Page 60 of Between the Lines

Her voice is a tad snarky, her eyes sharp behind her reading glasses.

My lips twitch, a smile is threatening to break out. “Like freelancing memoirists?”

“I’m not afraid of being fired,” she says. “Not from this job. Especially since you’re not the one who hired me.”

I brace my hands on the table, interlacing my fingers together. Mirroring her stance. “Want to play a game?”

Her eyes narrow. “What game?”

“You can talk to people about what I’m like. But they don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

“No,” she says. “Which is why I’m also interviewing you.”

I reach for one of the donuts. “On Thursday, why don’t you live exactly like me?”

CHAPTER 22

CHARLOTTE

Doing what Aiden does for an entire day should be easy.

But it’s not.

It starts in the gym. I’m wearing an old tank top with Idaho State’s logo on it and a pair of leggings that I use to run in. I haven’t tried that here yet. Running the hills of Bel Air. I should, but the roads here have sharp twists and turns, and the cars whip about at high speeds. It’s also hot as hell most days. And I haven’t found where the designated running trails are.

Frankly, all of these are excuses. But they still work.

I watch Aiden load weights onto the barbell I’ve seen him use several times before. One. Then two. Three weights. It’s almost as heavy as when he does chest presses.

“Okay, I know we said I would do exactly what you’re doing, but I’m not lifting that.”

Aiden steps back and gives the weights a considering look. Like he’s thinking about adding more plates to the barbell.

“You’re not even listening,” I say. “You’re just packing on the weights. Have you seen my arms? They’re not like yours. I’m not made out of pure muscle.”

He actually cracks a small smile at that. “Right. Well, do you want to be?”

I think for a moment. “Not particularly. But given the way you work out, you clearly want to. So I guess today, yes. I want to look like I could be the movie star, not the movie company owner.”

“My company makes very few movies.”

“Very few is not none.” I take a few steps closer and look at the intimidating bar. “All right. Let’s do this. And why is the news not on? I’m Aiden Hartman. I need to be informed of the latest headlines at all times. Especially when I’m working on my already perfect physique.” I sit down on the bench. My words come faster than usual, and it’s partly fueled by nerves. I haven’t lifted weights in a long time.

I don’t know if I can do this.

Not with him watching me. In all his six-three, tanned, broad glory. He’s not flexing. Hasn’t even crossed his arms over his chest, and they’re still broad.

Annoying.

I lie down on the bench and reach up to grip the bar. He walks behind me and takes up a position like he’s going to spot me. Jesus. He never has a spotter.

“I haven’t overloaded,” he says, voice even. “You can get eight reps done. Then you could stop if you want. But I know you can do eight more afterward.”

“You know, do you?”

“I know. Let’s go.”

I do the eight. He lets me rest for a bit, and then, somehow, I do eight more. By the time I finish, my chest is burning. It’s definitely much heavier than I usually lift, and he’s been watching all of it.

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