Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
CHARLOTTE
I take a few steps into the office on wooden legs. My pulse is high; it’s audible to my ears. A dull pounding and a sense of fight or flight make my legs shake.
What are the odds ?
The man I met two weeks ago in Utah belongs to a different time. To a different me. To an evening of adrenaline, bad decisions, and fun.
He doesn’t belong here.
But he is here. Standing tall behind the desk like he owns it, like he owns everything else around us. His face is so neutral, it could be cut from stone. Gone is the messy hair and beard.
He looks like a complete stranger.
Which is exactly what he is.
And the CEO of Titan Media.
Eric sits down in the chair across from Aiden’s desk, and motions for me to take a seat beside him. I do. My eyes never leave Aiden.
He still hasn’t shown an outward sign of recognition… but it’s there, glinting in his eyes.
“Ms. Gray is the writer hired to pen your memoir. Polar’s editor-in-chief, Vera Tran, was delayed by the storm over the Eastern seaboard, or she would be here for this meeting, too,” Eric says. He looks at me, and it’s clear in the faint frown on his face that he is wondering why I’m silent. Why I haven’t said a single word.
I clear my throat.
“Hello,” I say.
Aiden’s lips curl a tiny fraction. “Hi.”
“It’s a… pleasure to meet you,” I say, and clear my throat. “I’m the writer connected to Polar Publishing. The one your company vetted and hired for this project. The book, I mean.”
“Yes. I’ve read your profile, Ms. Gray. You’ve ghostwritten memoirs for several high-profile individuals. Including a former member of The Real Housewives .”
There’s a faint note in his voice, and I wonder if it’s judgment. As if I haven’t heard it before. Anger flares to life inside me, chasing away some of my nerves. This company produces copious amounts of reality TV.
I would know.
“I did, yes. Frankie Swan’s book, just before her sentencing.”
“I can’t say I’ve read it.”
“I’d be surprised if you had.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “The CV I read mentioned the memoir by Matthew Bennett, the former US champion in cross-country skiing.”
“Yes. I spent a summer living near him and his family in Minnesota, and the result was a beautiful story about winning and the costs that come along with it.”
“I haven’t read that one, either.” Aiden won’t look away from me. Is he challenging me? Taunting me?
“Well, maybe you’re not a big reader,” I say.
There’s a small intake of breath from the assistant sitting beside me. Oh. Eric.
But Aiden doesn’t spare him a glance. “Maybe I’m not. Which book of yours should I pick up first?”
“Whichever interests you the most,” I say. I’m not intimidated, I think, and will that to be true. “Considering the scope of this project, perhaps the book I co-wrote with William Young about the rise and fall of his tech company. I think that would be most… relevant.”
“I know William. I asked him about his experience with you after I received your resume.”
My mouth dries out. I had provided references, of course, but had not expected the subject himself to be the one to vet them. Not with a team around him, and so much secrecy that I hadn’t even known his name until this very day.
I take another long breath. When in doubt, I’ve learned to use silence to buy myself time. “Well, since I’m here today, I assume the conversation went well.”
His lip curves. “Indeed it had. He said you were agreeable to work with, a quick writer, and amenable to making edits.”
Yes. Edits . William had certainly required more than his fair share—combing through chapter after chapter I’d written about him to polish away any shred of humanity until all that was left was a superhuman beacon of intelligence and character.
But that was the job sometimes.
“I’m glad he recommended me,” I say. But the main question still swirls. How the hell are we going to work together?
Are we just going to pretend like nothing happened between us?
He runs a hand along his jaw, and all I can see is when it was between my legs. I look down at my notes instead. I can’t believe he’s the CEO of Titan Media and I never knew.
The silence feels heavy.
Eric is the one to break it. “All the paperwork is signed, including the NDAs, and we’re set to begin.” He holds up a tablet and clicks open what looks like a schedule. “We’ve worked in blocks of time every week for you to have access to Mr. Hartman.”
I look at the schedule. Most of the weeks are blocked out with black squares, but there are a few slots of green with text in them.
Car ride to office. 20 mins.
Lunch break in office. 15 mins.
There’s a whole lot of black and very little green.
I look over at Aiden. My thoughts must have been clear on my face because he shrugs. “I’m a busy man, Ms. Gray.”
“Charlotte, please,” I say. “And I understand that you’re busy. You run a company, after all. But with the intense timeline we’re under with this memoir, you and I might need to work a bit more closely than this. At least in the beginning.”
“This is what we have to work with,” Eric says decisively. “If you have any questions, want more material, pictures, or background information—please reach out to me. My office will put together dossiers for you to refer to. This schedule has been forwarded to your email address, and the shared calendar will be continually updated.”
I look back down at the schedule. The little ten, fifteen, or sometimes twenty-minute intervals will have me running around the city.
This will be a far cry from spending a summer living in Minnesota right next door to the former athlete and his family who opened their doors to me and gave me access to every aspect: the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly.
“All right,” I say. “We’re just going to have to make it work.”
“We will,” Aiden says. His words are confident, but there’s a furrow between his brow. I wonder how involved he’s really been in this entire process.
He wants a memoir?
He’s only thirtysomething.
But Titan Media has been in a storm of bad publicity recently. News broke that the former CEO had been charged with embezzlement and fraud. The company had nearly gone bankrupt.
Along with my family, I’d cheered for it to go belly-up.
The realization that I don’t even know the basics about this man, didn’t know his name until this morning, makes me want to scowl. I need access to make this work.
And I don’t even know if I want access.
“I believe that’s everything. All communication will go through me,” Eric says. “You have my number, and I’m only a text away.”
I look from the poised man next to me to the man in a suit across the desk. He’s staring back at me with an inscrutable look in his eyes.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“I won’t have your number?” I ask.
Aiden blinks once but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t answer right away, either. Humiliation rests heavily on my shoulders, adding to the maelstrom already raging inside me, but I don’t look away. I gave him my number. He said he’d call.
But he never did.
“Mr. Hartman has decided that?—”
Aiden cuts Eric off with a raised hand. “May I have a few words with Ms. Gray alone, please, Eric?”
Eric’s eyebrows fly skyward. For a passing moment there’s a tense look on his face, and like he’s worried about having done something wrong. It seems that Aiden inspires loyalty in the people around him, or at the very least, respect and fear.
I wonder how he does that.
“Of course. You have… four minutes until your next meeting.”
Eric leaves, and the door closes behind him with a sharp sound that rings out ominously loud in the quiet space.
Aiden runs a hand over his jaw again, and there’s a spark in his eye. My breath catches in my throat. I have no idea what’s going to come next.
What I’m going to say next. Can I write this memoir?
“So you’re the ghostwriter?” he asks.
“I am.”
“Impossible.” His voice deepens with something like frustration.
“I can’t believe we…” I shake my head. “You know, the proper thing to do would be for me to walk out of here. To rip up the contract because I can’t be unbiased.”
“Do you have to be unbiased to write a memoir commissioned by the person it’s about?” Aiden asks drily. “It won’t be presented in front of a panel of impartial judges. No one needs to know about Utah.”
“Let’s hope they won’t.” Vera can never find out, I think. This memoir is supposed to prove just how far my writing has come. She had told me it would be a sensitive piece of work. A challenging one. “You’re the CEO of Titan Media,” I say. It comes out like an accusation.
Aiden nods. “Yes. Have been for almost two years.”
Two years. But it has been over nine years since I was on that first, explosive season of The Gamble . The show has been airing ever since. It’s one of the highest-watched on the network.
His network.
“You want a memoir,” I say. My mind is spinning.
Aiden’s hand keeps running over his jaw, a tension in his expression. “The company wants a memoir, yes. There’s a packet prepared for you, with background information. Eric will give it to you after this.”
I wet my lips. They really don’t know about me, or my history. It’s not on my resume… and I don’t look the same. Not that I have my picture on my CV or anything.
Can I do this?
Aiden’s eyes are burning through me. For all of his strangeness, the missing beard, the suit, the commanding air, his gaze is the same as it had been at that resort in Utah.
“What do you say, Charlotte?” he asks. There’s a challenge in his voice, a dangerous one. “I can stay professional these months. Can you?”
I’ve spent years chasing my curiosity. Throwing myself into new challenges. New memoirs, new cities, new subjects.
This will be the hardest one yet.
But I have become tough. I’ve had to be.
I extend a hand across the desk. His palm meets mine, and warm dry fingers close in a tight grip. We shake.
“You bet,” I say.