Mister Weston

by Whitney G.

  MISTER

  WESTON

  previously published as the USA Today bestselling novel, Turbulence*

  Whitney G.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Whitney G.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs.

  Editing by Evelyn Guy of Indie Edit Guy.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Mister Weston

  TURBULENCE (n:)

  TERMINAL A: | BOY MEETS GIRL

  GATE A1 | JAKE

  GATE A2 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GATE A3 | GILLIAN

  GATE A4 | GILLIAN

  GATE A5 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GATE A6 | GILLIAN

  TERMINAL B: | BOY CHARMS GIRL

  GATE B7 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GATE B8 | GILLIAN

  GATE B9 | GILLIAN

  GATE B10 | JAKE

  GATE B11 | GILLIAN

  GATE B12 | JAKE

  GATE B13 | GILLIAN

  GATE B14 | GILLIAN

  GATE B15 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GATE B16 | GILLIAN

  GATE B17 | JAKE

  GATE B18 | GILLIAN

  GATE B19 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GATE B20 | JAKE

  GATE B21 | GILLIAN

  GATE B22 | GILLIAN

  GATE B23 | JAKE

  GATE B24 | GILLIAN

  GATE B25 | JAKE

  GATE B26 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GATE B27 | GILLIAN

  GATE B28 | GILLIAN

  GATE B29 | GILLIAN

  GATE B30 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GATE B31 | JAKE

  GATE B32 | GILLIAN

  GATE B33 | GILLIAN

  GATE B34 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GATE B35 | JAKE

  GATE B36 | JAKE

  GATE B37 | GILLIAN

  GATE B38 | JAKE

  TERMINAL C: | BOY FUCKS GIRL

  GILLIAN

  GILLIAN

  GATE C39 | GILLIAN

  GATE C40 | JAKE

  GATE C41 | GILLIAN

  GATE C42 | JAKE

  GATE C43 | GILLIAN

  OFFICIAL ELITE AIRWAYS PRESS RELEASE

  GATE C44 | JAKE

  GATE C45 | GILLIAN

  OFFICIAL ELITE AIRWAYS PRESS RELEASE

  GATE C46 | GILLIAN

  GATE C47 | GILLIAN

  GATE C48 | JAKE

  GILLIAN

  GATE C49 | JAKE

  GATE C50 | JAKE

  GATE C51 | GILLIAN

  OFFICIAL ELITE AIRWAYS PRESS RELEASE

  GATE C52 | JAKE

  GATE C53 | GILLIAN

  GATE C54 | GILLIAN

  REASONABLE DOUBT (Sneak Peek)

  SYNOPSIS

  REASONABLE DOUBT | (VOLUME ONE)

  Prologue

  Contract (n.):

  Perjury (n.):

  A Letter to the Reader

  ALSO BY WHITNEY G.

  This is for you.

  Only for you.

  TURBULENCE (n:)

  The quality or state of violent disorder or commotion.1 Chaotic or unstable motion in the atmosphere.2 US. Anything and everything that characterizes us.3

  PRE-BOARDING

  GILLIAN

  Prologue

  HOW MANY TIMES WILL you burn me?

  Three, four, five, maybe ten—

  Is it me who’s burning you?

  Yes, ‘this’ needs to end.

  If you walk away first, I’ll follow suit.

  I’ve told you this before, and yet you never do...

  THE FIRST TIME I FLEW through severe turbulence, I swore on my life I’d never fly again.

  It happened during a red-eye flight from Seattle to London, when three hours in, we were swept up in a sudden summer storm. The plane shook violently as the passengers screamed and prayed for their lives, and my calm assurances of “Hold on! Everyone, please just hold on!” fell on deaf ears.

  The pilot was young and inexperienced, his soft voice not comforting in the least. And as the glasses from the first class cabin shattered onto the floor amidst toppling luggage, I promised myself that my days in the sky were long over if we ever landed.

  I broke that promise hours later, of course, but I could finally say that I’d experienced the worst of what turbulence could ever be.

  Or so I thought.

  “Miss?” A passenger in first class interrupts my thoughts, touching my elbow as I walk down the aisle. “Miss?”

  “Yes?”

  “How much longer until we arrive in Paris?”

  “Eight hours, sir.” I resist the urge to tell him that he asked me this question fifteen minutes ago. “Would you like something else to drink tonight?”

  “A refill on my white wine, please.”

  I nod and quickly oblige, retrieving the wine from the galley’s cooler and filling his glass to the top. I need to take care of him as fast as possible so I can finally sit alone and address the unbearable ache in my chest.

  “May I have a blanket as well?” the man asks before I can step away.

  I force a smile and retrieve one from the overhead bin above his seat, unwrapping it for him and placing it onto his lap. “Would you like anything else?”

  “No, but—” He stops mid-sentence and raises his eyebrow. “Oh, wow, your face is really red. Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying.” I lie. “It’s allergy season.”

  “Allergies? On a plane?”

  “Would you like anything else from me, sir?” I feel a tear rolling down my cheeks. “If not, I’ll be sure to check on you again soon.”

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead he pulls a handkerchief from his breast-pocket and holds it out to me.

  “Whatever it is,” he says, looking me up and down. “I hope it’s not a guy. You’re much too beautiful to cry over something like that...Wait. It is a guy, isn’t it?”

  I don’t respond. I simply take his handkerchief and walk away.

  I head toward the back of the plane—past a cabin full of sleeping passengers, and lock myself in the lavatory. As more tears fall down my face, I pull out my phone and log into my private blog so I can reread the words I wrote months ago. So I can remember the agonizing feeling of failing to listen to myself.

  ~BLOG POST~

  THIS IS THE LAST TIME I will say this to myself.

  The very last time.

  My heart can’t take another sequence of angry arguments, another round in this dangerous game of “Will we make it? Should we make it?” or another spin on this never-ending carousel of highs and lows.

  Yes, the way this man fucks me is incomparable and leaves me craving more the second he pulls out of me. And yes, the way he pleasures my pussy with his mouth and makes me come for hours on end will forever be unparalleled. But the way we fit (rather, don’t fit) has finally reached its climax.

  I will not go back.

  I will not go back.

  I. Will. Not. Go. Back.

  A KNOCK COMES TO THE door before I can read the rest, and I sigh.
<
br />   “Someone’s in here,” I say. “The occupied light is on.”

  The knock comes again, much louder this time, so I groan and open the door.

  “The occupied light is clearly—” My words are cut short with a gasp, as I take in the sight of the man I currently despise, the man I’ve been attempting to avoid this entire flight. The pilot. His beautiful blue eyes are glaring into mine, his jaw is clenched, and no matter how badly I don’t want to be attracted to him right now, I can’t help it.

  With his hard and chiseled face of perfection, his full and defined lips that are definitely molded for long and alluring kisses, and a cockiness that radiates off his body from miles away, he’s always managed to leave me breathless and aroused with a single glance.

  Behind him, a few reading lights in the cabin blink off, and a few TV screens begin to play the second in-flight film.

  “We need to talk, Gillian,” he says, his voice tight. “Now.”

  “I’ll pass.” I try to slam the door in his face, but he holds it open and pushes me inside—locking the door behind him.

  For several seconds, neither of us says a word. We simply stare at each other like we have so many times before, with pain and disappointment hanging in the air between us.

  “I have nothing else to say to you, Jake.” My voice cracked. “Nothing else to say.”

  “Good.” He hisses. “I’ll do most of the talking.”

  “Well, that’s quite ironic. You don’t normally talk at all.”

  “Are you fucking someone else?” His words come out so harsh and clipped, I’m not sure that I heard them right.

  “What?”

  “Do I need to repeat it?” He glares at me, closing the gap between us. “Are you fucking someone else?”

  “We haven’t spoken in weeks.” I grit my teeth. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and this is the first thing you ask me? How about, ‘Hello, Gillian. It’s been a long time since we last spoke. How are you?’”

  “Hello, Gillian.” He mocks me, locking his eyes on mine. “It’s been a long time since we last spoke. How are you?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Are you fucking someone else?”

  “No.”

  “Are you seeing someone else?”

  “That’s the same goddamn question.”

  “Then give me the same goddamn answer.”

  “No.” I cross my arms. “No, I have not been seeing someone else, but I will be soon. And you know what? It’ll be someone who doesn’t make me feel this way every few weeks, someone who doesn’t get a sick thrill out of disappearing on me for weeks at a time or leaving me wondering at all hours of the night because he won’t open up to me. Best of all, it’ll be someone who will respect me and not act like loving me is a burden.”

  “I’ve never said loving you was a burden.”

  “You’ve never said you loved me at all.”

  Silence.

  “Gillian...” He sighs, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “Listen to me.”

  “Screw you. Let me leave, please.” I push at his chest, attempting to get away, but he holds me still. “Let me leave right now, Jake.”

  “No.” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close, using his free hand to wipe away my tears with his fingertips. He caresses my back and kisses the corners of my mouth, softly biting my bottom lip like he usually does, right before he fucks me. “You know that I never want to hurt you.”

  “Do I?”

  “You fucking should.” He bites my bottom lip again, much harder this time, and then he whispers against my mouth. “I need you to give ‘us’ another chance.”

  “What makes you think I would be stupid enough to do that?”

  “Because I’m not the only person here who has ever made a mistake.” He runs his fingers through my hair, his lips brushing against mine. “I recall the start of this being quite fucked up.”

  “It’s still fucked up.” I look into his eyes. “You still refuse to let me in, you still won’t talk to me and tell me the simplest of things. I’ve been nothing but open and honest with you, and yet, all this time later—” The rest of my sentence ends on his lips and his tongue slides against mine—begging me, teasing me, overpowering me.

  I try to resist, to push him away, but it’s no use. His kiss is an instant taste of the high I’ve been missing, a reminder of just how good we can be when we’re together. Slowly giving in, I begin to whisper questions against his lips as he claims my mouth again and again.

  I ask if he’s having sex with someone else, he says no. I ask if he’s dating anyone else, and he punishes me with a squeeze of my ass and a rough and abrupt “No.” I start to ask where he’s been these past few weeks, why he always slips away from time to time, but he ends my questions with an even deeper kiss that sends tingles up and down my spine.

  “We can talk tonight,” he whispers. He grabs my hand and presses it against the front of his pants, letting me feel how hard his cock is. “We can talk about whatever the hell you want to talk about tonight.”

  “Tonight as in ‘the morning’ when we actually land in Paris, or ‘tonight’ as in right now?”

  “Tonight as in right after we leave this restroom, as in right after I make you turn around against that door and remind you who your pussy belongs to.” He covers my hand with his and silently commands me to unzip his pants. “Is that good enough for you?”

  I nod, he claims my mouth with his one more time, and another string of arguments is suddenly snapped—soon to be long forgotten shreds, just like all the others. As his hand slides up my skirt and wetness drips between my thighs, I know, once again, that all is lost.

  All is us.

  All is turbulence.

  HOW MANY TIMES DID you burn me?

  Three, four, five, maybe ten?

  Was it me who burned you?

  Yes, it was you, again and again.

  I should’ve walked away, so you could’ve followed suit.

  But I think you knew all along that I never wanted to...

  TERMINAL A:

  BOY MEETS GIRL

  GATE A1

  JAKE

  Dallas (DAL)—> Singapore (SIN)—> New York (JFK)

  THERE WERE ONLY THREE things I hated in this world more than my cruel circus of a family: The new changes in the airline industry, the fact that the airline industry was the only industry I could ever see myself working for, and the fact that ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs on hotel room doors apparently didn’t mean shit anymore.

  Twice this morning, unwelcome knocks had come to the door at the absolute worst moments. The first time was while I was having sex, while the woman I’d invited up to my room was bent over my coffee table with her ass in the air—my cock thrusting in and out of her pussy. The second time was while I was flipping through the morning newspapers, using the flame from my final cigar to burn through all the lie-infested pages.

  And now, within the same three-hour span, another set of knocks were tapping against the door.

  “Mr. Weston!” This time there was a voice, a female voice. “Mr. Weston, are you in there?”

  I didn’t answer. I continued standing under the hot streams of the shower, trying to think of any possible way I could get out of this.

  “Mr. Weston, it’s me! Dr. Cox!” The shrill voice came again ten minutes later. “I know you’re in there! If you don’t answer this time, I’ll have to assume something is wrong and call the police!”

  Jesus Christ...

  I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Not bothering to grab a towel, I walked through the bedroom suite and opened the door, finding myself face to face with a red-haired woman in an all-white suit.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I asked.

  “Excuse me? How dare you talk to me like that? I don’t appreciate you ignoring—” She suddenly stopped talking and stepped back. Her big brown eyes widened, and her cheeks turned bright red.

  “Your cock is um...” Her voice w
as a whisper. “You’re completely naked right now.”

  “How perceptive of you,” I said flatly. “What do you want?”

  Her gaze lingered on my cock for several more seconds, then she cleared her throat. “I’m Dr. Cox with Personnel Affairs for Elite Airways.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “I know that this weekend marks your final flight sequence with Signature Air, but seeing as though Elite and Signature will now be one airline as of next Monday, you still need to complete some paperwork with us,” she said. “You’ve had ten months to get this done, and you’re the only pilot who hasn’t completed the personality profile. Not only that, but I could’ve sworn we told you that we were flying into Dallas on your stopover just to get this done, Mr. Weston. We flew here for you, and we’re still waiting for you to join us in the meeting room. Would it kill you to take this seriously?”

  “I’ll be able to take you seriously when you realize that my eyes are up here.”

  Flustered, she blushed again and finally looked up at me. “We told you to be downstairs at seven.”

  “I told you I’d get there at eight.”

  “Well,” she said, looking at her watch, “It’s now seven thirty, and the reason we insisted you join us an hour early is because we wanted you to have time to read over some of our new policies. We insisted.”

  “No, you suggested. Two completely different terms with two completely different expectations.”

  “I guess I can add ‘human dictionary’ to your list of unique profile qualities.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be very careful with my wording the next time I send you an email.”

  “You should.”

  “So, we’ll see you downstairs at eight?”

  “Eight thirty. Someone interrupted my shower with her bullshit, so I need to make up for lost time.”

  “Mr. Weston, I swear to God, if you’re not downstairs within the next hour, I will suggest to my superiors that we pack up and leave. And I can promise you that this weekend will be the last time you set foot on an aircraft.”

  “I’m not a fan of empty threats, but for the record, the word ‘insist’ actually would’ve worked a lot better in that sentence. I’ll get there after my goddamn shower.” I shut the door before she could say anything else.