Page 38 of Between the Lines

Aiden seems perfectly at ease amid it all, meeting the man’s curious gaze with an almost lazy look of his own. “Unfortunately not. Charlotte here is writing a piece on me and is here for research purposes.”

“Writing a piece? What kind of piece?” The newcomer looks at me with appraising eyes, and damn it, I’ve signed an NDA.

I look over at Aiden. His eyes hold the same spark as earlier. He’s going to let me answer this.

Thread the needle.

I smile at the curious man. “It’s in the early stages so far, and we’ll have to see what it evolves into.”

The man chuckles. “All right, I know evasiveness when I see it. Neither of you have drinks yet—here, let’s fix that.” He raisesa hand and motions for one of the neatly clad waiters carrying a tray to approach. “How’s it going then, Hartman? The financial reports your company published back in March looked stellar.”

Aiden smiles. It’s not all together friendly. “Still keeping tabs on us, I see.”

“You know how it is,” the man says. “Everything good at home? The family?”

“Everything’s great,” Aiden says. He looks as unbothered as before, but… his voice sounds harder somehow. The change is barely noticeable.

“Good, good. Well, I know you have plenty of people to chat with before your speech. And hey, don’t forget the fundraising part, yeah?”

“How could I,” Aiden says dryly, and the man—whose name I still don’t know—laughs again. “I’m well aware of the part I need to play.”

“Good man.” He claps Aiden on the shoulder and then moves on toward the next group of people. The waiter he waved over earlier finally makes her way to us with an apologetic smile.

Aiden takes two champagne flutes and hands me one. I grip it tightly and thank the server.

“Although I shouldn’t drink,” I say after she leaves. “I’m on the job.”

Aiden makes a small sound of amusement. “Right. A really demanding job, too.”

Is he being patronizing? I can’t tell, and I meet his serene gaze with one of my own. “Who was that man we just spoke with?”

“Maurice Brown.”

“And he is?”

“He runs an investment firm.”

“He asked about your family,” I say. “You seem well acquainted.”

The tightness around Aiden’s mouth returns. “He knew my father well.”

“Ah. And he… remains a close friend today?”

Aiden’s eyes harden. “He is not someone you’re adding to your list of people to interview.”

“So that’s a no.”

“People are turncoats.” He takes a sip of his champagne and then shakes his head sharply. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Not here,” I say. The conversation in the car still has me revved up. “But we will have to eventually. Won’t we, Aiden?”

His eyes meet mine, and the question hangs in the air between us. For a second, I think he’s going to reply.

And the answer in his eyes isno.

But then he puts his hand on the small of my back and ushers us toward the seats. “We’re definitely not having ithere.Not even hints of it.”

I look around. There are people everywhere, dressed in beautiful chiffon and tuxes. The soft melody of a string quartet plays in the background. A flash goes off, and my gaze lands on a photographer bending to get a good shot of a group posing nearby.

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