Page 31 of Between the Lines

Ten million.

No. That can’t be enough. I know how expensive this area is, and the kind of houses I’m surrounded by. What I don’t know is who lives in them, but I bet I’d recognize some of their names.

Twenty million? Maybe. I’ve seen those reality shows where they sell houses, and in LA, they’re not cheap. The one I’m standing in front of at 5:50 a.m. on Monday morning is enormous. It’s hidden behind large Bel Air hedges, high on the mountain behind Westwood.

The weather is warm, but there’s a tiny chill that makes my jean jacket entirely worth it. I didnotcome dressed in workout clothes.

There has to be a limit somewhere, and that’s mine.

It’s been a week since I was first introduced to Aiden as the subject, and I have almost nothing. No direction for this memoir, no list of people in his life I’ll be able to speak to. The man is a vault.

A frustratingly charming, evasive vault.

Ignoring the night in Utah has been easier than ignoring that I’m writing somethingin favorof Titan Media. Something to clear its name and help rehabilitate its reputation.

That makes me feel dirty.

It’s a profit-driven corporation that produces, among other things, reality shows without any safeguards to protect the young men and women who participate. Anything for the drama. Anything for a good show.

Anything for viewers and money in the bank.

But Vera’s promise is driving me. The promise ofifthis memoir does well,ifI impress her and her team, I’ll get a contract to write something of my own choosing.

Not to mention the contract I signed.

That chafes most of all. SinceThe Gamble, I’ve made it a priority to always go over every contract with a magnifying glass.

I never want to be trapped bycontractual obligationsagain.

Yet here I am. Standing in front of the black wrought iron gate and peering at a giant, white house. Perfectly manicured gardens. Sharp, modern angles and glass.

Twenty-five million, maybe.

I roll my neck. Push my shoulders back. Take another deep breath and remind myself that I’ve survived far more difficult things than Aiden Hartman. I can handle this. The first week is over. Only one month and three weeks left to go.

I don’t have the code to his gate. It’s too large to scale, and no doubt, I’d be instantly shot down by the security snipers stationed on the roof. For twenty-five million plus, I bet that’s included.

Aiden comes into view.

He’s walking from the side of the house. Black shorts, gray T-shirt. His dark hair is pushed back messily, and the sight sends a jolt through me. I’ve never seen him like that. Here, in his home.

“Hello. Fancy seeing you here.” He pulls the gate open.

“I parked on the street. Is that okay?” I’ve heard how the residents in areas like this one hate when people do that. But Aiden just nods.

“Yes.” He walks over to the large garage beside his house. Two cars are parked outside it, and I add a few more million to my estimate. One’s his Jeep, the one made for off-roading. The other looks smaller and faster, and even more expensive. I haven’t seen that one before.

“In here,” he says and opens yet another door. “I’ll get you a key card for the gate for next time.”

That’s a fairly big step for people with his level of privacy concerns. But he doesn’t seem bothered, walking straight across the large home gym to the bench. It has a weightlifting bar resting above it, and he settles down to start chest presses.

Like I’m not even here.

There’s a lot of him on display. Golden skin, and thick calves, and his arms are bulging as he lifts the barbell. Once. Twice. Damn him for being handsome, too, on top of everything else.

I’ve read all about him these past few days. Combed through the dossier I was given—every word, every number. Read every page on Titan Media’s website. Online articles. The web has been my constant companion these past few days, outside of my twenty-minute meetings with him.

The rubber sole of my shoe makes a screech against the hardwood floor, and I look around for a place to sit. The space is fully stacked. A set of free weights, resistance machines, a treadmill, and a stationary bike. There’s a wall-mounted TV that plays the morning news at a low volume.

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