Chapter 1 — The Seat Mix-up

Claire Bennett

Charles de Gaulle Airport was a symphony of chaos, the kind Claire Bennett had come to love and loathe in equal measure. The chatter of travelers echoed off walls of glass and steel, interspersed with the mechanical clatter of luggage wheels and the static crackle of overhead announcements. It was the kind of setting that offered no room for introspection—which suited Claire just fine. She adjusted the strap of her leather backpack, the one that carried her life, both the pieces she displayed proudly and those she wished she could leave behind.

Her auburn hair fell loose from the makeshift scarf she’d tied it with, and she blew a strand out of her face as she fished her phone out of her pocket. The e-ticket had been drowned in a sea of apps and photos—not unlike the way her life felt lately.

"There you are, you little devil," she muttered, pulling up the boarding pass. She glanced at the departures board—her flight to Marrakesh was on time. A small victory. She tucked the phone away and whispered, “Fresh start,” as if saying it out loud would make it so. But the weight in her chest refused to lift, no matter how much she tried to smother it with optimism. Images of headlines and accusatory comments in her blog’s comments section flickered in her mind, unbidden. She shook them away and focused on the line inching forward.

A few passengers ahead, Jason Calloway exuded an aura of professional detachment. His tailored navy suit might as well have had “Untouchable” embroidered on the lapel. The polished leather briefcase in his hand gleamed like a shield, guarding him against the messiness of the world around him. He stood ramrod straight, his piercing blue eyes glued to his phone as his fingers tapped out a flurry of emails. His expression was a mask of calm precision that barely concealed the storm roiling beneath.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he read yet another email from his firm. The corruption he’d uncovered gnawed at him like a persistent shadow. Every email he received in response to his inquiries seemed designed to obscure rather than clarify, and the weight of his complicity pressed heavy on his chest. Jason was a man who found solace in order and rules. Marrakesh, with all its famed chaos, felt like the last place he should be, but he needed space—space to think, to plan his next move. The irony was not lost on him.

The check-in line moved at a glacial pace. Claire reached the counter first, her hazel eyes crinkling into a practiced, disarming smile for the tired attendant. "Hi! Bennett, Claire. Flight to Marrakesh."

The attendant nodded and tapped at her keyboard. After a beat, she handed over the boarding pass with a perfunctory smile. "Seat 14A."

Claire tucked it into her pocket and headed toward security, her mind wandering to the souks she couldn’t wait to explore. Her blog needed those bursts of vibrant color and culture. Anything to distract her readers—and herself—from the fallout of her last post. She imagined the aromas of spices and the maze-like paths. Marrakesh was a place full of stories, and Claire needed a story that could redeem her.

Jason reached the counter shortly after, handing over his passport without looking up from his phone. "Calloway, Jason. Flight to Marrakesh," he said, his voice clipped.

The keyboard clattered as the attendant typed. Her brow furrowed briefly before she said, "Seat 14A," handing him the pass.

Jason accepted it without a second glance, slipping it into his briefcase and heading for security. His mind was elsewhere, running calculations and contingencies—anything to avoid the gnawing question of whether he’d have the courage to expose his firm’s corruption, knowing it could cost him everything.

At the boarding gate, Claire was seated cross-legged, flipping through a travel magazine she wasn’t reading. Her thoughts flitted between guilt and anticipation, though she forced herself to focus on the latter. Jason, meanwhile, was a study in contrast, standing stiffly near the boarding line, typing furiously on his phone. They didn’t notice each other—not yet.

When boarding was announced, Claire waited until her zone was called, reluctantly leaving the comfort of her seat. Jason followed moments later, his briefcase clutched tightly, his jaw set. Neither of them could have predicted what awaited at seat 14A.

"Excuse me," Jason said as he reached the row, his voice low and measured, though tension laced each syllable. "I believe you’re in my seat."

Claire looked up, startled. "Uh, no," she said, holding up her boarding pass like a shield. "This is my seat. 14A. See?"

Jason pulled his own pass from his briefcase with the precision of a lawyer presenting evidence. "So is mine."

They stared at each other for a beat, the realization settling in. Jason’s brow furrowed as though the universe itself had committed a grave administrative error. Claire’s lips quirked into a smirk.

"Well, this is awkward," she said, her tone light, though her eyes glinted with amusement.

"I don’t think awkward covers it," Jason replied, his tone clipped. He flagged down a passing flight attendant. "There appears to be an error. We’ve both been assigned to seat 14A."

The attendant, a harried-looking woman who seemed to be operating on caffeine and sheer willpower, took their boarding passes and frowned. "Ah, yes. It appears the flight is overbooked. We don’t have another seat available in coach. I’m afraid one of you will either need to give up the seat or... share it."

"Share it?" Claire echoed, incredulous. "You can’t be serious."

Jason’s expression darkened. "This is unacceptable. Surely there’s another solution. Perhaps an upgrade?"

The attendant shook her head. "Unfortunately, first class is full as well. The only thing I can offer is a voucher for a future flight."

Claire folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at Jason. "You could take the voucher. You look like someone whose briefcase has its own passport. First class should be your natural habitat."

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line. "And you look like someone who packed for a yoga retreat. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," Claire said, her tone teasing. "I’m dressed for comfort. You’re dressed for a boardroom."

"Enough," the attendant interrupted, her patience fraying. "Either one of you takes the voucher, or you both sit here and figure it out."

Jason glanced at his watch, muttering under his breath. Time was slipping away. With a sigh of defeat, he stepped back, allowing Claire to slide into the window seat before lowering himself stiffly into the aisle seat.

"So," Claire said as she adjusted her scarf and settled in, "guess we’re neighbors."

Jason didn’t respond. He opened his laptop and tried to focus on the documents he’d saved offline, but the in-flight Wi-Fi proved stubborn. Claire, sensing his frustration, smirked and pulled out her notebook, jotting down ideas for her blog. Every so often, she stole a glance at him, amused by how tightly wound he seemed.

As the plane taxied down the runway, Jason muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "This flight better stay on schedule." Claire leaned back, letting the sunlight streaming through the window warm her face.

When the plane lifted off, Claire nudged him lightly with her elbow. "Hey," she said, grinning. "Look on the bright side. At least the view’s great from here."

Jason glanced out the window, his expression softening just slightly. "I suppose that’s one way to look at it," he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

Claire laughed, and for a fleeting moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. But only for a moment. The turbulence—both literal and figurative—was just beginning.