Page 139 of Between the Lines

“Good morning,” Eric tells me. His eyes linger, as if he knows, too. Of course he does. He knows everything about his boss.

I pause by his desk. “Is Mr. Hartman ready for me?”

“Yes,” Eric says. He taps his pen against the desk a few times. “For what it’s worth, you were my favorite during that season. And Blake is an asshole.”

I blink at him. “I was?”

“By a long shot,” Eric says. His voice is just as professional. His glasses today aren’t red, but a bright turquoise, matching the handkerchief tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Have you known? Since the beginning?” I ask.

The door in front of me swings open, a soundless invitation into the giant corner office that belongs to Aiden. But I can’t go in just yet.

“Yes,” Eric says.

I incline my head toward the office. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I understand wanting to keep some things hidden.”

I want to hug Eric. But that would wrinkle his immaculate suit and ruin the professional relationship we have. So I just smile at him instead.

“Thank you for that. Truly.”

Eric smiles and looks back at his screen. I take a deep breath before stepping into Aiden’s office.

He’s standing by his desk.

His eyes track me as I cross the threshold into his office and the door closes behind me with an audible snick. Locking us in together.

I meet Aiden’s gaze and work hard at keeping my face neutral and shoulders back.

“Charlotte,” he says.

“Let’s review some chapters,” I say.

“We’re not going to pretend like yesterday never happened.”

“Why not? We’re great at pretending things between us don’t happen.” My voice is confident and doesn’t waver at any time. I should get a medal for that. “Rule number two, and all.”

“I’ve never pretended,” he says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I feel great.”

“We don’t have to meet here if it’s painful for you. We can go for a drive. Or back to my house, or your rental apartment. There are options.”

“You don’t need to make adjustments for me,” I say.

He can’t be kind to me. That would truly break me.

Aiden takes a step closer. “The Titan Media gala. You had a migraine. That wasn’t true, was it?”

I look past his shoulder at the view of Los Angeles. “No.”

“You could have told me the truth.”

“Could I?” My voice turns acerbic. It’s a defense mechanism, and I hate that I’m aware of it, and still can’t stop it happening. “You have been very clear with your opinion on the reality shows, and the reality TV stars, in particular.”

“You’re not a reality star,” he says. But then he curses, shaking his head.

---