Page 58 of Between the Lines

Like a moth,I think.

CHAPTER 21

AIDEN

I’m back in the glass and steel cage that’s my home during business hours. The headquarters of Titan Media aren’t bad, but the place’s got nothing to being outside. On my screen are the latest financials for BingeBox, and I’m trying to find a new in before our next negotiations meeting.

There’s a knock at the door, and then Eric’s head pops in. “Hey. Do you have five?”

“I do, yes. What’s happening?”

“Wanted to update you on the memoirist.” He closes the door behind him and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks like a herald of old come to inform the court. Voice professional, face neutral.

“The memoirist,” I repeat. At this point, Eric knows her name and her CV by heart.

“Yes. I’ve set her up with a space down the hall, the small conference room that hardly ever gets used.”

“Cynthia uses it sometimes.” Our COO is invaluable.

“She approved,” Eric says. “We spoke about it earlier today. Ms. Gray will be hosting informal drop-in sessions for people here if they want to come in and chat.”

“About what?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and I run a hand through my hair. Charlotte and I haven’t spoken in person since the text conversation last night. The knowledge has changed things.

How could it not?

“The book. If they want to talk about what Titan means to them, their history here at the company… about you.” Eric’s lips quirk just a bit. He knows how much I dislike the whole memoir notion. “We give her what she needs… About the company.”

And not about me.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

His smile widens. “Yes. Well, if she’s nearby, she also has more access to you. I know that’s a problem for you. So I’ve stressed that she only gets the room today and tomorrow for the explicit reason of interviewing staff, but?—”

“No, that’s not a problem.”

Eric’s eyebrows rise. “I’ve limited her accessibility to you until a few days ago when you changed that. Does this mean you want to give her unrestricted access?”

I don’t know what it means.

I’m in over my head. She’s a beautiful distraction, a nuisance with her memoir, and an intriguing problem to solve. It means I’m winging it.

“I’ll handle my availability to her,” I say.

Eric gives a smooth nod, his face returning to its professional mask. “I see. Let me know if you need any changes to the protocol.”

“Will do.”

He turns to leave, but I stop him. “She wants to interview you. Have you visited the room?”

He gives a tiny chuckle. “Not yet. But I heard she brought fresh donuts for everyone who goes in there. So I probably will.”

“Donuts,” I repeat. “That’s the price of your loyalty?”

He pulls the door open wide with a smile. “I’ll only have good things to say.”

I run a hand through my hair again. She’s right down the hall, is she? And bribing my staff with baked goods to get them to spill all my secrets.

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when I have the time to leave my office and head down the hallway. The glass door—layered with frosted window film that makes it opaque—to the conference room is closed.

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