Between the Lines

Chapter 49

CHAPTER 49

CHARLOTTE

After yesterday’s disaster, I consider staying home. Maybe I could just email Eric to say that I won’t be able to interview Mr. Hartman during his lunch break because of an acute and sudden illness.

I could lie in bed with the door locked, pretending that there’s no world outside of these walls. Just stare up at the cloud lamp and dream I could float away much the same.

I consider booking a flight out of Los Angeles and never coming back.

And I ponder asking Vera to be let out of the contract. I’ve even written the email, apologizing for my unprofessionalism and promising to relay everything I have to the next ghostwriter she would hire.

Anything to avoid talking to Aiden again.

My thumb hovers over the Send button in my email app.

The loud car horn outside breaks me out of my reverie. It’s a familiar sound on these narrow, curving streets.

Doing any of the things I’m planning would be “running.”

I am very good at running.

But there’s a reason I agreed to this job in the first place… And I’m not a quitter. I’ve followed through on every single one of my memoir assignments in the past. No matter how early I had to get up to meet with the subjects, be it to train in an Olympic-sized swimming pool, dog sledding in the polar darkness, or trudging through security to reach the prison’s visiting room.

Quitting because of what happened at Titan would be pathetic, and I’m so tired of being pathetic. Even if fear makes my stomach churn all through the morning.

So I get ready, put on some makeup, and slide into the beautiful Audi Q3 that I’ll only be able to drive for a few more weeks.

When I arrive at Titan Media’s headquarters in Culver City, the corporation’s logo on the building is the only thing I see.

Funny, how in the past few weeks, I’d somehow forgotten just what company Aiden is running. Had managed to bury that knowledge deep down where it didn’t bother me anymore. I’d gotten cocky. Naive. Again. Imagined myself safe. Fooled myself into thinking that since no one recognized me yet , no one ever would…

Now, the glowing Titan Media letters are staring me in the face.

He will see me differently after this.

Which is exactly how it should be. We should never have gotten entangled in the first place, never crossing those lines. Maybe a reminder of just what company he runs is a good thing. It’ll help me keep those boundaries.

I walk through the executive floor with my keycard hung around my neck and my head held high. I’m prepared for Aiden being reserved. A bit cold, even.

He’ll resent me for hiding a secret. He won’t have kept his promise to me, of course. I’m sure he’s now seen clips of the show online. Maybe even watched a whole episode.

Everyone does.

It’s good. We’ll return to the rules, and whatever this was between us, whatever it has become, it’ll stop. As it had to anyway.

I roll my neck, a fighter ready to head into the ring.

Eric’s sees me first, at his desk outside of Aiden’s office. I have a fifteen-minute meeting scheduled with Aiden in a few, sandwiched between two of his phone meetings. I sent Aiden more chapters to review a few days ago, and he’s supposed to have feedback for me today.

“Good morning,” Eric tells me. His eyes linger, as if he knows, too. Of course he does. He knows everything about his boss.

I pause by his desk. “Is Mr. Hartman ready for me?”

“Yes,” Eric says. He taps his pen against the desk a few times. “For what it’s worth, you were my favorite during that season. And Blake is an asshole.”

I blink at him. “I was?”

“By a long shot,” Eric says. His voice is just as professional. His glasses today aren’t red, but a bright turquoise, matching the handkerchief tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Have you known? Since the beginning?” I ask.

The door in front of me swings open, a soundless invitation into the giant corner office that belongs to Aiden. But I can’t go in just yet.

“Yes,” Eric says.

I incline my head toward the office. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I understand wanting to keep some things hidden.”

I want to hug Eric. But that would wrinkle his immaculate suit and ruin the professional relationship we have. So I just smile at him instead.

“Thank you for that. Truly.”

Eric smiles and looks back at his screen. I take a deep breath before stepping into Aiden’s office.

He’s standing by his desk.

His eyes track me as I cross the threshold into his office and the door closes behind me with an audible snick. Locking us in together.

I meet Aiden’s gaze and work hard at keeping my face neutral and shoulders back.

“Charlotte,” he says.

“Let’s review some chapters,” I say.

“We’re not going to pretend like yesterday never happened.”

“Why not? We’re great at pretending things between us don’t happen.” My voice is confident and doesn’t waver at any time. I should get a medal for that. “Rule number two, and all.”

“I’ve never pretended,” he says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I feel great.”

“We don’t have to meet here if it’s painful for you. We can go for a drive. Or back to my house, or your rental apartment. There are options.”

“You don’t need to make adjustments for me,” I say.

He can’t be kind to me. That would truly break me.

Aiden takes a step closer. “The Titan Media gala. You had a migraine. That wasn’t true, was it?”

I look past his shoulder at the view of Los Angeles. “No.”

“You could have told me the truth.”

“Could I?” My voice turns acerbic. It’s a defense mechanism, and I hate that I’m aware of it, and still can’t stop it happening. “You have been very clear with your opinion on the reality shows, and the reality TV stars, in particular.”

“You’re not a reality star,” he says. But then he curses, shaking his head.

“Right. I am, you know. Technically speaking. As much as I hate myself for it, too.”

“You shouldn’t hate yourself.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “We should review your chapters.”

“We should talk about this.”

“Because we’re so good at talking about hard things?” I ask dryly. “Because we have wonderful little hearts-to-hearts?”

Aiden narrows his eyes, and he crosses his arms over his chest, too. Mirroring my stance. “I see,” he says, and it sounds like he truly does. “Let me ask you something, then. When you realized I was the memoir subject you had to write about... When you realized it was Titan Media… Why didn’t you back out of the contract?”

“I would have had to pay back the advance.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not good enough.”

“Because I have another contract with my editor riding on this,” I say. “Perform well, and I get to pitch my own non-fiction book. You know that.”

His eyes are burning on mine. Like he won’t let me get away with fortifying my walls, or with running. Maybe I am a fool to think he ever would.

His presence scorches, and I’ve become addicted to the burn.

“The real reason,” he says and takes a step closer, “you didn’t walk away is because you love a challenge. You love the fight, you love the adventure. You didn’t walk away because you didn’t want to.”

My breathing speeds up. I hate that he sees that. Sees what my parents and best friend would call self-destructive , if they knew, and knows that it’s a part of me. Has become in the last few years.

“Just like you working eighty-hour weeks,” I say. “You don’t have to. Your family is fine. Your family name is even fine, Aiden, if a bit tattered. I’ve seen how people still look up to you. Some are curious, but they don’t condemn you for what your dad did.” I take a step closer, too, until only a few feet separate us. “You do it because you like the challenge. Because it fuels you, and because you like the idea of punishing yourself. You’ve decided this is your cross to bear, and you would never put it down. You love it too much.”

He leans in. His green eyes have darkened with something that looks like relish. “I guess,” he says, “ like recognizes like .”

My lips press together. I don’t like the cross I have to bear. Being recognized for the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

He sees the denial in my eyes, and his lips curve without humor. He hasn’t shaved today, and there are tired lines around his eyes. As if he didn’t sleep well last night, either.

“How much have you hated yourself,” he says, “for sleeping with me? The CEO of the company that, in your own words, has ruined your life ?”

I don’t answer him. I put a hand on his chest instead, meeting his gaze. “How much of my season did you watch last night?”

He leans his head down. “None of it. I only googled your old name.”

“Fuck you,” I say softly.

“It’s the truth,” he says. “I promised you. I also fired Jeff yesterday.”

My lips are so close to his. “You did what ?”

“His time with this company is over. So is Blake’s, soon enough.” He brushes his lips against mine, and my hand on his chest turns, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt instead.

I feel too hot. Like I’m standing next to a furnace.

“If you’ve been worried,” I murmur, “that it might get out that your ghostwriter was once on reality TV, it’s never happened in the past.”

“I wasn’t.”

I pull him closer. “I go by my mother’s maiden name now.”

“It’s a good name.” His hands close around my waist, large and firm and trapping me entirely. “I want to hear the story from you.”

“I never want to talk about it.”

“Too bad,” he says, voice soft. His lips trail along my cheek. “We both have to talk about things we don’t like to get this memoir finished.”

A shiver races down my spine. “You bastard.”

“Yes,” he mutters, mouth returning to mine. “Since I met you, I can’t help myself. But I would never hurt you.”

He presses his lips to my own. They’re bruising in their intensity, and I kiss him back just as strongly. It doesn’t make any sense. This never has, but it’s the only thing in all of this that feels easy.

I cling to him in much the same way as I should be pushing him away. He knows about the show. Has likely seen the meme. The laughter and the comments and the?—

I bite his lower lip.

Aiden chuckles against my lips, and his hands slide down to grip my ass. He’s a pillar against me. Immovable. His tongue brushes over my lower lip, and I groan into his mouth. He turns us around, and then he lifts me, puts me on the edge of his desk. Something digs into my hip, and I know I’m sitting on his stuff and he doesn’t seem to care about it.

Aiden tips my head back and kisses my neck. I shiver in his embrace, my knees splay so he can step in between them.

Something falls to the floor.

He chuckles against the column of my throat. “You bleached your hair blonde before,” he says.

I run my nails along his scalp, and he hisses out a breath. “Yes.”

“This is your natural color?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He kisses across my collarbone, lowering the strap to my tank top with every touch. “I like it. It suits you.”

I reach for the buttons of his shirt. I get the top two undone so I can slide my hands under the fabric, across the warm, taut skin of his upper chest. I’ve seen what he does in the gym to maintain this kind of body.

Aiden kisses me again. It’s more forceful this time, and I fall backwards. He catches me, arms twining tightly around my waist.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He’s breathing hard, his hair mussed from my hands. “I want you, and this is the wrong moment.” He kisses me again, hands sliding up my sides. Brushing past the swell of my breasts. I want the clothes off —now.

But his kisses slow into teasing, heated touches. “Let me take you out to dinner later.”

I work on more of the buttons of his shirt. Something about feeling his skin is making everything clearer for me. Like I can only focus when I touch him. “Take me out?”

His hot breath washes over my ear, his hands find the hem of my shirt. He runs his large palm up my lower back. Warm, so warm against my skin. “Yes. Let me take you out tonight. Take your mind off everything. We’ll do something fun.”

“You have a meeting with investors.”

“I’ll cancel it,” he says.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I’ll think of something.” His fingers toy with the clasp to my bra, but he doesn’t undo it. His entire arm is underneath my shirt, warm and firm against my back.

Just holding me.

“Like a date?” I regret the question as soon as it’s out. It would violate rules one and two. And he’s the owner of this company, and he doesn’t date people like me. He doesn’t date at all, really. But his memoirist? Who made a fool of herself on national TV? The question is naive.

A testament to how stupid I can still be.

But Aiden just kisses me again.

I melt under his touch, caught between his chest and his arm pressed to my bare back.

“Chaos,” he says. “Yeah, it’s a date.”