sebastian returns to his iPad. The air-conditioning is cool, but my palms are sweating.
Thirty seconds pass.
Sixty.
Two minutes.
And then he sighs—quietly but sharply—and sets his iPad down.
“Lena.”
God. Why does my name sound so… intimate when he says it?
“Yes?” My voice cracks slightly, and I want to melt into the floor.
“I expect you to maintain professionalism during this trip.”
I blink. “I am being professional.”
“Then continue to be.”
What the hell?
My jaw tightens. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”
He looks at me for a long moment. Too long. I look away first, annoyed at myself.
The jet takes off, the rumble vibrating under my feet. I grip the armrest as we ascend, trying to hide how tense flying makes me. Sebastian glances at my hand, then at my face.
“You’re nervous,” he observes.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re gripping the armrest like it owes you money.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I snap, refusing to admit anything.
His lips twitch. Almost a smile. Almost.
Hours pass. We talk very little, mostly about the work schedule. But every silence between us feels… charged.
I stand to stretch my legs, walking slowly down the aisle. The jet sways gently, and I brace a hand against a seat.
Sebastian stands too, heading in the same direction. Of course. Perfect timing, as usual.
When he steps into the narrow aisle, I realize instantly that there isn’t enough space for both of us to pass normally. The jet sways again, and we almost collide chest-to-chest.
Oh, hell.
He stops inches from me. Too close. Way too close. I can smell his cologne—dark, woodsy, maddening. He looks down at me, eyes intense, as if the whole world has narrowed to just us in that tiny sliver of space.
“Excuse me,” I whisper, my throat dry.
“You should’ve waited,” he murmurs.
His voice is lower than before. Quieter. Rougher.
“It’s a hallway, not a highway. I can walk in it too.” I try to shift sideways, but there’s no space. My shoulder brushes his chest—just barely—but the contact sends a jolt straight to my stomach.
His breath catches.
I feel it. I hear it.
The jet dips slightly. My balance falters. I stumble forward—
And his hands catch my waist.
Firm. Warm. Steady.
My breath stutters, loud in the silence between us.
His face is inches from mine. His fingers press into my sides. His heartbeat thuds against my chest. His eyes drop to my mouth—slowly, deliberately—and then lift again, filled with something molten, something he’s fighting hard to restrain.
“Be careful,” he says softly.
His voice… God. It’s not cold. Not this time. It’s something else entirely.
“I—I’m fine,” I whisper, unable to look away.
I should move. I should. But I don’t. I can’t. He doesn’t move either. We stand there, breathing each other’s breaths, trapped in a moment that feels like it’s pulling us closer without permission.
Then the jet shakes—harder this time.
I fall forward again—straight into his chest.
His arm wraps around me instinctively, holding me in place. His other hand comes up… hesitates… then brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
For a moment that stretches like eternity, we hover right on the edge of a kiss.
His gaze drops to my lips again. I swear I feel him lean in a fraction—
And then, he freezes, Just stops.
His jaw tenses. His eyes shutter. The moment snaps like a broken string.
He releases me abruptly and steps back, slipping behind his cold mask so fast it makes my head spin.
“That was unprofessional,” he says, voice flat again.
The sting of the words hits like ice water.
“I lost my balance,” I shoot back. “You were the one who—”
“Let’s keep personal entanglements out of this trip.”
Personal entanglements.
God, I want to slap him.
I lift my chin, keeping my voice steady. “Trust me, Sebastian there’s no risk of entanglement."
A lie.
A big, messy, humiliating lie.
He nods stiffly, brushes past me, and returns to his seat.
I stand frozen for a moment, heart pounding, breath uneven.
What the hell was that?
Why does he do this?
Why does he pull me in only to push me away like he suddenly remembered I’m untouchable?
I hate him.
I want him.
I hate that I want him.
I walk back to my seat, sit down, and stare blankly out the window as clouds drift by beneath us. My heart is still racing, my skin still tingling where he touched me.
By the time we land, my emotions are a complete disaster.
This man is going to be the death of me.