Page 47 of Between the Lines

CHAPTER 17

CHARLOTTE

It makes a reluctant kind of sense. That’s the only reason I pack up my clothes and belongings into the two giant suitcases I lug around, the ones that have become home as much as the tiny rental spaces I move between. Shove everything into my old but trusty Honda.

The apartment remains available to me.

That had been one of my conditions. I need to be able to go back there if needed, and Aiden had agreed without protest.

I drive the winding road from my Westwood condo past UCLA, across Sunset, and enter the storied Bel Air. Up the curving streets, past lush trees and ornate estate gates.

This time, I edge my car to the gate and hit the call button. I’m meant to get a key card today, if the information in the email I received is correct.

A woman answers after a few rings. She lets me in, and I park my little Honda next to Aiden’s Jeep. It makes my car look rather sad, and most definitely not clean. I should give it a wash.

The smiling woman introduces herself as Elena, Aiden’s personal assistant. She’s in her mid-fifties, wearing a strict black dress and her red hair in a low bun. She’s the one who handles his private affairs. I still don’t fully understand how he can haveenough work for both ElenaandEric, but I suppose I’m about to find out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she tells me. “Mr. Hartman has a large guest room. He’s not home much, either, depending on his work schedule.”

“Yes, Eric has provided me with the schedule. Hopefully this will give me more opportunities to spend time with Aiden.” I shrug a little, and feel compelled to add, “For research.”

She nods and pulls the giant front door to the modern house open. “Of course. Let’s get you settled in.”

The place is huge.

That’s my first impression. I’m awed by the sheer scope of it. There’s a large foyer and a staircase that leads upstairs. Art that hangs on the walls has a distinctiveexpensivelook. Big pieces, in modern frames. Lots of colors and patterns that I know next to nothing about but can surely identify as investment pieces.

There’s a large wine cellar built off the kitchen; a temperature-controlled room with a glass door. Shelves upon shelves are filled with bottles, and in the middle, a small table made from an old wine barrel.

“That’s Mr. Hartman’s collection.” Elena is warm but brisk, and soon sweeps me onwards to my room.

It’s on the second floor, at the far end of the corridor, and has a window that looks out over the backyard and the infinity pool that tops it off. Inside, there are gray wainscoted walls and a ceiling light fixture that looks like a cloud. There’s a small desk in the corner, and a large queen bed with white bed linens takes center stage.

It’s such an upgrade from my small rental.

“Mr. Hartman’s rooms are down the hall and past the TV on the landing. You’ll have your privacy here,” Elena assures me. “The en suite is just through that door there.”

“Thank you,” I breathe. My suitcases look obscenely massive next to the sleek black dresser, and more banged-up than usual against the pristine space.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says. On the desk, she leaves me a set of keys and a small guide that has my name on the top and includes the Wi-Fi password and instructions on everything from how to work the window latches to how often the laundry is done. Then she departs, leaving me to myself.

I lie down on the giant bed and stare up at the cloud lamp. It’s pretty. Prettier than anything in other rooms I’ve stayed in over the last few years. All I’ve been doing is moving with my suitcases from place to place, never staying long in one spot. Never settling down. Just the way I like it.

But just in case I ever have a home of my own, I take a picture of the overhead cloud light. If it’s not obscenely expensive, I want one just like it.

My clothes fit into the dresser and the walk-in closet with plenty of space to spare. I have boxes of stuff stored at my parents’ house, labeledCharlotte’s future homein my dad’s blocky handwriting.

I work for a few hours. Expand the narrative framework for Aiden’s memoir, the one I’ll run through with him more in-depth now that he’s agreed to work with me and not against me.

I add longer summaries of each chapter, and what details I’d like to include.Anecdotes from your school years. A description of you by your sister and mother. Recount three of the hardest decisions you’ve had to make for Titan Media since you became CEO.

When my neck starts to hurt and the time gets late, I venture out of my room with a book under my arm. I walk on quiet feet. It almost feels like I’m trespassing.

The upper floor has a few rooms. The doors of several of them are open.

There’s a small office that looks mostly unused. One side is filled with books across the entire wall, while the other features a large framed photograph. The image is of a beach, with lots of surfers in a row, out on the waves. It’s grainy, like it was taken in the seventies.

I check the next half-open door. It’s another guest room, but far smaller than mine. It’s tastefully decorated in green colors.

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