Page 42 of Between the Lines

Why did he invite me here tonight, then? Does he find it fun to toy with me? Am I nothing but entertainment?

I was hired to do a job, and he’s making it impossible for me to do it.

Aiden waits a second for the chuckles to die down, one hand gripping the mic and the other braced on the podium. He looks relaxed, broad-shouldered, and totally at home up on that stage.

Unbothered by me, by our argument.

Maybe this is all just sport to him. Like asking for my number and then never calling. Like running a giant media conglomerate that makes millions on other people’s drama.

He starts talking, but his husky voice just washes over me. I can’t make out his words. Something about philanthropy andthe importance of Los Angeles coming together as a community, and empty platitudes that say nothing about who he actually is.

Just like he’s done with me.

I take a deep breath, and then another, forcing down the irritation. Searching for the calm and professionalism that have been mine for years. Regardless of how challenging the subject is.

But I can’t find it.

It’s out of reach.

I twist, turning to look for the nearest restroom, and that’s when I feel it. A sharp rip, and then the tight grip of fabric around my chest loosens.

Falls.

I wrap my arms around myself just in time and feel the bare skin on my side where the zipper has come undone.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I glance around at the darkened room, but no one is looking at me. They’re focused on Aiden up on stage.

I find the zipper and try to wriggle it about. It doesn’t work. I need better lighting and I need to turn the dress around. I also need tonotbein a room with two hundred and fifty of Los Angeles’s elite where I risk showing them my A-cups.

I glance at the stage again and then slip out of my chair. I duck to stay out of sight, my arms still wrapped tightly around my chest and the traitorous green fabric.

As quickly and quietly as I can, I hurry in the direction of the back room, the one where we came from. I pass a few loitering waiters and damn it, where’s the bathroom?

It takes me almost a minute to find it by the coat check alcove. I feel too hot and just a bit sweaty. Clutching my small bag in handandthe two sides of my dress that refuse to stick together.

Why did I think strapless was a good idea? And why did I think it was a bright notion to skip the bulky strapless bra?

Built-in corset dress,sure. Only works if the damn thing stays up.

Quick, hard steps follow behind me. “You’re leaving?” Aiden asks, his voice rough.

I falter next to the startled coat check clerk and turn to meet Aiden’s narrowed eyes. My anger flares to life when faced with his.

“So what if I am? It’s not like you’ll give me any answers if I stay.”

His eyes burn. “Walking off during my speech is a bit much though, don’t you think?”

“Your ego really is that fragile,” I spit back.

“If my ego was fragile,” he says, “don’t you think I’d want you to write a puff piece like the memoir you did for William?”

“That wasn’t a puff piece,” I tell him, and take a step back. My hip bumps into the coat check counter. It’s also a lie. William’s book was a total puff piece, and I hated working with him.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Aiden says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I read your memoir about the Olympic swimmer. That’s the kind of writing you want to do, Chaos. Intimate and emotional.”

---