Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
AIDEN
I have a headache. It’s not uncommon these days, but it’s fucking annoying. Just like that strategy session I just held. The streaming service I want Titan to purchase doesn’t want to get sold. The sibling owners have been toying with selling for months, and I’ve entertained them, played their game, for months .
Even with the failing financials, with the lack of capital keeping their enterprise afloat, they’re resistant. They want more money. More influence. They’re on the same page, and then suddenly, they’re not.
I’ve met every shade of person in this business. But everything hinges on this purchase. Everything. And my patience is wearing thin.
The future of Titan Media as a production company and media network is in streaming. And it’s in owning the means of getting our content out to people.
I down the water bottle I keep on my desk. Reach into the top drawer for an Advil and look at my watch.
It’s only a little after noon.
Which means there’s still too many hours left of meetings.
It had taken me time to get used to people’s eyes resting on me with expectations. Waiting for orders, for speeches, for encouragement or reprimands. Now those gazes have gotten familiar enough that I can feel them even inside this office.
I click open my calendar. There’s a twenty-minute lunch break scheduled soon, and it’s marked green. Charlotte’s name is on it.
She’s coming to my office for our second interview.
The sight of her name on my agenda is… thrilling. As inconvenient as it is, as she is… there’s no denying that talking to her was the most fun I had yesterday, and it was all before eight in the morning. In a car. Stuck in traffic.
She’s fierce. Takes everything I give her and responds in kind. Often in surprising ways. It’s dangerously sweet. Something I could easily become addicted to.
Sunlight streams through my full-pane windows. It’s a bright spring day, and I want air. Los Angeles air, sure. It won’t be particularly fresh. But I spend far too much time inside these four walls.
I grab my suit jacket and phone, and head out of the office. Pass Eric on the way.
“Tell Ms. Gray that our meeting location has changed. I’ll meet her in the lobby instead.”
He’s up and out of his chair so fast that the wheels make a scraping noise against the tiled floor. “You will?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need me to come, too?”
I’m already walking toward the elevator. “No thanks, Eric,” I call over my shoulder. “Man the fort while I’m gone!”
His response of will do reaches me just as the elevator doors shut. I hit the button for the ground floor and look at my watch again. She should be here in five minutes. Which means, I’m taking my lunch a bit ahead of schedule.
What a rebel.
I run a hand through my hair. The headache hasn’t abated, not one bit. Maybe sunlight will help. Maybe Chaos will help more.
She’s already in the lobby.
Standing by the reception, talking to the man behind the desk. It isn’t until I’m right next to her that I can make out the conversation.
“Ah… yes, here you are,” the receptionist says. His eyes are glued to his screen. “You’re on the approved visitor list. Let me grab your ID and make a copy.”
“Every time?” I ask. “She needs to do this every time?” She should have gotten an access card the very first day she was here.
“It’s protocol.” The receptionist looks up from his screen. His lips part, and there’s a slow beat of silence. “Oh. I’m sorry, sir. She’s your guest?”
“She is. Issue her a permanent visitor card.”
His mouth works once, but no sound comes out. Like he’s about to protest. But then he just nods briskly. “Absolutely. I can have it done in a few minutes.”
“We’ll pick it up in twenty. Thank you.” My hand finds Charlotte’s elbow, and I steer her away from the reception.
There’s a confused furrow between her brows. “You’re not having lunch in your office?”
“The weather is too nice. Have lunch with me outside.”
“I like the sound of that,” she says and falls into easy step beside me. “That wasn’t necessary, by the way. Intimidating the receptionist like that.”
“I didn’t intimidate anyone.”
“Sure you didn’t,” she retorts. “Just like every head isn’t turned in the lobby right now?”
I glance over her shoulder. Perhaps a few people are looking at us, yes. But that’s nothing unusual. Irritation makes my headache pulse.
“Maybe we are attracting a few glances.” I push open the glass door for her. “I usually ignore them.”
“I bet you have to, to make it through a workday,” she says. Her shoulder-length hair sways with every step, gleaming caramel under the bright spring sunlight. “So, where are we going?”
I point across the trafficked LA road to the food trucks. “There.”
“We’re having street food?” There’s a trace of excitement in her voice. “I have to say, I didn’t expect that.”
We cross the street along with a group of business-clad people. It’s midday and plenty of people are out hunting for lunch.
“Do you usually eat here?” she asks me. “Is this another favorite place of yours, like that coffee shop?”
“I’m almost never here.” I order tacos and a large bottle of water from the guy in the food truck. I motion for Charlotte to make her selection at the same time and she steps up to the plate.
I pay for both of our meals, and we head with our food to a sunny bench.
I should do this more often. Escape the four-walled prison that’s become more familiar to me than my own house.
Charlotte crosses her legs and turns toward me on the bench. There’s a glow on her cheeks, mirrored in her eyes.
She’s distractingly cute.
“We spoke about everything and nothing yesterday,” she says. “That’s good, as a starting point for me to get to know you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I take a large bite of my beef taco and look away from her bright blue eyes. My determination to give her almost nothing hasn’t wavered.
“But I’m curious, what are you looking to get out of this? What parts of yourself do you think are key that we need to highlight during this process?”
“You never stop working,” I say.
She makes a small sound of surprise. “Well, I’m hired to work for you, Aiden. And I have far too little access to you as it is.”
I appreciate her diligence. It’s just damned inconvenient at the moment. “Why did you start writing memoirs?” I ask instead. “What is it you get out of it? Only fair I learn stuff about you, too.”
Charlotte takes a bite out of her fish taco. Chews slowly, her head slightly cocked. “I studied journalism in college, with a minor in creative writing. I’ve always enjoyed people’s stories, you know? Just understanding what makes them tick, why they make the choices they make… I grew up loving both fictional storytelling and documentaries. There’s just something about real stories, though. Real people don’t follow scripts.
“They’re not created by trained writers to evoke certain emotions. They’re messy and complicated, and full of conflicting emotions.” She shrugs a bit, and looks at me with a strong gaze. Like she’s daring me to object or find it silly. “That’s why I love writing memoirs. It’s fascinating to tell a real person’s story.”
Well.
Damn.
I run my free hand along my jaw and look back out at the people milling about on their lunch hour.
“That’s a very good answer.”
She gives a surprised little chuckle. “Well… thank you. What about you? Why do you enjoy doing what you do?”
It’s an innocuous enough question. But enjoy ?
I meet her blue gaze. “It’s a family company. I have a responsibility to my employees, to my family, and to my grandparents’ legacy to ensure it operates to the best of its ability.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “That’s a powerful motivation.”
“It’s a life sentence,” I say.