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?”
