Page 33 of Between the Lines

“I was mostly on the sidelines,” he says. “It was a fun pastime. The other guys played on scholarships, for future careers. Not me.”

My hand itches, wanting to reach for the notepad in my back pocket. But his confessions seem far and few between, and I don’t want to remind him about the process more than I have to.

If only I had his permission to record!

“Because you were always set on this as your career? The family company?”

He lets the silence hang for a moment before responding. “Yes.”

“My guess is the timeline was moved up a fair bit, though. With the succession coming earlier than planned.”

Flashing lights. His father’s trial. The prison sentence.

“Yes,” he grits out. The dumbbells look heavy, and he’s been doing countless reps. “You could say that.”

“Hard times in your life. But you’ve managed to turn things around. Titan Media did record numbers last year.” AndThe Gambleis still one of their most popular shows. “Do you miss college?”

“It was all right,” he says and sets back the dumbbells. Moves to a machine in the corner instead and notches up the weights while I watch. He notices my gaze and looks back at me. “It was fun. I was a kid in college, legal drinking age. Of course, they were fun years.”

I clear my throat and the Pilates ball bobs gently beneath me. Still such an undignified choice, but now that I’ve made it, I gotta stick with it. “You have one sister, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you two close?”

“Close enough,” he says. “As most siblings.”

“Many would say that you were raised wealthy. The Business Digest interview you gave a year ago described your family as ‘golden.’” They also proclaimedthe golden family’s fall from grace,but I’m not mentioning that. “Is that a description that resonates with you?”

He pauses. “You read the interview.”

“I’ve done a lot of research over the past week, yes.”

“Not everything the papers print is true.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” I say, trying hard not to sound annoyed. “That’s why I’m asking you about it.”

“I was raised rich, yeah,” he says simply, pushing off the weight machine and moves toward another machine with handles. Must be arms and back day today.

A glance at my watch tells me I’m almost running out of time. Only five minutes left, and there’s almostnothingI’ve gotten out of this. Infuriating man. No one I’ve ever worked with until now has proven to be this hard to get information out of.

Most people who have memoirs written about themselves areeagerto tell me as much as possible.

They’ll show up to meetings with lists and lists of anecdotes they want me to include. Family trees. Pictures.

Aiden starts using the machine. His black T-shirt, shorts, and shoes blend in with the gym gear, somehow highlighting the vast expanse of muscle and exposed skin on display.

“What values do you think you got from home? That your parents really fostered in you and your sister?”

The weight plates in the machine drop in a loud crash, the cables and pulleys stopping in their tracks. Aiden leans forward, bracing his arms against his thighs. There’s a challenge in his eyes. “You want to know if they taught me to say my please and thank yous?”

I want to throw my hands up. God, thisfuckingman. When he’s like this, it’s hard to remember what I had found so irresistibly charming about him out at that resort.

“I want to get to knowyou,yes. What shaped you. The material I have right now would hardly fill two entire chapters.”

“We’ve only worked together for a week.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Can I give you homework?”

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