Page 80 of Between the Lines

“I always want you,” he says in a low voice. “Might be damn inconvenient, but it’s true. There will be other nights.”

CHAPTER 30

AIDEN

On the other side of my desk, Charlotte is all-focus and all-business. With her notepad in her lap, she’s intently listening to every word Eric says.

“…which is why these quarter numbers are crucial,” he says. “Cynthia sent them to your email earlier?”

She’s not as flushed today as she was the other night on my couch. Her skin is back to its natural creamy peach complexion, with freckles sprinkled across her nose. They’ve spread since she arrived in LA. Nurtured by the sun.

“Mr. Hartman?” Eric asks.

I clear my throat. “Yes. Right. I saw them, and I’ll bring the matter up tonight. Did you make the reservations?”

Eric hesitates a moment before nodding in a way that suggests he has indeed said this already. “Yes. Velveteen, at seven. Caleb and Nora Stone will both be there.”

I look at Charlotte. “Wanna come?”

Her mouth parts, and then she nods. “Yes. Yes, I’d love to.”

Eric looks like he wants to protest. Yes, yes. I know. Negotiations and purchases are singularly confidential. And in particular, our tactics ahead of meetings. Caleb and Nora need towantto sell to me. I can offer them a giant sum of money, sure.But in return, they’ll lose control of the firm they’ve built up for years.

Not everyone is willing to make that trade.

But Charlotte has signed an NDA. She’s trustworthy.

“Add another person to the reservation,” I tell Eric.

He nods, face taut. “Right. Will do. The car will pick you up at six thirty.”

“I’ll drive us,” I say instead.

The word slips out, and fuck, we’re not anus. But here I am, using it anyway. It’s been a very long time since I was a part of an “us.” I can’t even remember if I ever was, actually. My ex used to complain about how I often made plans without thinking of her.

I didn’t mean to be an asshole about it.

I just didn’t… think about her.

With Charlotte, it’s always a struggle tostopthinking about her.

Work has been a sinkhole for me for the past decade. I could always surrender to it, let it drag me down and forget the rest of the world. The only thing that mattered was the next task.

Growth, expansion, consolidation.

Until now.

Eric excuses himself, and Charlotte rises to do the same. There are hours left before dinner. She has chapters to write.

But I find myself unwilling to let her go.

“You haven’t sent me any chapters or ideas,” I tell her. “For your own book. Have you picked the topic you want to work on?”

She pauses halfway between my desk and the door, and presses her things tight to her chest. “I think so. Internet culture, for sure, and the relationship with the media. I have some loose ideas but… nothing I can pitch, yet.” She shakes her head. She sounds frustrated. “Nothing I can use to convince my editor.”

“Write a few pitches and let me look them over.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

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