Page 36 of Between the Lines

“Methodical,” he says.

I don’t know if his tone is one of admiration or admonition.

But it doesn’t matter much. I try to let it roll off me and reach for the final piece of paper.

Hand it to him.

There’s a punch of silence, accentuated by the sound of traffic outside us and the rumbling engine.

“This is a list of people,” he says, voice quiet in a way that makes him suddenly feel dangerous.

I force my voice to be strong. “Yes. These are people who either know you well or know the various aspects of you. Facets. Talking with them would greatly help me form a more holistic view of you.”

He turns to look at me, his fingers tightening around the paper. “This list includes over twenty people.”

“Yes.”

“Eric and Elena are both on it. My driver. Board members. Old friends from college. My mother. My sister.” He doesn’t add the final person, but it hangs in the air.

His father.

It had been a crazy streak of defiance when I added his father’s name to the list. His father—the man who made this entire project necessary, and who is serving time for fraud in a prison upstate.

“I need to get to know you, and that requires access,” I say briskly. “Think about it. You don’t have to agree to all of them, and not everyone will likely agree to participate. But if they do, they may speak on or off the record. I’m open to just having their views as background info.” I reach over and tap the paper still inhis grip. “I’ll also be sending this directly to your email and will include Eric in the cc.”

Aiden’s handsome features are so blank, it looks like I’ve shocked him. I wonder how often that happens.

Then his eyes narrow. “You’re good at your job, Charlotte.”

It sounds like an accusation.

“Yes, and I take pride in a job well done. Just like you do, it seems,” I say. “We both want this memoir to be a bestseller. I’m willing to do my part. Are you?”

He doesn’t look away from my glare.

I don’t avert my eyes, either. Let him give me the CEO stare, the one that’s probably won him negotiations and intimidated lesser people. I won’t be one of them.

I’ve faced worse than Aiden Hartman in my day.

There’s a sharp clearing of a throat from the front seat, and it breaks the standoff between us. Aiden looks at his driver.

“We’re here, sir,” the chauffeur says. “I’ll be on standby. Five, maybe ten minutes away, tops.”

“Thanks,” Aiden says. He looks back down at the papers in his lap for a second before folding them up in precise squares. He slides the bundle into his inside pocket, out of sight.

Out of mind?

He still hasn’t answered me.

“Aiden?” I ask.

He looks at me then, his green eyes appearing nearly black in the dim lighting. “Time to go, Charlotte. You can ask more of your questions inside.”

“I can be an observer tonight,” I say. Seeing how he interacts with other people, hearing their conversations, is a great way to gain information. A fly on the wall.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Can you? Well… let’s see.”

There’s a crowd of people, attendants, guests, and security. And a gold carpet rolled out from the event hall.

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