Page 109 of Between the Lines

CHAPTER 40

CHARLOTTE

I quickly undo the messy bun and run a hand through my hair, and stop by the mirror in my en suite.

I don’t look sick. But I do look sleepy, I suppose, and definitely unkempt. No makeup and my hair is a mess. It’ll have to do.

I hurry down the stairs.

Aiden is in his large kitchen. His phone in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “There you are,” he says and sounds altogether too pleased about it. I wonder how much he had to drink tonight. “How are you feeling?”

He’s in a tux. It’s immaculately done up, the bowtie at his neck, all the scruff on his lower jaw gone. Clean-shaven. The consummate professional. The handsome CEO who saved the entire company from near-ruin.

Except for the lines on his forehead. I bet he’s had to do a lot of convincing tonight to truly put new rumors to rest.

“Better.” I lean against the kitchen island. “Did you go shopping?”

He starts rummaging through the paper bag and pulls out two white containers. “Soup,” he says. Then he pulls out a small bottle that rattles with the sound of pills.

“Did you raid a pharmacy?”

“Yes.” He also pulls out two large bottles of mineral water, a bag of chips, and over a dozen chocolate bars. “I got every kind. Didn’t know which one was your favorite.”

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and watch him set it all up on the island like it’s an offering. I don’t like lying. Never have. But here I am, doing it anyway.

“Maybe I don’t even like chocolate.”

He looks at me. “No one dislikes chocolate.”

I reach for the one with a tiny galaxy on the packaging. “This one. It’s my favorite.”

His lips curve. “Good choice.”

“Thank you for all of this.”

“Anytime, Chaos.” He pushes the container of warm soup into my hands. “Eat that before your dessert,” he says and lifts his free hand to untie the knot at his bowtie.

“You’re bossy tonight.”

“I’m bossy all the time,” he says. “That’s my job.”

I sit down on a bar stool across from him and open the lid to the soup. It smells delicious. “How did the night go?”

He ignores my question. “How do you feel? Do you get migraines often?”

I stir the soup with a spoon. “Sometimes.”

He frowns. “I don’t like that. Have you been checked out for them?”

“It’s not that serious. I just had a massive headache and knew it would have gotten worse with so much stimulus.” I look at him. “Now tell me about your night.”

He waits a moment, his fingers drumming against the kitchen island. “Great. A roaring, fan-fucking-tastic success.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds like sarcasm.”

“No. It’s true. It went great.” He reaches up and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt with sharp movements. I seehis Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. “I’ve charmed and convinced and told them all that there is nothing to the rumors about our tax filings. I’ve been the picture of ease.” Then he shakes his head. “Fuck, I hate these events.”

“You go to a lot of them,” I say carefully. “Do you hate them all?”

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