Page 32 of Between the Lines

“This is fully equipped,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s a good home gym.” His eyes dip down, travel over my body. “You decided not to join me, I see.”

“I’m here to work.”

“Right.” There’s a smile in his voice. “And what’s the plan today? Twenty questions?”

“Would you really answer twenty questions in a row? Because I’d love that, if you’re willing to play ball,” I say.

He motions to one of the benches. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

“So that’s a no,” I say and shrug out of my jean jacket. Hang it on the back of a machine. “You know, I’ve read almost all the interviews you’ve ever given, which haven’t been many. Did you put those interviewers through the ringer, too?”

“Maybe I just test everyone,” he says.

“Maybe you do.” I sit down on a Pilates ball and instantly regret the decision. It’s hard to feel dignified when you’re gently bobbing up and down. “Do you usually get up this early?”

“When I’m working, yeah.”

That makes me perk up. “What do you usually do when you’re not?”

“I travel. With family or with friends.” He pushes off the bench and walks over to where a huge row of dumbbells is perched. He grabs some of the heaviest and starts slow, methodical biceps curls.

I do my best to ignore the display of testosterone.

“Family and friends. Who would you say your closest friends are?” I ask.

He glances at me, wry amusement in his gaze. “We’re doing twenty questions regardless?”

I meet his gaze head-on. “Yes. I was given a thirty-page dossier on you and Titan Media by your assistant, but those are just facts on paper. I want to hear it in your voice.”

“Sure are,” he mutters. His arms are still moving in slow, deliberate bicep curls.

“Do you think there’s any chance I could talk to them, also? Your friends?”

His eyes are on mine. Heavy, as always. “Why?”

“Because they likely have a different perspective on you. We don’t always see ourselves so clearly, you know. But our friends and family usually do.” I shrug, making sure to keep my voice light. “It’s a normal part of the memoir writing process.”

“Hmm,” he hums. There’s a faint sheen along his forehead, and his arm muscles bulge with the movements. “Right. Well, most are busy and working a lot.”

“I know how to work a video call,” I say with a bright smile. “Where do you usually travel when you’re not in the city?”

“Need addresses for the book?”

“No.” I feel like one of his dumbbells. Lifted up and down, up and down. “But your habits are part of you, and you’re the focus of it, after all.”

“I go out of town as often as I can,” he says. “To the ocean, or the mountains. I’m in Europe a few times a year, sometimes on business and sometimes for pleasure.”

“And Utah.” I regret the comment immediately.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing in my direction. “And Utah, yes.” Something in his voice makes the word sound salacious. As if it’s an event rather than just the name of a state.

I look down at my hands instead. “You played a lot of sports in school.”

“I did,” he confirms. “Was that in your dossier?”

“Yeah. You were on the football team in college. That’s not an easy spot to get.”

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