Page 48 of Between the Lines

Up by the staircase, separating the two sides of the large hallway, is an open-concept TV room. An oversized L-shaped cloud sectional sits snugly against the wall, along with a TV projector. I stare at it for a solid few minutes before deciding that Ihaveto try it out one day when Aiden is not home.

At the far end of the corridor is a door that’s completely shut. It must be what Elena had gestured to hours ago. Aiden’s bedroom. I look at it for another moment before heading downstairs.

There’s another guest bathroom—how many guests does he plan on having?—and then, that beautiful wine cellar. I open the fridge. Find it mostly empty except for some preprepared meals. Packaged beautifully, with names of the contents written on them.Expires Wednesdayis written in a sprawling hand. The sticker is from a restaurant I vaguely remember passing earlier.

So, he doesn’t cook.

I walk into a dimmed corner of the downstairs, past the large sitting room. The space is darker than all the other rooms I’ve seen, like the blinds have been closed here. And inside, there’s a large dining table in the middle. No, that’s not a table for meals. It’s a pool table. On the wall is a large blackboard, but I can barely make out the names at the top.Aiden.The second name is written in an even more sprawling hand, and it starts with anM.

“Are you snooping?” a voice asks.

CHAPTER 18

CHARLOTTE

I jump. “Oh my god.”

He chuckles, standing there behind me, leaning against the entryway jamb. “Nice to see you’re making yourself at home.”

“I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“You were clearly busy.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Like what you’ve found?”

“You do have a beautiful home,” I admit.

“You say that like it’s an unfortunate thing.”

“Did you decorate it?”

“Mandy did most of it,” he says.

Oh. His sister. I look past his shoulder at the white and navy colors of the living room. The large painting on a wall featuring a beach. “She knows you well.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, she does. Have you settled in all right?”

“Your PA showed me around. Elena.”

“Mm-hmm. Good.” He steps closer and stretches out a hand. “What are you reading?”

I hesitate only a moment before I hand over the book I’d planned to read on one of his large couches. It’s well-read, andthe color of the pages is just a bit yellowed. “It’s by one of my favorite authors.”

“Grace Ellington,” he reads. “Invisible Threads. The unseen connections that shape our everyday lives.”

I feel oddly exposed, seeing his head bent and eyes reading the synopsis on the back cover. “Yes.”

“Is this the kind of book you want to write?”

“I’d be so lucky. She’s fantastic.” I reach out and take the book from him gently, tucking it back under my arm. “But it’s the genre I want to write, yes. Non-fiction that captures the reader immediately, and leaves them… thinking. Entertained. As much investigative journalism as it is psychology, anthropology.”

Aiden’s still in a suit, like he just got back from work. Outside the windows, the pool is glittering softly under the outdoor lighting. The sun has already set. It had gotten late somewhere between my work and unpacking.

“You told me that you might get a deal to write a novel of your own after this memoir.”

“Yes.”

“What will you write about if you do?” He walks over to the minibar in the corner and pours himself a glass of scotch. Looks over at me. “Want one?”

I sit down on his large, white couch. My jeans and sweater feel very casual all of a sudden, but this is a golden opportunity. I need all I can get with him.

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