Page 14 of Between the Lines

The stick? This memoir. It has a hard deadline and is shrouded in secrecy. Two months, that’s all I have before I need to submit the first draft.

I’ve worked on short deadlines before. But nothing quite like this. Three signed NDAs and no information about the subject.

As night falls, I crawl into bed in my tiny, impersonal, Westwood apartment. A place that’s likely seen a student living here before.

My cracked window is humming with sounds. Cars driving by, cicadas chirping, distant voices. And the heat. It’s comfortable here right now, but we’re heading into a hotter season. I lie on my side and listen to it all. Breathing through my unsettled nerves, I contemplate murdering Vera for not emailing me as she should.

I never get the chance to.

Morning comes, and so does an email from Vera, sent somewhere around one a.m. I’m bleary-eyed but excited until I read:I’ve been stuck at JFK since last night. The flights were delayed because of the storm and now I won’t make it in time. Heading back into the City now.So sorry!!! I’ve told my coworker Jesse to email you the packet. You got this. Hope it goes well!

No email in the inbox from Jesse. I call the office and get put on hold. Great. Just freaking great.

I’m outside my small condo building at the time Vera’s car is supposed to pick me up. The car arrives, sans Vera, and I get in.

We eventually pull to a stop at the entrance to a large office building in Culver City. It’s not that far from my tiny rental, but the LA traffic ensures that it takes plenty of time to get there. The exterior of the building is all glass. Elegant, expensive, and entirely anonymous. This entire assignment is shrouded in so much secrecy, it’s unreal. I’ve never experienced so much hush-hush in my life.

I’m supposed to call up from the lobby. Give my name and be escorted up. It’s rare that my editor isn’t there for the initial meeting, but I guess rescheduling with this businessman wasn’t a possibility, either.

It takes ten minutes for someone to come down to get me.

Into the lobby walks a thin man with Southeast Asian features, including black hair slicked back from his forehead. He’s wearing red-framed wire glasses and in an impeccably tailored navy suit.

His gaze lands on me immediately. “Ah. Charlotte. You’re here.”

“I sure am.” I extend a hand. “You’re Eric Yuwachit?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he says and gives my hand a quick shake. “Mr. Hartman’s executive assistant.”

Hartman.My brain whirls, trying to think of the famous corporate leaders I know. Hartman…Hartman…It rings a faint bell.

“Come with me,” Eric says. His voice is brisk. He looks like a man who runs an impeccable digital calendar and brokers no-nonsense. “A shame your editor from Polar couldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I know she wishes she was here, too. But with a storm that intense…” I give a light shrug and smile at him. He might not be my subject, but the charming starts here.

I’ve collaborated with subjects who had assistants before. Eric here is the gatekeeper.

“No, of course.” He calls for an elevator, clicking his heels together. “Have you been briefed this morning?”

A thread of unease rushes through me, there and gone again. That’s what Vera or Jesse should have done. I’ve been waiting for that packet email with the brief on the client since I woke up at seven this morning.

But it never arrived.

“No, not quite,” I say. “I’ve been kept out of the loop on the finer details of this project. I only signed all the documents yesterday.”

Eric nods again, and we step into the elevator. “That’s right. There are certain… sensitivities in this matter that require discretion. Mr. Hartman will explain further.”

“He’s the subject,” I say. It’s a guess, but I phrase it like I’m certain.

The elevator starts to move. Up and up, toward the top floor.

“Yes, he is,” Eric says. The doors slide open. “He’s the CEO of Titan Media.”

I falter. “Sorry?”

Eric looks over his shoulder at me, a faint furrow between his brows. “Titan Media. It’s one of the largest production companies in the country.”

“I know of it.” It takes effort to start walking again. To keep my face pleasantly neutral. The hallway is long, and the white walls stark.

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