Page 39 of Between the Lines

“There are photographers everywhere,” I admit. And I need to make sure not a single one gets a good shot of me.

“It’s not the photographers I’m worried about,” Aiden mutters.

“It’s the people?” I ask him. We’ve stopped by a row of seats labeled asVIPandSpeaker.Maurice had mentioned that Aiden was going to give a speech.

I hadn’t known that.

Aiden blows out a breath. “What did I just say? We’re not having this conversation here, Chaos.”

“I’m not asking about the past. Just about the present.” I look over his shoulder, at the crowds of people attending the event. There are so many of them.

I haven’t liked being in crowds for years.

There’s oftenoneperson who looks at me for a little too long. Who racks their brain, and sometimes it clicks. Who I am. They nudge their friends.Remember that girl who had a freakout on TV? Remember the meme?

Aiden seems so at ease here. He always does, everywhere he goes. But I wonder… He has a reputation, too.

A past.

I did anticipate that being in LA would be hard. This is the epicenter of film and movie production, including a lot of reality TV. There’s probably a higher chance of being recognized here than in Minnesota or in the Alaskan wilderness. But so far, no one at this venue seems to be staring.

I’d forgotten that in a city with so many famous people, my own blip fades in comparison. I’m a speck of dust when matched against the real stars.

The thought is very comforting.

“Do you know many of the people here?” I ask him.

He takes another sip of his champagne. “A fair number. Not all.”

“But they know you,” I guess.

His eyes narrow. “Knowofme, most likely. Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“You really are on the job.” He touches his champagne flute to mine. “Take a sip. It’ll help you relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“Mm-hmm,” he says dryly. “So am I.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s being sarcastic.So, he’s not relaxed in these environments.

But he’s very good at acting like he is.

Another nugget of information I file away, like an archaeologist unearthing a new find. “Why do you go to these events?” I ask instead. “If you don’t like them?”

“Means to an end,” he says.

“What speech are you giving?”

“I’m donating the largest sum tonight to the charity. That buys you a certain level of visibility.”

“What charity is it?”

“Dementia research,” he says. “Playing twenty questions?”

“Would you rather play ball with me or network with someone out there?” I incline my head toward the masses. A few people are looking his way and it’s likely only a matter of time before he’s approached again. “Why dementia?”

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