Page 101 of Between the Lines

Something twists in my chest. I don’t know how I should feel or handle this.

“Just drive it,” he mutters beside me. “For me. It will make me feel better.”

“Are you saying I’ll be doing you a favor?”

“Yes, for god’s sake, Chaos. Yes.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Remember the deal we made in the coat room at the fundraising gala? Anything I ask of you, you get to ask of me. That goes both ways.”

His jaw tenses. “What are you saying?”

“If you ask me to drive this car, I’ll ask you to drive mine.”

Aiden is silent for a few long moments. Up here in the hills, in this rich neighborhood with only the sun as an onlooker, Los Angeles is quiet. I didn’t know a major city could be this quiet.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

He runs a hand along his jaw. “Fuck, you’re making this hard.”

“I don’t think you’d like me if I made things easy,” I say. The words feel painfully accurate. I’ve spent years building myself into a person who can stand up for herself. Who doublechecksevery contract, who’s whip-smart, always reading between the lines.

“Drive your car,” he repeats. His voice is sour. “No, I can’t do that, Chaos.”

“Would it ruin your image?”

“Yes,” he mutters. “Fuck, is that what you want to hear?”

“I want you to be honest. That’s not a lease, is it?”

He glares at me. I glare right back at him. The worddumbechoes around in my head.

“No, it’s not a lease,” he says. “They’re a drain of money.”

“And buying a new car isn’t?”

Aiden blows out a breath. “Money isn’t an issue.”

“You just said you wouldn’t get a lease because it’s a drain, so clearly, you do care about money.”

“God, you’re too clever by half, sometimes.” He runs a hand over his face. “I thought this would make you happy.”

“Yeah. Has it been a success for you with your women in the past?” That’s not hard to imagine.

He looks at me with cautious eyes. “I don’t know how that is relevant, since per rule number one, I’m doing this for my business associate. Not my woman.”

I hate my own logic when it traps me like a lasso. I turn to stare at the car instead. Search my mind for anything to say, anything at all, when in truth, I do want to drive it.

“Why this color?”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “You wear a lot of silver jewelry,” he says. “I noticed.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye.

He side-eyes me right back.

Our silent, deadly staring match is interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

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